GOOD AND BAD HAIR DAYS

When I went to the Hillsboro class reunion last June, Carole Sexton said that one thing she remembered about me in high school was that I cut my own hair. And then she asked me if I still did that. The answer I gave was “Yes and no.”

I usually get my locks trimmed at some kind of cutting place, sometimes an exorbitantly priced one where I also get it colored, or at a walk-in place for $10.00. But I have also been known to take the scissors to it myself if I’m ready to go somewhere and there’s a tress that just won’t behave. And for some strange reason, the hairdressers can always tell!

The sad thing is that the reason Carole probably remembered was because of an incident our freshman year involving Kate Pritchett. I really did cut my own hair back then and could usually get away with it because I had lots of body in it and a natural wave. So it didn’t usually look too bad afterwards. But one time after I cut it fairly short and it came out pretty well, Kate asked me to cut hers, too. So she came home from school with me and I proceeded to cut hers like mine. But Kate’s hair wasn’t LIKE mine; it was straight as a stick and somehow it didn’t look the same as mine at all. Nevertheless, she went home with her new do.

The next day Kate and Jane, her sister, avoided me like the plague, and someone told me that her mother had had to take her to the BARBER SHOP, back then reserved for boys only. I was pretty mortified and sorry I had agreed to ruin her hair – when I finally got to see her, it really was as short as a boy’s.

And while we’re on the subject, I’d like to describe the “beauty parlor” of those days. There was a waiting room, just like those of today, but each operator had a three-sided booth with a sink in it under a pull down slab of marble (or something like that). We could go in one of these cubicles, get our hair shampooed and set in a somewhat private atmosphere. Then we would be led back to sit under the dryer. And of course, there were NO MALES at all, either as customers or stylists. This was a female world and we wanted it that way. Just like in Steel Magnolias.

So what happened? How did we let the men invade our privacy in this area of our lives? I don’t LIKE for them to see me with my hair wet or with foils all over my head. Bring back the old days and let it be a place for women to gather and discuss the latest gossip with the regulars. Let the men get their hair cut in the barber shop with the striped pole. Somehow, I don’t think anyone is listening, but I did like it better back then.

RUFUS AND THE NEW BED

When Jesse came to visit on Christmas and again two days later, she had a fleece lined bed that Jim and Laurie had bought for her. Whenever she wanted to rest, she would climb into it and sit or lie down for a while. We took her to Sonic and she stayed in it the entire trip until we got back; even when Rufus would try to get her to play, she stayed put. In fact, she seemed to like it so much that we decided to get one for Rufus.

So it was off to Petsmart. We found one just like it - - - a round blue quilted bed with sides and lined with white fleece. It even has an egg crate mattress under the fuzzy stuff. We brought it home and set it on the floor beside him.

Rufus began a systematic sniffing job, beginning on the cushion, itself, and then proceeded to the sides both inside and out where he covered every inch. I don’t know if another dog had tried it out in the store or what, but he was fascinated with the odors.

The next thing he did was to pick up the entire bed and shake it like he does his bear. If we came near to try to rescue the bed, he growled. After a few minutes of this activity, he began scratching it inside as if he were digging a hole. Then, lastly he started biting off chunks of the fleece. I was thinking, “Why can’t he be normal like other dogs and just sleep in it?”

I don’t know whether he can read my mind, but about thirty minutes later I couldn’t find him; there he was curled up asleep in his new bed. This morning I took him out in the car and at first he started out curled around the back of my neck like he usually does. Then he moved to the passenger side and got into his bed and stayed there for the duration of the trip.

I guess he just had to initiate the bed and show it who was boss.

REFLECTIONS ON A YEAR

Looking back on the year 2007, I realize one of the best things that have happened to me in this new adventure of retirement is writing the blog, Pegtales. The children had been after me for years to write about my childhood experiences so they would have a family record, and I admit I had tried to do that a time or two. But there’s something about putting memories online for others to read daily that has clicked with me and I’m glad it did. I’ve had a ball doing it.

I have Larry Blumen, a high school classmate whom I saw at our high school reunion last summer, to thank for getting me started. He wrote me from Atlanta, sending me tutorials about how to begin, etc., and I was on my way to blog city. I really appreciate his willingness to help me and especially his patience in teaching me how.

And - - - an added advantage has been getting to know Larry and his wife Betty, also a former classmate. We have exchanged emails all year and I’ve really enjoyed getting better acquainted with them. I fervently hope this will continue for the years to come.

So thanks to all of you out there in readerland, first of all for reading, and secondly, for encouraging me in this endeavor. I hope to have a fruitful year of writing in 2008.

THIS CHRISTMAS

As Christmases go, this was at least a seven or eight. The only way for it to be a ten would be if Ashley and all her family were with us or we were with them. What a madhouse, but what fun it would be. But this was a good one and enjoyed by all.

The first to arrive were Brenda and her children, Payton and Michael. The lamb was already basted and cooking so the house smelled good. Brenda brought a spinach casserole, and a bean salad, plus lots of good cheese spreads. Then she and I wrapped presents while the kids hung out, watching TV.

Next to appear were Jim, Laurie, Jay, Annie, and --- JESSE! What a treat for Rufus. Of course, he was jumping all over her and barking. His whole back end was wagging so much that I’m surprised he didn’t throw his back out. Jesse began chasing Rufus all over the house and this continued until both were exhausted. Laurie brought potatoes and chocolate silk pie, Jim’s favorite dessert.

The dinner was a success even though I didn’t have the usual beef and scalloped oysters. I had made it easier on myself by having the lamb. Then came the opening of the gifts.

The genius and I received the usual Gator gifts: a set of plates, magnets for the fridge, even a light switch plate. We also got gift certificates for our favorite restaurants and a great photo book on Nashville. And Brenda, showing her creative side again, had several copies of Pegtales printed and bound into books for each family. I was really touched. She had printed Volume I on the front. So I guess I can’t quit now.

After the mess was cleared away, a very complicated, but fun game that Jay received was opened. Several people played while others sat and talked. I ended up on the sofa exhausted, but happy. Both Rufus and I slept soundly that night!!

THE GENIUS AND DRUGS

The genius and I are on two different planets when it comes to taking medication. If I’m going to have any kind of medical procedure I want to have all the drugs I can get, especially if it involves pain. He, on the other hand, has resisted taking anything, aspirin or otherwise, ever since I’ve known him. (“It’s not nature’s way.”)

But about three weeks ago he was tired of fighting the pain of a consistent back ache, so he began taking Advil. He didn’t take much, about 4-6 a day, but it was enough to cause some internal bleeding. So off he goes to the doctor to have some tests run.

I have had both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, so I tried to tell him what to expect. “You won’t remember a thing. You’ll just go to sleep and wake up and it will be all over.” I went with him to the doctor so that I could drive him home.

When they called me back to the recovery room, I expected to see him all dopey and shaky, but no, he was as alert as ever. He said, “I didn’t have the sedative; I told them I didn’t want it.” So all he had was a little bit of pain killer for the endoscopy in order for them to get the tube down his throat. The colonoscopy was done without anything!! I was amazed, but I don’t know why; I should have expected it.

Later, I asked him why he did it that way and he said he didn’t want to fog up his mind with medication. And he also wanted to know what was going on during the process. He asked the physician questions throughout the examination about what was taking place, etc. I’ll bet that the doctor doesn’t see many patients like him.

I’ve thought about this since then and I’ve come to the conclusion that he has much more courage than I have, or most anyone, for that matter. He would rather endure the discomfort of the exam than to harm his brain, or to waste a day sleeping off the drugs. How brave is that??

