HOW IT USED TO BE

Herman got his wedding invitation just fine and arrived about a week before the big day. I was glad of that because I had time to talk him out of wearing blue jeans and work boots. The reasoning I started with was that traditionally grooms wore suits or tuxes. I explained it helped the guests know who the lucky fellow was. That argument fell on deaf ears as did my explanation that jeans and work boots didn’t match a bride’s dress. What worked was when his father gave him money and said,

“Son, go buy a new suit, shirt, tie, and shoes. After all your getting married in a few days!” Thank you new father-in-law.

The wedding went off without a hitch. Except for that little hitch where the minister forgot to have us say,

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

Yep, he just completely skipped the ring part of the ceremony. The best man tried his best to remind the minister but he just carried on. He pronounced us “man and wife” and presented us to the congregation. We walked up the aisle as everyone congratulated us only to turn right back around and have the ring thing accomplished. I think we would have been married anyway but the best man wanted his job completed correctly.

The reception also went off without a hitch. Except for that little hitch when we were doing that tradition of cutting the cake together and then giving each other a piece. I got a little enthusiastic and shoved the cake down my new hubby’s throat. He gagged a bit but stopped short of vomiting or passing out. I guess I should have practiced feeding someone cake.

After we left the reception, Herman took off his new suit of clothes, threw them in a garbage bag and changed into his normal garb of blue jeans and work boots. I hung my wedding dress up but changed into jeans too. We climbed into the cab of our brand new pick-up truck and started our new life together as husband and wife.

We both had our own ideas about the role of a spouse. My husband’s was a bit more defined in his mind than my own. Most were never discussed before we said “I do.” But it didn’t take long for Herman to  make clear what he wanted in a wife.

The first thing was he would never get a divorce. He explained it this way,

“I have a gun cabinet full of divorce certificates.”

I replied, “I know how to shoot too.”

So that was settled. No divorce. Murder but not divorce. So far our marriage was going well.

Next he declared his wife would never work outside our home and our children would go to school at home. Okay, I didn’t have an answer for that so I let it slide.

When we married, both Herman and I smoked cigarettes. I smoked Salems and he was a Marlboro Man. So when I ran out of cigarettes I asked my new hubby to please stop and let me buy some Salems.

That’s when I heard the last declaration of what he expected of his new wife. He looked me in the eye and said,

“My wife is not going to smoke.”

Incredulous I asked, “How will you stop me?”

Obviously he had a plan because he answered without hesitation. He said,

“I won’t buy any more Salems for you.”

But what we both hadn’t realized until then was we were pretty well matched. I also looked him in the eye and stated,

“That’s fine. I just switched to Marlboros.”

And from then on my Marlboro Man had to share ’cause I wasn’t quitting till I wanted to.

It’s important to note that we both got smart and quit smoking a couple of years later.

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Have you ever read those blips in the paper that give you the info about what happened on this day in history? I always find myself reading them. Occasionally I look at a calendar and have my own what happened on this day in my history moment. Here’s one.

Thirty-six years ago on this day I was getting ready for our wedding. Our engagement was short and most of it Herman was 3,000 miles away.

Not only was he away but there was only one way for me to get in touch with him. I had to write a letter. I had to send my news, views, and requests via United States Mail to a general delivery address. General delivery was exactly what it sounds like. The letter went to the Post Office where it went into a box that held all the general delivery letters. It would sit in the box until Herman went to the Post Office and asked if he had any mail. And 36 years ago mail was not exactly fast. Come to think of it, it was about as fast as it is today.

You might be thinking that I could have at least called him. That presented a problem too. It is true he did have a phone but he had no phone number. No kidding! His phone was the type that the phone company lineman used in their work. I don’t know where Herman acquired his phone but to use it he had to be quite resourceful and not be afraid of heights. To make a call he would climb up the holly hedge about 20 feet and pinch on the phone wires. He had to make collect calls or he would have gotten in trouble for stealing phone service. So I had to wait for him to call me since I couldn’t call him. And he didn’t really feel like climbing 20 feet up a tree every day to talk to me. I guess true love has its limits!

