Too Long Away

How can it be almost May? My little blog has lanquished in neglect for months; through Autumn, and the coldest Winter in years. Spring is stirring me to life again. Thank God for that!



A small perennial poking stubbornly through rocks and debris restores my lagging faith. Winter was so long, and the days so predictable. One begins to forget the gift of returning narcissus, daffodils, forsythia. The lucious colors of tulips have saved their surprise all these months; a few lost to hungry animals, but who can fault them--they do look good enough to eat.



Everything becomes Technicolor; slamming the door on the gray of winter. The sounds of birds suddenly begins, as if on signal. Soon the drumming of woodpeckers joins in and my laughable one-note bird (I don't know what species he belongs to) picks up where he left off last year.

Is it any wonder that a bit of longing comes with the gift of Spring? I can't help but long to have the youthful body, sans arthritis, and the thick auburn hair that attracted my husband long ago. Now, if I plant a tulip, and if it makes it through the winter, it comes back as lovely as ever. That's a trick I'd like to learn.

My favorite flower is still a rose, despite the darned thorns. I discovered a beautiful golden yellow rose whose fragrance fills the room, though I hate to cut it and bring it in. It was named after a man, of all things: "Henry Fonda". Never thought of a rose as anything but feminine. I will try to post a photo or two of my sweet smelling Henry. Don't think Norm will mind a bit.

Thank you, Sarah...

Looking in my big ole china cabinet with the warped door, my mother's cut glass salad bowl caught my eye. Thinking of Mama always opens doors to so many memories. Looking at that glass bowl reminds me of the Saturdays when my childhood friend, Sarah, and I took the trolley to downtown Shreveport and spent all day "shopping". We knotted our few baby sitting quarters in a handkerschief and tucked them deep in our purses, keeping any small change handy in the inside zipper pocket. We just window shopped the expensive clothing stores, because the well-dressed sales ladies always pounced on you with their standard, "May I help you?"before you got a foot in the door. Their was a corner Walgreen's we always spent a few minutes thumbing through movie magazines until we felt guilty and left. When we got good and hungry enough to spend a little money, we headed for Silver's Dime Store, where they had a little lunch counter. For one quarter we could buy ourselves a barbeque on bun sandwich with cole slaw and a small coke. That would not really fill us up, but it was all we wanted to spend on food. Afterwards, we looked at every counter in the store, just drinking it all in.

There were so many things in a dime store then, and Sarah and I just spent hours and talking about the things we'd like to have. When the afternoon was getting on, we'd make our way downstairs to Silver's basement. There was more wonderful stuff there. We watched the donut machine dump the circles of dough into the grease and turn them over when they were just right. They smelled so good, and if we hadn't spent our limit upstairs, we sometimes bought ourselves a donut. Always, before we left, we'd shop for some little something to take home to our mothers. It could not cost more than 25 cents, or we wouldn't have trolley fare home. I always chose something in the glasswares department; clear glass bowls or small glass candy dishes. Sarah usually spent her last quarter on some candy for her mother, or a little dresser scarf to embroider.

All the way home on the trolley, Sarah and I talked about our day in town, and we still had enough to talk about during the 4 block walk from the trolley stop to our homes. We hoped our Mamas would like our gifts, and they always did. It was a wonderful time of innocence, and Sarah was such a good part of it. Sadly, Sarah developed some "nervous" problems as she grew up, and became so uncomfortable going to a large high school, she dropped out. She remained childlike, and though she had a brief marriage, I think she never really intended to do anything but play house. I married and moved away, but whenever we came back to visit Mama, I'd always go over into our old neighborhood and try to spend some time with Sarah. Her condition grew worse, and eventually she was put in some sort of a institution. She passed away years ago, but I often think of her when we made those carefree trips to town, enjoyed canned barbeque on a bun as though it were T-bone steak, and had such fun picking out our presents for our Mamas. Thank you for those memories, dear Sarah.