The good news is that the bleeding was caused by the Advil and there was no sign of anything else. And the back is better due to a cortisone injection.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

from

The Genius, Rufus, and me

NEW KID IN THE FAMILY!

Yesterday a very exciting event occurred in our family. Jay and Annie received an early Christmas present, a charcoal Shih Tzu female dog named Jesse. At last Rufus has a playmate the same size and age as he is!

We went over this afternoon to meet Jesse, and even though she wasn’t feeling too well because of surgery yesterday (she was neutered), she responded very favorably to Rufus. Of course, HE responded as he always does to other dogs – he went crazy. But he finally calmed down and they were able to get acquainted peacefully. Each rear end was sniffed and accepted and they even ran around and played a little. We had to be careful that Jesse didn’t overdo.

Right now she weighs seven pounds, the same as Rufus, but she wasn’t very well cared for and is underweight. They will be perfect for each other, I believe, and they look soooo cute together - - - one almost black and the other white. Naturally, I have volunteered to be the chief dog sitter while Laurie works her thirty hours per week.

I look forward to many days of watching these two become fast friends!!

NEW KID ON THE BLOCK

By Rufus and Y’Mommy

About a week ago I was sleeping peacefully on my perch on the back of the sofa when I detected a new smell drifting around. I was immediately awake and alert to anything that might invade our house and harm Y’Mommy or me. And there outside was a NEW DOG walking down our street. Of course, I jumped off onto the floor and flew to the door barking loud enough to wake the dead.

Things were very peaceful until Rufus set up a racket like a bear was in the yard. I looked out the window and there was a young woman walking a beautiful greyhound. He was so stately and dignified and looking toward our house with a puzzled expression on his face, wondering I’m sure what all the shrill barking was about. The noise continued until the two were out of sight.

Y’Mommy didn’t seem too worried – in fact, she kept talking about how handsome that big dog was. For the next few mornings the same thing happened. That dog just kept coming into my territory to take his walk. Then one morning, there was a knock on the door and there they stood - - - on OUR porch!

The greyhound’s owner had seen a little white dog running loose up the street and wanted to make sure that Rufus was safe inside and hadn’t gotten loose. Of course, this was all said over the LOUD barking of Rufus --- he was going crazy over this blatant invasion of HIS house and yard.

Then yesterday Y’Mommy carried me out to the street to meet him. His name is Hulk and he didn’t seem very nice to me. In fact, Y’Daddy came out and took me back inside while Y’Mommy stayed and visited with them. I didn’t like this idea at all and I let them know it.

I went out to meet the dog (and owner) to see if he was a former racer because I had heard that greyhounds that have raced are not very keen on small white animals. I was right to be cautious. The young woman said that he had indeed raced and was “funny” about white cats and dogs (and also rabbits, I’ll bet!). So we will just continue to bark and wave at them from inside our house and not up close!

THE FRANK SCHOOL OF MUSIC

When we were growing up in the forties and fifties in Nashville, there was a music school downtown that my mother used to take us to at least once a week. Mr. Leon Frank, the owner, had given Mother piano lessons when she was in high school and college, and she was continuing the tradition with us.

The school faced Eighth Avenue between Church Street and Union and when you opened the door, all you could see ahead were dark stairs leading up. I’m sure it was only two flights, but it seemed twice that far; by the time we reached the top we were always out of breath. We approached the door at the top with terror (or at least dread) --- because the formidable Mr. Frank might be somewhere lurking about. (Occasionally, I dream about those stairs and turning to the right to go up two more steps to the waiting room.)

This school was not just about the piano – one could also take violin, dance (ballet or tap), or even something called elocution lessons. This last was really feared because those students also performed at recitals, sometimes in a play, or even in solo. All of us girls took piano and elocution (or speech).

When we first began the music lessons, we didn't have Mr. Frank for a teacher. He only taught the advanced students. And after what my two sisters said about him, I didn’t really want to. They said that he had a ruler in his hand that he would use to lightly tap on their knuckles when they made mistakes. Can you imagine anyone trying that today?!? The school would be out of business in a heartbeat.

While I was working up to Mr. Frank, I also took speech lessons (I was rooked into it because BJ flatly refused and Mother had already signed her up). So I agreed to do it on one condition - - - NO RECITALS!!!! But I hadn’t counted on the relentless nature of the teacher, whose name slips my mind. She was an Indian woman who wore her hair severely in a bun and had excellent posture. She seemed about nine feet tall to me. Needless to say, I was in every recital, taking the lead in several. I still remember rubbing burnt cork all over my face when I played an African American child who was dressed in rags. From outside, I looked through the window into a warm room and said the following lines:

Da wind is hollerin’, dare you to da shutters and da fire!
Da snow is sayin’ “gotcha!” to da groun’.
For da winter weather’s come without a’askin’ our desire,
And he’s laughin’ up ‘is sleeve at what he foun’.

Don’t ask me how I remember that little speech. It just proves that learning poetry and bible verses when one is young, stays with a person for a lifetime.

Eventually, I entered into the music room of Mr. Frank, himself. I had heard stories from my sisters and also from Mother. She had been playing in a recital when she was in college, and Mr. Frank interrupted her and told her she wasn’t playing her piece correctly. She turned around and told him, “If you can play it better, come and do it.” When he sat down on the bench next to her, he whispered to her that he didn’t care if she talked to him that way in the studio, but not here. And good old spunky Mother said, “Then don’t you talk to me that way either.”

I began taking from him when I was in the eighth grade. I was never very good about practicing, but I did for him. He inspired me and I wanted to please him. I wasn't afraid of him, and occasionally, I even joked with him. I think he really liked me because of that; at any rate, I never saw any ruler.

One day late in the spring, we climbed those stairs for my lesson, but when we got to the top, we knew something was wrong. Everyone was red eyed, some openly crying. We learned that Mr. Frank had died that morning of a heart attack in his hotel room (he lived in a hotel!). It was a very sad day for all of us. The school closed a few months later – without Mr. Frank there could be no Frank School of Music.

MORE CHRISTMASES

Two more memories have drifted to the surface. Number one was the first Christmas after we were married. We were living in Memphis at the time for three weeks while the genius was at a job site on an island in the Mississippi River. He was an engineer working for Chicago Bridge and Iron Company traveling around to different locations inspecting the various work situations. So at that time we were living with BJ and Jerry who lived in Memphis then. This was in 1960 and the interstate system was only partly built between Memphis and Nashville.

The genius put in a full day’s work and we started out about 6:00. Somewhere the interstate ran out and we were traveling on Highway 70 in the dark when we noticed the snow beginning to fall. It’s great to have a white Christmas if you’ve already arrived at your location, but not so nice at 9:00 with no snow tires or chains and you have to navigate the hills of middle Tennessee.

We made it to Centerville (about 50 miles from home) and we just couldn’t make it up one long steep hill. So we parked the car and trudged to someone’s house on the hill and knocked on the door. Thank goodness those were the days before people were afraid to open their house to strangers, and the people invited us in. They turned out to be singers for the Grand Ole Opry, part of the Carter family singers. We put in a call to our parents for help and they said that someone would be right out. Those nice people insisted that we stay in the house until time to go wait for help to arrive. It made me want to go right out and buy Opry tickets (it was several years before we would do that). But I’ll always remember their hospitality.

Footnote to that story: Our two fathers did arrive with chains, helped us put them on, and we were able to get home easily. The only thing is that they put them on upside down, the tires were ruined, and we had to buy new ones.