Now the fact that it was not easy to communicate while I was planning our wedding had its problems. The biggest one was the fact that the date and time  were not completely settled when he left for Oregon. I could have conveyed all the necessary info when he called me but I wanted to be sure he had it. After all I didn’t want to be standing at the altar while he was landing in Pittsburgh.

I figured out a way to make sure he would know when his wedding was. I sent him an invitation. I mailed my groom an invitation to his own wedding. I saved him the trouble of carrying a pen and paper 20 feet up the holly tree to write the information down. All I had to worry about was that he would drive the 12 miles to pick up his “general delivered” mail.

Obviously, he did because we will soon celebrate 36 years of wedded bliss.

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Last week I read my hometown newspaper online that an old neighbor of mine had passed away. I have not seen this woman for at least 35 years but her story explains how families dealt with difficulty in the 1950’s.

Her mother died in childbirth, leaving a newborn and 5 other children. That left a father alone to raise 6 children under the age of 10, one of which was a newborn. This was an impossible task for a man who had to work every day.

He turned to his family and his church. As hard as it must have been, he allowed the newborn to be raised by the child’s aunt and uncle (wife’s brother). I’m sure it was not an easy solution but he clearly was thinking of the baby first.

The other children went to live in a home for orphans in a city about 100 miles away. These children were technically not orphans but the sisters who ran the home made an exception for them.

The tragedy of the mother’s death split this family up but only geographically. The father visited his children in the orphanage as often as he could. He was also a part of his infant son’s life as well.

My family as well as other friends and neighbors went to visit the children in the home. This kept these children aware that they were really not orphans.

My neighbor who passed away was the oldest girl of the siblings and when she turned 14, the children were brought home again. The reasoning was everyone was old enough to live in a home without a mother.

I know it must have been hard but they were able to stay together. They visited with their father, relatives, friends, and neighbors as a family. And were returned to their home as soon as feasible.

The baby boy grew up knowing his siblings too, although he never lived with them and was adopted by his uncle and aunt.

This was a true tragedy with no easy solution but family, church, and community stepped in and met the need.

Reading my neighbor’s obituary, I learned she never married and is survived by all of her siblings (including her baby brother) and numerous nieces and nephews.

I have always admired this family because they stuck together through terrible adversity. I have a feeling they will deal with losing her in the same way. What could be better than that?

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It all started when my mother decided she didn’t like the color of our house any longer. In 1947, when the house was built, my folks decided to stain the cedar shingles a dark brown. It was a decision they both agreed to and were happy with with for about 10 years. Then my mother decided she wanted the color much lighter, so she wanted it painted.

My father was of the opinion that since the shingles were stained they could never be painted. He insisted that paint would never stick and he would not put it on the house. My mother on the other hand did not believe a word of his reasoning and she wanted the house yellow.

They had lively discussions about it for months and always came to the same conclusion. Mom wanted it painted. Dad didn’t. Finally in a moment of exasperation, my father declared that if my mother wanted the house painted she could do it herself. And in equal exasperation she declared she would.

With the impasse ended my mother ordered paint and brushes and my father began to worry. He began to think about mom on a ladder. Once the paint arrived, mom started at the bottom and intended to work her way up. Meanwhile Dad began to build an elaborate scaffold system for Mom to work on.

With the scaffolding in place Dad was confident Mom could paint safely. He relaxed. In fact, he would settle himself in a chair every afternoon and cheer her on. It was the talk of the neighborhood- my mother was the one painting the house while my dad was the one sitting in a chair encouraging her in the work. Men would stop on their way home from work and visit. Women would bring snacks so Mom and Dad could keep up their strength. The neighborhood kids just enjoyed the fun of someone painting a house.

My brothers and I were enjoying the unusual drama. Finally our parents had settled the dispute and devised a plan. Mom was pleased because the house was going to be yellow. Dad was enjoying his afternoons in his lawn chair.