Goodbye to My Japanese Maple

Last week, I looked through my kitchen window, and caught my breath. The morning sun focused on my huge Japanese Maple and set it afire with color. I dried the dishwater off my hands and ran for my little camera. I attempted to catch a few snapshots before the impartial sun drifted on. Although her leaves had already decorated the exhausted flower beds below, and the driveway alongside, there still remained a glorious display. It was as though she saved the best for the last, to say to me, "Remember this on cold winter days, and hold the warmth of my fire in your heart." I did something I haven't done since I was a child; I found a nearly perfect crimson leaf and pressed it with an iron between pieces of waxed paper. This is the promise that beauty will come to me again next year, but for now this tree, so generous with her loveliness, is tired and needs a long rest. This thought reminds me of a poem I wrote several years ago about the passing of Fall:

The Party's Over

The mountains wait, stone silent
for Fall to go about her business
and depart with some dignity.

For the hills are now weary
of the gaudy season's riot,
and long for Winter's housekeeping
winds to blow the crumbs of rattling,
faded leaves down to valleys below.

As a beauty longs to remove makeup
and retreat from admiration,
so, the mountains yearn to pull up
snowy blankets and sleep a dreamless
winter, having set the relentless
alarm clock of Spring.

Savoring September

It has been a while since I posted anything on my blog. August came and went so quickly, didn't it? Usually, it is so hot the whole month, I just hole up inside with air conditioning and try to survive, but this year was pleasantly cool here in the mountains. It is wonderful to open the windows and doors and sit out on the porch and see what the birds are up to. The rhododendrons bloomed out months ago, but their thick foliage has provided nests for many birds. Now that the robins have vacated their homes, other birds have seen fit to fight over sub-letting rights. The humming birds are so plentifiul at my feeder right now; the neighbors next door took their feeder down before going off on vacation, so I'm feeding their little squeakers, too. Hummers fight amongst themselves like little Japanese Kamakazi fighter pilots.
We did go camping for a few days in a very quiet campground, and I enjoyed getting down to the small creek there and trying to catch a trout. I failed to do so, but I enjoyed the peace of hearing nothing more than the water flowing by.
The little poem that follows expresses some of my feelings while I was at the creek:

At Whispering Pines

In this photo, I stand at the edge
of a small trout stream, casting line;
allowing the baited hook to drift.
The water murmurs by, unimpressed.
It only brings the fish man feeds it,
Left alone, it merely flows downstream.

Still, I look content, as water carries
my small burdens along, cleanses
the wastes of my useless worries,
clears my ears to hear it's gentle sound.
To flow downstream is it's purpose;
there is healing in a mountain stream.

Young at Heart

My children are questioning our sanity. Five years ago, we sold our home with the big yard to mow, and our 34' motorhome and moved into a pretty little cottage in a retirement community. We have been very happy here, and plan to live here until they take us out feet first. There is just one thing we have missed: Going Camping. The itch got so bad, we made the that fateful first step of "looking around" to see what was on the market. That can be compared to an alcoholic dropping in on a bar just to see if he can stick to Shirley Temples.

So, here we are with an RV again. We aren't supposed to keep a unit on our property more than a few days, so our first problem was storage. Ka-Ching $$!!
We understood that it would be best not to try to tow a car, so we TRIED find a unit small enough that we could park it almost anywhere and not have to bother with towing. That IS possible, but, if you plan to stay a week in a State Park, you naturally want to be hooked up to water and electricity, even if there is no sewer hook up. It's a pain to unhook to go to the grocery store, so you have to pack all you think you will need to cook for a week, and you get yelled at a lot by Husband, who thinks you can live off hot dogs and hamburgers in the daytime and eat out at night. That seems to make the problem go in a circle, because now we are back to unhooking and trying to find a restaurant with an extra large parking area. This is all fun, folks. I mean, we really missed all that.