Number two memory is from a few years later when Ashley was three and Jim one. Ironically, we were living in Memphis again. A lot had happened in those years. The genius had served in the Army for 2 years at Fort Sill, OK (where Ashley was born), then he had worked for and earned a Master’s Degree from the University of Florida (where Jim was born), and we were now back in Memphis where he was employed by an engineering firm.

This time our trip home was different. Because of the children, our car was loaded to the hilt not only with all of their baby stuff, but with Christmas presents as well. And we didn’t have snow!!

Buried down in the Christmas presents was a toy stove with burners that lit up. This little jewel came from Sears and of course, had to be assembled. We were staying with my in-laws on Christmas Eve and then we would go to my parents on Christmas Day. About 10:00 p.m. the genius and his brother-in-law Sam, who was a pathology resident at the time, began to assemble that little cardboard stove. I mean you have two very smart men to put together a toy that came from Sears!! How difficult could that be? Well, it was the most intricate looking apparatus I had ever seen. So many wires were in that box - - - it looked like the inside of a computer. They worked on that stove until 2:00 a.m. and finally it was done!!

Of course, the children were awake four hours later to see what Santa had brought. I still have pictures of that morning – all the adults look terrible and the children are happily playing with the toys. I seem to remember that that little cardboard box with its mess of wires didn’t last very long, but putting it together made for some good memories.

CHRISTMASES PAST

When I asked the genius what his most memorable Christmas was, he said the one we all were sick. Why is it that we always remember events that have negative connotations to them? That was one day I want to forget; instead, that’s the one we remember.

Two days before Christmas that year all of my extended family gathered at my cousin’s house for a pot luck feast. We had a great time, but between my parents and sisters and their family and us (seventeen of us altogether), fourteen of us were violently ill on Christmas Day. For some crazy reason, the five of us gathered on the king sized bed in the master bedroom and opened our presents. Every few minutes one of us would run to the bathroom and we would all moan and groan until he/she returned. I don’t know why we didn’t just put the gifts off until we all felt better, but noooo, we had to stay with tradition and open them that morning.

As we called to tell the other people in the family we wouldn’t be there for Christmas dinner, we learned that most of the others were ill, also. Amazingly, my parents had escaped.

One thing I remember from our high school Christmases was the sending of Christmas cards. In those days, the mail was delivered twice a day up until the 25th and then it was delivered only once. Yes, they actually delivered the mail on Christmas Day! The trick was to see if you could time the mailing so that your cards would be delivered on the day, itself. And it was awful to miss it and have them come a day late. So we usually played it safe and had ours delivered a day or two before. I remember the joy of receiving those cards. One year I even put them in a scrapbook which I still have.

When I was a child, my family had two traditions the memories of which I still cherish. One was that on Christmas Eve day, we three girls would pile into the car with all our presents, and Daddy would drive us to deliver them to our friends. He would work out the route ahead of time so we wouldn’t be doing any backtracking. It was so much fun to run to the door and present our gifts and usually receive our own. When we returned home, we had as many gifts as we started out with, but they were ours to place under the tree. We wouldn’t dream of opening them until the next morning.

The other ritual was to visit Lizzie late in the morning on Christmas Day. She was an ancient African American woman who had worked for us until she became too old to work anymore. She lived in a nice house with her niece who worked in a bank downtown. We always took her tons of food – fresh fruit, home baked goodies, a ham, and above all, some fresh fish. She loved fried fish. Her niece would tell us that Lizzie was always sure that “this year they won’t come.” And she was sooo glad to see us when we did get there. And we loved seeing her as well. It was a very sad Christmas after her death which occurred while I was in high school and we couldn’t visit Lizzie anymore.

So these are some of the memories I have dredged up about Christmases past. If others come to mind, I’ll write some more.

CHRISTMAS REVISITED

There are so many things about Christmas that sneak up on me. Just when I think I have it all done, something pops up that I realize I had forgotten. Like the extra tip for my nails lady or for the bartender and waiters at the club where we belong. And you can’t just write a check out to them either; how gauche is that? You have to go to the bank and get nice crisp bills and then get an appropriate card to go along with the gift. So I find myself, in spite of my best efforts, running around doing last minute things.

Now my sisters, especially MA, have it all together. They shop all year long and by the time October rolls around, they are done. I can just see MA making a list that she probably keeps from year to year and checking it all off as each thing is done. Me, I keep it all in my head, and that’s why things sneak up on me.

I am enjoying myself this year. I said in my first blog about Christmas that I was going to concentrate on the spiritual part of Christmas, and I have. I have listened to the Messiah and other favorite songs, and I have decorated a little at a time. When little things come up, like last night when Fernando, the bartender, told us that he was leaving for Chile in two days to visit his 98 year old mother, I don’t panic. I will just go to the bank today and tonight we will have another meal at the club, something I always enjoy.

One thing that has helped me tremendously this year is that I did something I had been meaning to for a long time. I organized my closets. For two weeks we had piles of stuff upstairs sitting around the bedrooms and hall while I decided what to do with all of it. And now it is almost finished. I can’t express in words how much better I feel because of that finished job. I still have the downstairs closets to do, but I’ve learned something. It’s okay to take my time and not feel like I have to do it all in one day. Of course, we have to put up with a little mess while I organize it all, but it is soooo worth it when I get through.

So now all I have to do is plan the Christmas Eve dinner for all the in town folks (about ten of us) and finish shopping and then get ready for New Year’s Eve with the sisters and husbands. That’s the part I really like about this time of year - - -entertaining and being entertained. And speaking of that, I have to mention my Christmas attire for this year.

While Rufus was getting groomed at a Petsmart in a shopping mall, I wandered into a department store that is known for its cheap prices. But usually, the quality is not so good, so I don’t do much shopping there. This time, however, I just happened to notice a bright red satin top with jewels around the square neckline. Since it was only $15.00, I bought it. I have worn that red top to every party we have been to because the parties have not had the same people at them. I’ve had to hand wash it each time, but I don’t know when I have ever gotten so many compliments on an outfit. I have dressed it up with black velvet pants and satin heels or down with plain black pants and flats. Of course, it helped to still have a little tan, but I will wear it one more time on Christmas Eve. Isn’t it funny how you can search and search for something to wear and then you come across a bargain like that?

So, up to this point, I am happy to say that the Christmas season has been good this year. I’m not just waiting for it to be over and done with – I’m actually enjoying it and living each day as it comes.

FRIENDSHIPS

I mentioned Connie and Carolyn in yesterday’s episode. We had such a good time together, just hanging out. By the time I reached high school, Mother began to work outside the home, and Carolyn’s mother worked, also. So that left Connie’s house whose mother was still at home all day.

I don’t remember much what we did; girly things like trying out new makeup or hairdos. And it was at Connie’s house that she and I sneaked a smoke now and then. Carolyn was not a part of that; I’m happy to say that we didn’t talk her into that one.

Connie had a little brother, Louis, who was quite a bit younger than we were. When he was two years old, he thought it was fun to slip up on one of us girls and try to sneak a peek up our skirts. That usually happened only once to each of us; we were onto him after that.

And one thing I do remember that happened often. Connie’s mother would pop us up some really buttery popcorn (and not the microwave stuff either) --- it was the best I ever had. And she would also make what she called orangeade, made out of fresh squeezed oranges with a little sugar and water added. I can’t begin to describe how that drink and popcorn tasted together. I have tried to duplicate them, but can’t get it quite right.

She also made a white cake (from scratch, of course) and then while it was still warm, poured white icing (that kind that was cooked on top of the stove, not the butter cream type) hot from the pan on top of the cake. It is definitely my all time favorite cake.