Now I know it seems strange that Dad would go to all the work to build a safe scaffold for Mom to do the painting when he simply could have painted it himself. But once my mother decided to paint, nothing was going to stop her. And there was the matter of his statement that he would never paint those shingles. No, the only course of action for Dad was make it safe for her and then make the best of it.

That summer our house was transformed from a dark brown to a shade of yellow that both my parents loved. And my mother, she became part of the neighborhood folklore.

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I have been seeing the opportunity to win prizes from so many places lately. I personally have never won anything. Not one thing ever! I really wish that would change. At any rate as I thought about these prizes being given away I was reminded of the time my dad came up with an advertising gimmick that involved a prize.

My dad sold appliances for a few years in addition to his other business. This side of his enterprise required some advertising to be competitive with other stores. Dad was a bit of a maverick when it came to running his business so when it was suggested he run an ad campaign that ended with prizes, his mind went to the unusual. And no one could move his mind once it landed on something. The prize he wanted to award were ponies. Yes, ponies! A prize that required a shed to stay in and food every day. Not to mention dealing with what became of the food once the ponies processed it. Oh was this a door prize from an inexperienced retailer or what?

But Dad was so excited about the idea of making some little kid’s day by giving him or her a pony. Nothing anyone said could convince him it was a bad idea. He wouldn’t listen to my mother or the advertising rep from the newspaper.

He’d heard somewhere that someone wanted to sell ponies for cheap so he began to search for his prize. In no time at all he purchased a pony named “Peanuts.” He’d decided it should be two ponies and he had found only one. That did not cause my dad to reconsider and give only one pony away. Oh no, he just had to look harder and go a little further to find a second one. Soon we had “Popcorn” in our little shed beside “Peanuts,” who took an instant dislike to his new stable-mate. Everyone but Dad was getting a bad feeling about this door prize thing.

A store that sells appliances has a limited number of patrons and every one that came into my folks store was encouraged to sign up for a wonderful door prize. No one knew what it was they were going to win so no one declined the invitation. After all it was free. I think most folks figured they were going to win a new toaster or an iron.

Meanwhile the ponies were helping with the lawn mowing chores at home and fertilizing as they worked. At first my brothers and I were so mad at Dad. He was going to give two ponies away for free when he would never get one for us. That was before we got to know them. These sweet looking little things would bite us when we weren’t looking. When we were looking they would charge at us. If we tried to ride them (they each came with a saddle) they kicked at us. If we did manage to get on them they would promptly buck us off. And every chance they got they ran away, so we were always chasing them down. We all soon agreed (except Dad) that we couldn’t wait for some poor fool to win the prize and get them out of our life.

Everyone in our family was so excited when the day of the drawing came. Dad was still thinking some little kid was going to be the happiest kid in the world. Never mind that his own little kids couldn’t wait for the prize to be gone.

The lucky name was picked out of the box and it was great news. The winner had about 6 young children. My Dad was really excited as he called the unsuspecting winner. Most stores have you pick up a prize but how do you pick up a couple of ponies? So arrangements were made for the delivery. Dad loaded those critters up in a borrowed trailer and hauled them to their new owners. He threw in a few bales of hay as well.

Of course the children of the winner were so excited. What kid hasn’t dreamed of having a pony? And these kids just had two of the creatures delivered to their door. With saddles. Now the parents had not dreamed of owning a pony in many years so they were not as thrilled to get their prize. My Dad was completely oblivious to this fact. He pulled Peanuts and Popcorn out of the trailer, tied them to a tree, set the saddles and hay down, shook the fella’s hand in congratulations, and drove away.

By the time he got home the lucky winner had called and wanted to return his prize. He begged to be allowed to return his prize. And who could blame him? This prize was going to cost him money to keep. Never mind how the little darlings acted.

My Dad was crushed, but only momentarily. He would simply pick another name from the box. Another winner would surely think differently. But it was a small town and word spread fast. There was no one who wanted the prize being given away at my Dad’s store.

It soon became very clear to my Dad. He was the winner! My dad won his own door prize -two of the orneriest animals on the face of the earth!