So, now, we have to start thinking about buying a tow car. KA-Ching $$!! In our infallible choice of good, reliable cars, we have a Pontiac Montana mini-van and a Chrysler sedan (I believe both companies are in bankruptcy) that are both non-towable. Used car dealers don't even want them on their lots. I mentioned to a dealer that I had heard about President Obama's great deal going. That's to get you to trade in your clunker for a non-polluting, gas miser car. I found out it had to be a new car, and not just ANY new car, at that, before you get the discount, and they take your creampuff away for the crusher. (I can't look!!!) Pretty soon I'll have enough material for a Country Western song.

I don't know how this will all play out, but in the meantime, after some searching, I found and bought, Ka-Ching $$ !!, a Ukelele and a self-teaching book.
I know 4 chords now, so when we are sitting in front of the campfire, burning marshmallows and and fingers, I can play, "Down by the Old Mill Stream", "Way Down Upon the Swanee River"and "Buffalo Gals, Won't you Come Out Tonight". Last night, I learned a new one, which will be my theme song: "Standin' in the Need of Prayer". There's nothing like camping to make you feel a kid again and forget your troubles, I tell you.

Why are the Bears So Hungry?

This morning, I enjoyed a great time with some bright young women, trying to teach me some more about this amazing world of blogging. I learned a few new things, but just forgot one of the basics: always SAVE your composition before you start previewing it or anything else, so, now I am having to write this all over again.
I was telling Nancy Simpson about the bear visitation here in Wesley Mountain Retirement Village, where I live. She told me about one causing a stir in Andrews, too. Now, tonight, I received an email from Nancy telling me that a young bear came right up onto her patio, which is off her dining room. Nancy said bears have been on her property before, but never come right up to her house before. All these incidents invariably involve bears tring to rob bird feeders. My next door neighbor saw the bear crossing the road in front of his house, and there in the road was his bird feeder, or the top of it, at least. The pole was bent over in his front yard.
Have we had a bumper crop of young bears this year? Or, are they just hungrier? It's still too early for the blueberries and blackberries to be ripe, so I suppose the deep woods' wild berries are not ready either. Anyone else know why the bears are so hungry and bold this year?

Armed Forces Day, Norm's Story

Today, I especially proud of my husband, and grateful for the years he gave from those given to him by his creator in the service of his country. It was only a small reward, but I made him his favorite breakfast, waffles with sweetened strawberries and whipped cream. I suppose I should have added a few blueberries for a patriotic touch, but he knew what I was thinking.

I asked him how he felt about those years (29) he spent at the beck and call of The Commander -in-Chief, the Secretary of Defense and the Chiefs of Staff of the Air Force. In his own words:

"I was a volunteer for the US Air Force in July, 1950. I had passed the pilot entrance exams, but had to spend 18 months at Lackland AFB in San Antonio training recruits before I went to Aviation Cadets at Hondo AFB, TX. Carole and I met before Cadets thru a mutual friend in Shreveport, where she was born. We were married during my second half of Cadet training, which, I suppose was breaking the rules, but the distance between us was too great, and we were in love. It was tough til graduation in January 1953, and we looked forward to living together like normal couples, but after only six months, I was sent to Korea for a year, a lowly 2nd Lt, but I did have my pilot's wings. In Korea, I flew B-26's, completed my missions and bided my time til I could get home to Carole and our baby, Paul.
The years that followed meant many moves, a 3 year tour in Japan, and lots of time s when I was away learning to fly more advanced aircraft,, Our squadron went to McDill AFB, Fl and sat alert for three months in our B-66's during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Eventually I got to fly the plane I loved the most, the RF4C-Phantom Jet. I flew 153 missions in VietNam, got some holes in my plane a few times and spent another year away from Carole and the two sons and two daughters we had by then. I spent most of the remaining years of my AF career training new pilots in the RF4C-jets, and logged over 4,000 hrs in that plane, in addition to the the many hours teaching guys to fly the B-26, B-57, and B-66. When the kids were about all out of highschool and some in college, and I felt I had enough years for a decent pension, I retired. I love my country, my family, and my God, who took care of me, and my family, during the scary times. I would serve my country again, but fortunately I am too old now. The best years of my life have been the past 18, here in the mountains of North Georgia, and not having to leave my sweetheart, Carole."