One summer Connie and I took a biology class at Peabody Demonstration School. We thought it would be smart to get it out of the way and not have to take a whole year of it at Hillsboro. One day we decided to skip class and ride the bus to town. I don’t remember what we did once we got there, probably went to a movie or shopped. Then we were back in time to ride home with my mother.

The next morning we appeared in class and handed our teacher a note that we had each written for the other that was supposedly written by our mothers. At the end of class he told us he wanted to see us and said that he knew we had just skipped class and not been sick or whatever we had said in the note. Then he told me that he hadn’t meant to get me into trouble, but that morning he had seen my mother who was helping the principal that week with some task. The conversation had gone like this:

Teacher: “We missed your daughter yesterday; is she all right?”

Mother after a pause: “Why, that little dickens just cut class!”

So I knew I was in trouble. And I was right. My punishment was instead of getting to take a few days off the next week to go early to Mississippi to see my relatives, I had to wait and go later. I can’t think of a more effective way to teach me a lesson. I only wish it had taken. That was definitely not the last time that I cut classes, either in high school or college

And here’s what really got me --- Connie’s mother never found out!

STOPPING BY WEST HIGH SCHOOL ON A SNOWY DAY

I had two really good friends from the sixth grade all the way through high school. We lived close to each other and saw each other frequently outside of school. Connie lived across the street from me and Carolyn lived about three blocks away. All of us actually lived closer to West High School (a city school), but we attended Hillsboro (a county school) because we lived just outside the city limits. Invariably, when it snowed in Nashville, the county schools were closed because of the hazardous outlying roads, while the city schools remained open.

I attended church with many West students, and in fact, when I was a sophomore, we three girls had our eye on some boys we knew at that school. Somehow, one of these boys learned we would be out for a snow holiday and phoned me the night before. I forget the exact details, but we devised a plan whereby the three of us would walk to West High School and meet up with the boys. Carolyn, always the sensible one and follower of rules, was skeptical about the whole scheme, but Connie and I, who lived more on the edge, convinced her that it would be OK.

So the next morning we set out in our warm clothes. We actually had on jeans which were not allowed to be worn to Nashville schools, but somehow we got away with it. I don’t remember what Connie and Carolyn did after we sashayed into the school about 10:00, but I do recall that I attended English class with Mike, the boy I was interested in.

He had already told his teacher some cock and bull story about his cousin visiting him and his family, and that I might drop in. I was welcomed to class and I had the privilege of sitting through class taught by the famous Mrs. Bowen, a revered teacher in Nashville. (I wish I could remember what lesson she taught, but alas, I don’t --- I’m sure I could have learned a lot from her if I had been in the right frame of mind.)

Afterwards, we went to lunch in the cafeteria and ate with some of our friends we knew. At the time, we thought we had really put one over on the teachers and principal, but how naïve was that? I feel certain today that they knew and just tolerated our being there as long as we behaved. And we did, of course. We would only push the rules so far.

We left after lunch because we had not miles to go, but at least one mile. (My apologies to Robert Frost)

THE GENIUS AND CHESS

Watching the genius play a game of chess with Jay, our grandson, brought to mind another chess experience from the past.

He was definitely into the game in the 70’s. He was playing by mail with some guy from Massachusetts (they sent their moves one at a time on a postcard back and forth; talk about slow games!).

Also, there were a group of IBMers with whom he worked who got together for chess once a week. They had a schedule of how they played and even had chess clocks to keep the slower players in line. He really enjoyed these nights.

So one Christmas I gave him a beautiful hand carved wood set. He opened it up and looked at reverently; I could tell he was very grateful for the gift. That night he suggested that we break it in and play a game. I was very hesitant to do that because he was the expert and I rarely ever played. Besides, I really was not that fond of the game because it was too slow for me. But I finally agreed when he said it would be appropriate for the two of us to play the first game because I had given it to him (unfair tactics).

And so the game began. It went fine for a while, and then the genius got careless in taking one of my important pieces (a rook, I think) and left his queen exposed. I couldn’t believe it, but of course, I moved right in and captured it. And the game went on until it came down to where I had a choice of two moves --- and I made the wrong one! Instead of checkmating him, I stalemated. That meant, in laymen’s terms, that I tied with him instead of defeating him.

But I have to tell you that I felt like I had won. And I vowed then that I would never play him again. And I haven’t.

SHOPPING DAYS IN THE FIFTIES

When I was a little girl, there were no malls or shopping centers in the outskirts of town. The only place to really shop for anything other than hardware or groceries was downtown. When we did “go to town” it was a big deal.

First, we had to get ready – than meant dressing up in our best clothes. This custom continued even when I was going with friends to town without an adult accompanying us. (One friend always had to wear a dressy hat and white gloves which she promptly removed as soon as we were out of sight of her mother.)

Next, we had to walk to the bus stop. We had two choices – we could walk a shorter distance and wait for the “shuttle bus,” which only came once every hour, or we could walk about a mile and catch the direct route downtown. With mother, we usually took the shuttle, but when I went with my friends, we would opt for the walk.

Mother would herd the three of us onto the bus for the ride to town, and although we didn’t much like the smell of the exhaust, we were excited to be spending the day shopping.

We loved to go to Harvey’s Department Store where there were carousel horses all around. I seem to remember live monkeys there, too. They were the first store in town to have escalators and we loved riding them as well. And eating at the lunch counter in the basement was a treat, also. I usually got a grilled cheese, but sometimes I chose a hot roast beef sandwich instead. Other choices for places to eat were the Woolworth’s lunch counter (the one featured on national news when the sit-ins were held in the sixties), the Krystal, or for really special times --- Cross Keys Restaurant. Later on the in the afternoon we would stop at Candyland’s for a chocolate drift or “chipped chocolate” ice cream.

Actually, Mother didn’t like Harvey’s as much as she did Castner Knott’s and Cain Sloan’s. She usually bought most of her sewing fabrics and patterns or “ready made dresses” from those places. I think Harvey’s was probably for us girls since we liked it so much.

I remember once when I was about eight or nine we were shopping at one of the stores and I became separated from the rest of the family. I looked all over the floor and then got the bright idea that they had left the floor. So I got on the elevator and went down to the second floor and searched and searched. I went back to the elevator and told the operator about it and she asked me what my mother was shopping for. When I told her clothes for my sister, she took me to the third floor (where I was originally). The door slid open and there was Mother wringing her hands. I thought she would be mad at me for leaving the floor, but she took all the blame herself. And she was probably so relieved that she didn’t have room for anger.

Those three department stores were all together on Church Street, but we had to walk down Fifth or Sixth Avenue to get to Loveman’s on Union. That’s where Mother always bought her hats. There was a milliner there she especially liked named Harry. He always treated her like she was the only customer he had. He was quite a salesman.

By the time we had traipsed all over town (probably only five or six blocks altogether), we girls were worn out. So we would drag ourselves back to Church and Sixth to wait for the bus. Then another walk home from the bus stop. All of us were worn out.

It must have been quite a chore to take all of us to town for the day; no wonder Mother didn’t do it very often. But those trips stand out in my mind as being very special occasions.

CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS

In the last few years I haven’t had a very good attitude toward Christmas. As a matter of fact, the negative feelings about this wonderful holiday began when I became a Christian some thirty odd years ago. Each year I ask myself, “How can I get through all the messes of this time of year and really gain a new understanding about Jesus and His birthday?” So far I have had only partial success, at best.