About six months later Dad found someone who would take them. We never shed a tear or had a sad moment. And Dad left the advertising to my mother!

This is an honest to goodness photo of Peanuts.

This is what he looked like when we attempted to ride him.  I  did not need to be a pony whisperer to know what he was thinking.

His look was sufficient.

It said, “You can saddle me, but you will not ride me.”

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I am wearing a new pair of glasses. They fit great and those that have seen them (including me) think they look pretty good. So what’s the big deal- I bought them online! Yeah, that’s right, on the internet. I bought progressive lenses and new frames from an online eye glass store. I got better quality lenses for much less money. I also avoided all that embarrassment trying on frames in the brick and mortar store. I don’t know which is the best part- the price, the ease of buying, the lenses, or the fun of doing one more thing online. Anyway, I was reminded of my first encounter with eye glasses and it wasn’t anything like this. I hope.

I was in the first grade when I started having headaches and vision problems so my mom made an appointment with the only eye doctor in town. Can you imagine a town where there is only one choice in an eye doctor? Fortunately the one choice was a well qualified opthamologist. And the doctor was a woman.

She did it all, from routine eye exams and fitting the glasses to complex eye surgeries. Our little town was very lucky to have her and everyone knew it.

My first encounter with the lady doctor led to my wearing glasses. I cried because I knew I was going to be called Four Eyes! I knew that because I had called kids that wore glasses Four Eyes. We did that sort of thing back then. It was called teasing. It taught the concept of reaping and sowing.

Once my eye problem was diagnosed and I was going to need glasses the next step was picking out the frames. It was almost as hard back then as it is now except for one thing. My mother! She could only stand so much indecision, after all it was just frames and I was only 6 years old. So she stepped in and chose them. The ones she selected had a modern look with contemporary colors (sounds like a brochure, doesn’t it?). They were a lovely shade of pink and blue. I’m not kidding! I thought they were going to look so cool!

Just like my online order, I had to wait a bit for the glasses to come. (One hour glasses were 30 years in the future.) Once they were ready it was back to the Doc for a final check and a fitting.

I loved my new glasses. I could see with ease and that was worth the teasing about having an extra set of eyes. I was beginning to read so I was happy to wear them. I was sure the colors looked great on me too. All in all I felt pretty special wearing my pink and blue plastic glasses every day to school.

Until I saw my school picture. I guess the mirror was magic or something because I’m certain I would have noticed how stupid I looked. How dorky and ugly. I had a major meltdown when I saw myself in my first grade photo. I tried to throw the pictures away. My mother refused to let me. I never exchanged photos with my classmates that year because that would mean they would see them. All in all it was a real blow to my self-confidence.

I was in my early 30’s when a church we were attending put a bulletin board up in the back and invited the congregation to share photos of themselves through the years. I decided it was time for me to get over that first grade picture. So I took a thumbtack and stuck that picture up for everyone to see. And the more I looked at it the better I felt. Seeing my picture all those years later I realized I wasn’t so ugly as awkward. I was glad to finally close that door even if it took over 25 years.

Now I’m wondering if my mirror is still magic when I look at my new glasses? I guess I better have a photo taken and then see what I think. I will say this the frames are not pink or blue!

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My daughter’s family went for a train ride this weekend. A ‘Thomas the Train‘ train ride. Thomas the Train travels the world hooking up with with other trains to visit with fans. My granddaughter loved the ride and it brought back the memory of when I rode a train. This photo is of her looking out the window of a Thomas the Train made of leggo blocks. Yeah, leggos!

When I was very young, trains were still an important mode of transportation. Most small towns had a passenger rail service. Like most small towns the railroad tracks ran right through the center of it.

The factories in our town used trains to move their products. These tracks ran right into the industrial area and for many years the trains were more important than trucks. Of course that has all changed.

We also had the passenger rail service. And that’s the one I rode on.