When I was a child, of course there was that amazing magical quality of Christmas that continued through my teenage years. And when we married and had children, we enjoyed watching them experience that same magic. Somewhere along the way during my adult years, I became frustrated with the busy-ness of the season and I just wanted to say, “Whoa, stop this merry-go-round and let me off.” So what would it take for me to get the magic back and still be thankful for what the holiday is all about?

For one thing, I love the Christmas decorations, especially the lights, but I don’t want to go to the trouble to put them up and take them down. It’s not an option to leave them up all year – that’s too redneck for the genius. And it’s too expensive to hire someone. So maybe I’ll invite the grandchildren over to help.

The second thing that would help is for me to play GOOD Christmas music, not these “I saw Mama kissing Santa Claus” jingles. The Messiah or other classical Christmas songs would help tremendously. Nothing makes me want to leave a store or mall more quickly than to hear the same holiday trash songs. So I’ll shop online and listen to my music at home.

And finally, I can try to concentrate on my relationship with the One whose birthday we are honoring, even though it was not on December 25. Above all, this is certainly what I desire; I pray that it will be done.

Meeting My Love

He and I knew each other in high school but not well. He was two years ahead of me and our paths didn’t cross that much. So it was while he was in college that I first spoke to the genius at his fraternity house one night.

I had a date with one of his “brothers,” who was strictly a friend to me, and we stopped by the frat house after a movie. There was the genius sitting at the piano --- and playing it! On the black keys!! I was fascinated – all of the songs were played in f sharp (or g flat). He claimed not to know how to play, but he obviously did – and well. I later learned that he had taken piano lessons for several years when he was younger, but he was playing that night by ear. I remember sitting down on the bench beside him and watching him, captivated by his musical talent, but also by his incredible good looks.

As my date and I left the house, he told me not to be surprised if the genius called me. According to him, the genius had a habit of dating girls that my friend asked out. I found out later that there was a reason for this. It seems that my future husband asked my friend one day, “Who was that girl you were with the other night?” The answer he received was “I’m not telling YOU because I know you will try to steal her away.” Since that was NOT his intention at all, the genius was highly insulted and from that point on, he began to ask out any girl my friend did.

So that’s the story of how we began our relationship. He did call me, he did ask me out, and I did accept -- with alacrity! Eleven months later we were married.

Post Script to MA

I was going to put this in comments but decided it was worthy of another blog spot.

MA informs me that she was never pinned to her boyfriend, Wayne -- they just went steady. She was later secretly pinned to another boy, Jimmie, (that meant that she wore the frat pin on her bra instead of the outside), but Mother found out. In MA’s words, Mother “always knew everything.” Mother had noticed that Jimmie had quit wearing his own pin, so she figured it out.

About her office work, she said that there were 19 girls whom she had hired who were working there when she retired and 3 periodontists, not 2. I know those girls were sorry to see her go because she was like a mother to all of them, helping them with their personal problems as well as training them for their work. MA has always been a great listener and can be trusted implicitly to keep a secret, so I know her second “daughters” really missed her when she left.

Then she told me a story about when she was in college and all the girls were given firecrackers to light at 10:00 p.m. and throw out into the hall. She lost her nerve and flushed hers down the john. That action just proves my point about her -- she always toed the line. I probably would have been the one to come up with the idea of the firecrackers in the first place.

She writes, “I was no angel and did lots of things I shouldn’t have done.” Well, I don’t know what they were (except for the smoking) and don’t want to. I prefer to think of her as the one who always obeyed the rules and set an example I should have followed.

AGING

It happened yesterday – again! I was checking out at the grocery store and when I reminded them of my senior discount, I was carded!! She just wouldn’t believe I was 68.

She said, “You must work out a lot and stay on the go.”

I said, “Nope, it must be just genes ‘cause I sit around all day reading or getting on the computer, and occasionally, I walk the dog.”

I just love it, of course, when people are surprised about my age. There’s a cute girl (in her late twenties) down the street from me. She said to me one day that I surely didn’t retire from teaching because of age. When I told her what my age was, she began telling everyone in the neighborhood about it.

“You know that lady who walks the little white dog? She’s almost seventy!!”

I really don’t mind if people know my age now. I just wish I physically felt the way I look. What started out as a little ache in my tennis knees has now spread to every joint I have: hips, ankles, elbows, wrists, shoulders, and even my fingers! I finally got the doctor to give me something and that helps, but the pain does take its toll.

The two sisters have it all over me when it comes to caring for themselves physically. They walk (fast!) every day and are very careful about what they eat. Of course, they weigh a lot less than I do, too. And they have always had tons of energy!! They are both constantly on the go.

MA plays bridge, volunteers weekly at the local hospital as well as their church, and is continually attending and having parties! Just thinking about her schedule makes me want to go back to bed!!

And BJ is the same. Her three daughters and seven grandchildren live within a few miles of her and she spends much time with them (when she and Jerry aren’t traveling). She also does a lot of church work. And she makes three meals every day!! Of course, both of my brothers-in-law are retired and the genius is not, so that makes a difference about the meals.

AND . . . there is one good thing about being overweight at this age – my face has very few wrinkles. There are a few around the eyes that I’ve had for years, but the rest is mostly smooth.

Whatever the reason, genes, attitude, or weight, I’m pretty happy with the way I look as long as I continue to be carded.

MA

MA, short for Mary Ann, was six years old when I was born (BJ was three) so during our early years, she and I were not as close as BJ and I were. I always felt like I was the tag-along when I was with her and her friends. And she had many friends! She is one of the friendliest individuals I’ve ever known.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Like any first born, MA was the sacrificial lamb who paved the way for her younger siblings. If Mother and Daddy felt like they had made a mistake with her, they quickly adjusted and didn’t make the same with us. A case in point: MA had a boy friend in high school and they became “pinned” (he gave her his frat pin). When he broke up with her, MA was so distraught that our parents vowed that BJ and I could not become pinned. And we never did, at least not openly. And so it went – MA was new territory for Mother and Daddy.

Also like most first children, MA always wanted to please her parents. She never talked back, she never missed a curfew that I know of, she always seemed to know what they wanted and usually abided by their wishes. I used to get exasperated with her after we were grown because Mother and Daddy never knew she smoked, which she did until her oldest child started to imitate her. (Of course, they found out about me as soon as I went to college.) But MA usually set a great example for her younger sisters.

Today she and BJ are really great housekeepers. They are both so organized and can get so much done. It was MA’s organizational skills that helped her in her career choice late in life. When her children were grown, she began working for a periodontist who was just starting his practice. She was the only other one in the office to start with. Under her management, the staff increased to include many others. He eventually joined with another dentist and she was in charge of running the entire office. There must have been 15 people altogether by the time she retired.

I am so different from MA (and BJ too) that I used to wonder if I were adopted. But all I had to do was look in the mirror and see the resemblance to them to dispel that thought. But they were both so neat! They kept their rooms straight, and they actually seemed to enjoy cleaning house and helping out in the kitchen. They take a perverse delight now in telling people about how I would manage to get out of drying the dishes when it was my turn. I would forego the dessert and be long gone out into the neighborhood when it came time to clean up; or I would start to practice the piano, something Mother was always nagging me to do, and Mother wouldn’t make me stop to help out. I don’t know who took over my chore, (they probably will say that THEY always had to do it), but I don’t know that for sure.

MA and I became closer when BJ went to Germany for a year (see yesterday’s blog). She was married and living in Chattanooga with her husband and two children then. We wrote frequently during that year, and I visited them more than once. As unhappy as we both were to be separated from BJ, the good news is that we reached out to each other and got to know one another as we never had before. She was my matron of honor at our wedding when the genius and I said our vows two weeks after BJ returned home.

Our relationship has strengthened over the years. When all three of us had moved back to Nashville, we began getting together as couples. We enjoyed the experiences together so much that we started to take trips together. We had some wonderful visits to New Orleans, Vicksburg, Richmond, and for many years MA's extended family and mine spent a week together at Perdido Key, Florida.

About twenty years ago, we three couples began spending New Year's Eve together. At first, we really "kicked up our heels" and stayed out really late; nowadays we rarely make it to midnight. But we still have fun.

Once a year, usually in late spring, MA, BJ, and I get together for a night or two at a state park half way between our respective homes. We have a great time discussing the year, old times, and our relationship.

Writing about BJ and MA for the past two days has really brought home the fact that I am truly blessed to have been given such loving and caring sisters. I continue to be amazed at how well we get along and look forward to many more years of "togetherness."

BJ

Some people wake up in the morning and as soon as their feet hit the floor, they are ready to go. My father was like that. He would whistle while he dressed and he just couldn’t understand those who didn’t awaken with the same energy. I had forgotten, but after spending two weeks with BJ, it all came back to me that she had inherited this get-up-and-go-immediately gene.

How anyone can be so cheerful that early is beyond me, but she comes into the room clapping her hands and greeting everyone with a joyful good morning. I would hear something like the following each morning: “Oh! Peggy Wade, it’s another beautiful day! Isn’t this wonderful?” (I don’t know when I’ve been called that!) I would open one of my eyes and look at her like she had just gone completely over the edge. And that was after my first cup of coffee!

Seriously, BJ is one of the most positive people I know. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her when we were growing up and sharing a room for 9-10 years since she is so neat and I’m the opposite. My idea of cleaning my half of the room was to shove everything under the bed or into the closet. Her clothes were folded neatly into the drawers and HUNG in the closet. Thankfully for her, she was able to have her own room when she was thirteen.

In fact, we are different in many ways, but somehow we complement each other. She is able to cheer me up when I’m discouraged (except in the early morning) because she is so darned upbeat and optimistic. And I understand that because I’m optimistic also and need her to remind me. On the other hand, when she has her head in the clouds sometimes, I can give a gentle pull and put her on more realistic ground.

The two of us were very close growing up. We were close to MA too, but she was just enough older to have other interests than our more childish endeavors. When BJ married and moved to Germany, I really struggled – in fact, I can look back now and realize that I was indeed in trouble emotionally. Thank goodness, it was during this time that I met the genius and that brought me out of my funk.

But back to BJ, she is one of the most spiritual persons I’ve ever known. She truly lives out her Christian faith. She is ALWAYS giving to others – her family, her friends, church members in trouble, the homeless – everyone she comes in contact with. And the giving is from the heart, too, not done out of guilt.

She really brings joy with her wherever she goes, and she has been to many places: Ivory Coast, Kenya, Mexico, the Philippines, somewhere else in South America, I forget where. These have all been on mission trips. And she and Jerry have traveled all over the world. Last summer they RVed to Alaska and back and next fall they plan to visit Switzerland again.

There’s so much more I could say, and probably will later, but for now it is enough to say that I am very grateful to have BJ as an older sister who has always been an excellent role model for others, especially me.

(MA, get ready, your time is coming.)

FACING REALITY

OK, this is NOT good, definitely not good! I am having MAJOR withdrawal pains from the beach. Maybe if I talk about it some more, I will start the recovery process.

As I mentioned, BJ and her husband Jerry went with me for two weeks. They are consummate beach people; they remind me (almost) of Zonker in Doonesbury with the tanning, etc. They both love to sit all day in the sun just soaking it up. I’m not that into it, but I do enjoy sitting for an hour or two, just feeling those warm rays sink into my body. I try not to think about cancer; instead, I concentrate on vitamin D and the endorphins I’m receiving. Whatever it is I’m getting, I definitely feel a GREAT contentment watching the ocean, feeling the breeze, and enjoying the sensation of the sun’s warmth.

There are several other benefits to derive pleasure from. One was the dolphins. They came almost every day, jumping and cavorting around, sometimes quite close to the shore. We even saw several gray ones as well as the more common black. Their seeming delight as they swam along seemed to me to be a reflection of the way I was feeling.

Another positive aspect of this particular beach was the shelling. There were tons of all different types, shapes, and colors each morning. I took long walks with Rufus usually twice a day. (He walked twice as far as I did because he doesn’t get the concept that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but then he never had Miss Jim Lee Allen for geometry, either.) Almost every walk produced several unusual specimens. And I now know where these condo owners get their ideas for color schemes. I always thought it was the sky or water, but some of the shells looked just like places we have stayed.

And, of course, the sunsets. I have never seen anything to equal it. The way the colors and light played across the waves as the sun seemed to melt into the water just took my breath away every night. I took some pictures but haven’t looked at them yet. I’m sure I was not able to capture an image of the magnificence we witnessed evening after evening.

Well, it has helped a little to try to recall some memories of that experience. And it helps that today, unlike yesterday, is bright and sunny outside. So I’ll take Rufus for a walk and try to get my feet on the ground again. And MAYBE I’ll get some work done around the house.

ULTIMATE VACATION

No, I haven’t died, I just thought I had -- and gone to heaven. I have just returned from spending three and ½ weeks in Cape San Blas, Florida and I feel like I have landed back on Planet Earth with a dull THUD. The planning of the getaway began this way:

Brenda: "Mom, what would you think about spending Thanksgiving at the beach?"

Me: "Sounds good to me. I’ll look up some places online."

So I went to the trusty internet and looked at the place we stayed last summer and found that renting the townhouse in the off season for one month cost just $200 more than renting it for a week! So the wheels began turning.

BJ and her husband agreed to go with me for 2 weeks and then drive my car back. Then three days later Brenda and her children would be down. Then the genius would be there the day before Thanksgiving and I would ride back with him. It was all arranged and off I went on November 1.

Cape San Blas, an 8 mile long peninsula sticking out into the Gulf, is a favorite vacation spot for us for several reasons: 1) it is undiscovered (so don’t tell anyone!), 2) it has no high rises, either condos or hotels, and 3) the sunrises (over the bay behind us) and sunsets (over the Gulf in front of us) are spectacular. There are also very few people here at this time of year and even in the summer it is not crowded. I could walk on the beach with Rufus (the only beach I know of on the panhandle that allows dogs) and not see a single soul. Or I might meet one or two people out walking their dogs as well.

Our town house was RIGHT on the beach; by that I mean that we would walk down the steps from our house and step onto the beach that is most of the time about twenty yards wide. One time during a storm the water came right to the steps, but that only happened once. The building itself is built on a concrete and steel wall so it seems pretty safe. But when you first step onto the deck or screened in porch, depending on which floor you are on, all you see is water. You have to walk to the edge to see the sand. I’ve never stayed that close to the water in all the years I’ve been going to Florida. It’s an awesome feeling, like being on a boat.

Of course, there are some drawbacks. There are only two small convenience stores on the cape and only one very small restaurant with extremely slow service. The nearest town, Port St. Joe, is ten miles away. It is a quaint little town with interesting shops and one or two good places to eat. Apalachacola is 25 miles away and there are also some charming little stores and excellent restaurants there.

The biggest downside for us is the distance. It takes about 2 -3 hours longer to reach the cape than it does Destin, Perdido Key, Gulf Shores, or Fort Morgan, all places we have stayed. But that is one negative aspect I can overlook. In fact, the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages for me.

This was the third time in a year I have been to this part of Florida and I hope I can go again soon. Isn’t this what retirement is all about? Going where you want to go when? So I’m starting to save for the next one now. Maybe next time I can find a place with high speed internet. Or maybe not.