I was 11 years old when the rail service was going to be discontinued in our community. That would have been 1962 before Amtrak was created in 1971. My mother was concerned that trains would disappear forever and I would never have the experience of a train ride. It’s odd to me now that she didn’t care if my brothers ever rode a train. She was determined to take care of this possible lack in my life’s experiences and to that end she devised a plan.

She called my neighbor’s daughter who had moved to a town about 15 miles away. Her idea was to put me on the train in my town and ride to the next one. I would get off at that station and my friend would be waiting for me.  It was  a great plan and she was going to see it executed no matter what.

I honestly didn’t care if I ever rode a train. But that didn’t matter. So on the last day of passenger rail service in my home town, my mother rousted me out of bed early in the morning (it was summer so I didn’t get to skip school). She made me wear a nice dress because I was going on a train. I packed an overnight bag (something I had never done) and we were off to the train station.

My ticket was purchased and then we waited. Of course we were early because Mom was so excited I was going to ride the very last train that would ever stop there for a passenger. I, on the other hand was scared to death.

I know I was 11 years old but the unknown is tough for a child and being alone was the real problem. Mom was to excited to see how unexcited I was. Talk about living vicariously through your child. When the conductor yelled “All aboard” Mom was ready. She put the ticket in my hand, gave me a kiss and pushed me toward the steps of the biggest thing I had ever been on. My mother must have been the only one in town concerned their child needed this experience because I was the only one going up those steps that morning. (No wonder they shut the service down)

I moved down the seats, found one close to a window and sat down. I peered out the window to find Mom waving her arm off. I was ready to cry but found myself waving back at her anyway. I felt like I had been put on the orphan train.

I’d love to say it was a wonderful ride. Truth is I only wanted it to be over. I wanted to see a friendly face at the end. I spent the 15 miles worrying instead of enjoying. But everything went according to the plan. I was met at the station and I spent the night at my friend’s house. The 15 mile ride home was in a car.

As fearful as I was at the time of my train ride, I have always been grateful to my mother for her foresight. Because of her, I was the last person to board the train in our town. And she was right, I have never been on one again.

Looking back 46 years, I think I actually saw the scenery as that train moved down those tracks for the last time. In fact, I’m pretty sure I enjoyed myself.

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We just harvested our pitiful crop of potatoes. Problem is we planted about as many as we grew. I know the math isn’t good but we haven’t had the rain we needed. Now when our family was growing up we managed to do a much better job. And fortunately everyone loved the spuds in our house, even the dogs!

One year our oldest son wanted a Golden Retriever for his birthday. I think it was the 12th one but I claim a senior moment and don’t really remember. We scoured the AJC (Atlanta Journal Constitution) classifieds and found a puppy that filled the bill. The dog was100 miles away but a kid only turns 12 (I think) once. So we headed off to get the birthday dog. He was sweet and cute and I still remember (no senior moment here) Jay sitting in the back of our station wagon (before mini-vans were invented) holding that dog with the biggest grin on his face. He was happy with his present!

He named him Sam. Good name for a puppy and great name to grow into. Sam was doing fine, learning the ropes of becoming a dog. And Jay was enjoying being a dog owner. And then we got the phone call that changed Sam’s life and ours.  Sam’s parents needed a home and we lived in the country so we agreed to take them. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We would have 2 adult Goldens that would eventually produce a litter of puppies. We’d make a little money and have lots of fun too. Great theory but the reality was a whole lot different.

Mom and Dad dog had never been out of a fence and we didn’t have a fence. So these dogs thought that until they hit the fence wall they were free to roam. Obviously this mentality gave them a very large area to roam in. Like the entire known world. We tried to use a chain to keep them confined but the old saying ‘How are you going to keep them down on the farm after they’ve seen Pariee’ describes Mom and Dad dog perfectly. They weren’t giving up their freedom for anything. And no little, ole chain was going to stand in their way. And when mating time came around no little, ole chain was going to stand in their way.