Addictions, Part 2

(I may be writing spasmodically for the next few weeks, but I will return on a regular basis toward the end of November.)

I recently asked at the dinner table, “When does a harmless activity become an addiction?” The consensus was when it interfered with the more important events in life. According to Encarta, one of the definitions of the word is “great interest in a particular thing to which a lot of time is devoted.” Not as strong as the other definition: “a state of physiological or psychological dependence on a potentially harmful drug.” My latest addiction falls somewhere in between the two.

Interestingly enough, the first definition, which I think is a little weak, gives an example in Encarta of internet addiction. I’m not saying that I’m addicted to the internet even though I enjoy being online; no, my obsession or compulsion is fixed on what I get from the internet: computer games. I LOVE to play all kinds of games like Snood, Atlantis Quest, Amazonia, Magic Match, you name it. I can and do sit for hours playing all types of games -- action, word games, card games, trivia, etc. And I plead guilty to staying and playing these things when I should be cleaning house, cooking, or any other unpleasant but necessary endeavor.

But, unfortunately, this is not my only addiction. There’s also reading. I can get into a good novel and be so fixed on it that I’m just “not much account” as my mother used to say, until I finish it. Almost certainly, the beds don’t get made right away while I’m caught up with characters and plot, etc.

And shopping. I can get such a high from buying a new outfit! And now that I’ve discovered shopping online, that’s a whole new ball game. I can spend hours going over catalogues and then ordering or just going to the website and browsing. This is one that is fading, however, because now that I’ve retired, I can’t afford to buy much.

I’m happy to say that I’m NOT addicted to TV. In fact, I rarely ever watch it or read a newspaper. Most of my news comes from the internet.

So all this is to say (or write) that I’m still not sure that any of these leisure activities are addictions per se. It could more readily be argued that I just don’t like to do housework. When I taught school, my job was my first priority; I didn’t spend hours playing games on the computer when I had classes to prepare or papers to grade. It’s only since I have free time that I might be found pursuing pastimes I enjoy.

And isn’t that what retirement is all about? Haven’t I earned the right after all those years of working and housewifery and mothering to relax and enjoy life? Answer: If it doesn’t interfere with the more important things of life.

Addictions

My First Addiction

I was nine years old when I smoked my first cigarette. A neighborhood friend and I “borrowed” a package of smokes (unfiltered Pall Mall) from her mother and went to the woods in back of our houses and had an afternoon of fun. We pretended we were glamorous movie stars holding forth in some exotic Hollywood setting. Of course, we didn’t inhale, didn’t even know you were supposed to, but we had a ball letting our imaginations run wild.

Of course, her mother discovered the loss (duh!), and told me she wouldn’t tell my mother if I would promise not to do it again. In my mind, I was promising not to steal anymore from her, not to stop the smoking. Anyway, I didn’t steal any more cigarettes from her.

I soon discovered that I had two more friends on the next street who were just as adventurous as I was, maybe more so. One of them took a package of her father’s Home Runs (do you know how STRONG that brand was? I have heard them compared to Picayune’s and those almost knocked me down when I tried one as an adult.) Again, we didn’t inhale.

This type of activity continued until I was thirteen and out riding with my older sister (MA) and her boyfriend one Sunday afternoon. He took out his pack and offered it to us two girls. I said cockily, “I’d like one.” So he gave me one and when I had it going well, he asked me if I knew how to inhale. I said I didn’t, so he told me to take a big mouthful of smoke, open my mouth slightly, and breathe in. I followed his directions and began coughing violently. He thought that was really funny, but as I watched him, that’s exactly what he was doing!! I became so intrigued that I decided then and there to learn how. And eventually I did.

By the time I was in high school, I would sneak a cigarette or two at another friend’s house who had a room on the second floor that was away from the rest of the house. We could blow the smoke out of the window and somehow, we got away with it many times.

Then one night at a high school basketball game I was sitting with three other girls who said they wanted to leave at half time for a little while. Thinking they were going to get something to eat, I asked if I could go, too. I noticed that they hesitated a second and said, “Sure, come on.” The four of us got into the car and we drove to Green Hills Theater and parked behind it. Then they pulled out the surprise – they were having a smoke break and tried to swear me to secrecy. I laughed and asked for one too, and they could see that this was not the first time for me either. (Why was it that I always seemed to be drawn to other smokers?)

I kept up the intermittent smoking throughout high school, but when I hit the college scene, the nice little pastime became a full blown addiction. It was twelve years when I was thirty before I was able to kick it. I have to say that it was one of the biggest pleasures for me and to this day, I am still tempted to do it.

The Closet

When I was barely two years old we moved into a brand new house, my parents’ first one to own. I think back now on the number of closets we had and wonder how we found room for anything, much less all those evening gowns we began to accumulate. There was a little square box of a closet in each of three bedrooms, one linen closet in the bathroom, and one tiny one in the hall. And that was it! We did have a full basement and a floored attic, so I know we had some storage space. And we certainly didn’t have anywhere near the amount of possessions we have now. Somehow, we made do.

But when I was nine years old, we finished off the upstairs by adding two bedrooms, a bath, and a roomy upstairs hall big enough to hold Mother’s old Singer sewing machine. And off of that hall was THE CLOSET. Yes, Mother had had the foresight to include a huge walk-in closet with a rod that was high enough to hold all of the formal dresses.

It also had built-in shelves that housed all the goodies that decorated them. There were velvet ribbons, artificial flowers, lace, satin trimmings, sequins, beads, etc. It was a little girl’s paradise – I loved to play with all the fabric and decorations.

Also, Mother was wise enough to let us make doll clothes or whatever we wanted to attempt out of the scraps of material. As a result of her patience and insight, all three of us learned to sew and began to make lots of our clothes while we were still in high school. I even made a formal myself once when she was out of town. I remember paying $6.00 for the material, and Daddy thought that was too much. But I finished the dress and wore it to some dance.

The closet was a magical place for anyone. I can still recall all those dresses made of nylon net, chiffon, taffeta, satin, or velvet. One of our favorite dresses was a black cotton print trimmed in white eyelet lace around the top and bottom. We all wore it at some point. And the colors: there were all shades of pastels, reds, whites, dark rich blues and greens. The black and white photographs we always received didn’t do them justice.

We’ve all wondered what Mother did with all of those wonderful dresses. I believe she eventually gave them away when they moved to a new house. Oh, to have just one of them now, or even better -- to have a day back inside that special room.

More Dancing

In reading over yesterday’s entry, I was struck by two facts. The first was how shamelessly we used the guys to get dates to dances or any other big party going on. I’m embarrassed about my actions, but it was the way things were in the fifties. Every girl I knew did the same. I daresay the boys did a little using also.

The second thing I noticed is how trusting I was about going out with a virtual stranger. When the genius was getting his Master’s degree in engineering, we used to laugh over a fictional character in the student newspaper: Letch Feeley. That guy I so readily accepted a date with could have been a Letch Feeley for all I knew. But trusting boys was what we girls did, another sign of the times.

But back to the dances. My sisters and I certainly enjoyed the great all night affairs which these parties were. After the dance, which as a rule ended at either 1:00 or 2:00, depending on the time of year, we would all go home – but not to sleep. We changed into comfortable clothes, usually jeans, and drove out the highway to Mrs. Brown’s, a restaurant where we had breakfast. And yes, there was more dancing to a combo we had hired. It was not out of the ordinary for us to stay out until 5:00 or 6:00 in the morning. Our parents worried, I’m sure, but not about drugs or alcohol back then. They were more concerned about fast or sleepy drivers.