So we soon had 12 Golden Retriever puppies, 2 adult maniac Golden Retriever dogs, and sweet, little, half-grown Sam. Our son AJ wanted to keep one of the puppies and we thought it was a great idea. He chose one that had white on his forehead because that white wasn’t a desired trait in show dogs. He named him Lion. The other 11 puppies were to be sold as soon as they were old enough. I learned ’soon’ didn’t eactly seem like soon when it came to puppies getting old enough to leave home.

We found ourselves chasing Mom and Dad dog all over the neighborhood. I guess one good thing was returning the items they picked up and brought home gave us a chance to visit with our neighbors. We eventually found homes for these poor, crazy animals before my family had to find a home for me (I mean mental institution).

That left 13 dogs still roaming around finding things to get into. I loved the puppies but they were a handful. I found myself getting up in middle of the night to feed the runt. I called him Rusty. He thought I was his mother and I guess I felt like I was. Fortunately the feeling passed quickly.

The pups were just the right age to roam when it was garden planting time. To keep an eye on them, I took them to the garden with us while we planted potatoes. They had a great time in the dirt, moving up and down the rows, tumbling over each other and getting a taste for potatoes too. The little critters would nibble on the potatoes in the row before they were covered up. We thought it was great fun to watch them help with the planting. I just never realized they were developing a taste for the spuds. But they did.

One by one the little darlings found their way to new homes to have new adventures. Rusty was the hardest to see go but we gave him to an older man who needed a great dog for companionship. Like Sam did, Rusty filled the bill.

Meanwhile as the potato plants grew and produced potatoes, Sam and Lion would stroll to the garden and dig one or two up whenever they wanted a snack. Several of the other pup’s owners told us how their dogs would dig potatoes in their garden.

Good thing we have a poodle now who doesn’t care a thing about potatoes (’cause she’s French not Irish, I guess). Frankly, the harvest this year just isn’t large enough to share with a dog.

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The other morning my little granddaughter became acquainted with a box turtle. It was passing by and decided to stop on her patio and visit. Seeing a photo of it brought back memories of our youngest son and his turtles.

AJ was 6 years old when we arrived in Georgia. We bought an old fixer-upper (it may be compulsive or a form of self-torture). At any rate it was an old farm house and we managed to get 5.5 acres with it. It was about 3 miles from a small town in the North Georgia mountains. A great place to raise children with lots of space for them to roam.

We had cats, dogs and horses for a very brief time. And in no time at all our youngest child had an assortment of turtles.  He started out with one that he found somewhere in the yard. It was little and cute and fit nicely in a shoe box. He named it Jack. Jack stayed in that confined space for awhile and then he found another little turtle. That gave him the idea to create a space for both turtles outside in a more natural setting. He worked hard at getting a nice place for them to live in. It was under the old apple tree in the back yard with enough grass, dirt, and roots for his turtle buddies to hang out in. The problem was confining the little creatures. It wasn’t like they were looking for a place to rent. He’d put them in his turtle resort and the next day chances are one or both would be gone. Fortunately it’s true that turtles don’t travel very fast so he would round up his guests and start all over again. As you can imagine this became a frustrating way to have pet turtles. But he still enjoyed them and lots of little turtles came by to visit. One day he came up with what I think was a brilliant idea.

He decided that every turtle that came to visit he would name ‘Jack’.  And he wouldn’t try to confine them. He figured out you really couldn’t do that if you wanted them to live naturally. The first year we lived in that house the majority of the turtles seemed to be all very small box turtles. I don’t know if those turtles simply grew up or future little ones found another path but it was mostly bigger ones that came by to visit as the years passed.

Since each turtle that found it’s way to our place was given the same name, our son wanted a way to keep track of them. To help, his dad gave him a material that is used to mark metal in fabrication. AJ would number each Jack that passed through. Number one came by when he was just over 6 years old. There were well over 20 Jacks proudly carrying a number on their shells by the time AJ found other interests. Because he had marked them he realized that some of the same turtles come to visit him several times.

Every time I see one I wonder if it has a number on it and thanks to AJ I’ve come to call any box turtle Jack.

And now our granddaughter is entertaining her own turtle visitor. Who knows maybe this is just the beginning of a long friendship with the little critters.

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