Sometimes we would come home, fall into the bed, and sleep until 1:00 or 2:00 and then get up and do the same the next night. I remember BJ doing that three nights in a row once during the Christmas holidays.

After one such night, we had all slept late, but amazingly, I was up before BJ. One of her friends called her and when I answered, she began telling me all about her date of the night before. She was somewhat plain looking and hadn’t gone out very much with boys, and it had been her first date with this guy. She was a senior and I was a measly freshman, so I was surprised at her friendliness until it dawned on me that she thought I was BJ!! I was too far into the conversation to stop her and she began asking me for advice.

“We have another date tonight,” she said excitedly. “Do you think I should let him kiss me if he tries?” So that little fourteen year old with all her “wisdom” said, “Well, I think it would be all right if you really like him.” I was aware that most of us girls usually had a third date rule, so I took a big chance telling her that. I’m happy to report that that couple eventually married and were still in that blissful state the last time I heard. I had to do some fast talking to BJ when she awoke and tell her exactly what had transpired.

Those were wonderful years, albeit there were problems, of course. But when I look at the teenage and school situations today, I long for those sane, happy times where all we had to worry about was what to wear and whether the dreamboat would ask us out.

Dancing, Fifties Style

Writing about my sisters and me brought to mind a facet of growing up in our end of town. Many of the high school students were involved in the sorority-fraternity system that was in place at that time. MA led the way for us by pledging one group of girls, and BJ and I eventually followed along by doing the same.

There were five fraternities and about eight sororities and each one hosted two formal dances a year. If a girl was lucky enough to attend all the boys’ balls and her own girls’, she could conceivably go to thirteen dances per year. (I’m counting the prom at school which I must say was rather anti-climactic after all the others). It was a girl’s dream to be invited to as many of them as she could and we three sisters connived to do just that.

We didn’t care who the date was because you rarely saw each other during the night. There were always plenty of “stags” at each party to “break in” on a girl, and if she got a “good rush” (that’s what we meant if lots of boys danced with you during the night), it was a successful dance. I remember once when I was a freshman, I received a phone call that went something like this:

“Hello?”

“Peggy, this is _____ ______.”

“Oh, hi!” like he was just the one I had been waiting to hear from when, in fact, I had never heard of him.

“I was wondering if you would go to the Alpha Chi dance with me.”

“I would love to!” I gushed.

And so it went.

(I had someone point him out to me the next day and actually, he was cute, so that was icing on the cake.)

All of these dances meant many formal dresses. The fashion back then was the GWTW style with big hoop skirts and starched petticoats underneath the dress. So how in the world did we have enough of those dresses with huge billowing skirts and strapless tops? My mother was very resourceful, as I’ve said before. She made them all.

And she really turned them out in nothing flat. I can remember walking in one afternoon after school and she was on the living room floor cutting out the dress I was to wear that night!!! And she made it in time, too. She was also very clever at remaking dresses with just a few decorations here and there and the dress looked new!

So that was how she dressed three daughters for the formal dances, but where do you store that many dresses made out of so much fabric? That’s another story.

Vacationing in the Mountains

My family took very few family vacations when my sisters and I were young. Besides the two trips to Florida, I remember one other one. It was the summer before my sophomore year in high school. BJ would be starting to college in the fall where MA was a senior.

This time we went to Gatlinburg and the Smoky Mountains. The thing I remember most about this trip was that the two sisters and I dressed very similarly. We wore shorts and shirts, and somewhere along the way bought hats that matched. Our hair was short and when we put those hats on with sunglasses, we looked just alike. We were asked several times if we were triplets. I can’t tell you what that did to me, the younger sister of these two.

Both BJ and MA were very pretty and popular in high school. MA was a cheerleader, homecoming queen, and was voted “Best Looking” in her class. BJ was captain of the cheerleaders, homecoming attendant, and voted “Most Popular” by her classmates until her senior year when she was “Best All Around.” They were certainly hard acts to follow. So to be mistaken for a triplet with them was the best compliment I could receive.

We stayed in a little cabin in the woods, part of Ruff’s Motel, while we were in Gatlinburg. Once again, Mother was careful about our food, and we only ate out at night, which was a real treat for us. We almost never ate meals out at home. I also remember swimming in the coldest swimming pool I had ever been in in that little mountain town. Someone said it was spring fed and never got warm, so we couldn’t bear to stay in it for long.

Actually, Gatlinburg was only a stop on the way to bigger and better things. We were headed to Ashville, NC, to the Grove Park Inn where Daddy had some kind of convention with Met Life, his company. It is a beautiful old hotel nestled in the Appalachian Mountains with wonderful views. The weather was great, and we had a glorious time—no homemade meals there.

I do remember a formal dance, however, where my newly inflated ego was jolted back into reality. MA and BJ were dancing with boys they had met, and here I was, the skinny wallflower, sitting with my parents. Finally, Daddy, who didn’t care for dancing at all, led me out onto the floor. Looking back on it, that was a wonderful thing he did for me, and I appreciate it so much more now than I did then.

That trip was to be our last family vacation together. MA married the following summer and left the nest. But it was a great one and I wish I could scan and transfer the photo I still have of the three of us sisters with our dress-alike outfits on.

Vacating Hearth and Home

I don’t think there’s anyone alive who likes vacations better than I do. From the time when I was a toddler, I loved to spend time with my family away from home. It was such an adventure to pack up and hit the road with great anticipation.

When I was quite young, we spent most of our times away from home in Mississippi with our grandparents. (See Mississippi Memories) But when I was about eight or nine, we took our first journey to Florida to visit my mother’s second or third cousins. On the way down to Orlando where Bob and Pat (Bob was the wife) lived, we stopped overnight in Panama City. I seem to recall that we tried to find a hotel or motel, but couldn’t find one so we stayed in a “tourist home.” It was something like a boarding house, but you rented a room or two for the night.

My mother was resourceful with our food. We had a cooler that held milk and other refrigerated items so we could have cereal for breakfast. As I recall, we also made our lunch on the road. (There were no fast food places at all yet, of course.) We always looked for a church yard to picnic in, why I don’t know unless my parents considered it safe.

Then it was on to Orlando. I have several memories of that first trip. First, Orlando had lots of lakes in which to swim (someone said 32 inside the city limits, but that may have been wrong, and why do I remember little tidbits like that?) So we would go swimming just about every day in one of them. I vividly recall that I had not really learned to swim yet and my father kept trying to teach me. But we loved it.

Bob and Pat seemingly loved having us, but as an adult, I seriously wonder if that were true. Bob was a jolly rotund lady who laughed a lot and seemed to enjoy us kids. My older two sisters and I slept on a screened in back porch off of the kitchen. They slept at one end and I was at the other. During the night I noticed that someone was in the kitchen I assumed to get some water. But they kept standing there and I became quite frightened. I proceeded to try to awaken my sisters without the “intruder” hearing, but they were sound asleep. Finally, it became light enough and I could see that the “person” was a coat rack with a coat ant hat on it.

We drove over to Daytona Beach one day and that was our first experience at the ocean. We were completely enthralled and loved playing in it . Our poor mother, though, who had red hair and the skin to go with it, would get burned just sitting in the shade all day. And the rest of us with no sun screen, of course, would relish the fact that we were getting a good tan.

That was a great trip. We went back the next year too, and M.A., my sister six years older, took her boyfriend. I don’t remember where he slept, and honestly, in looking back, I’m amazed that Mother and Daddy invited him to come with us. He was fun, though, and we enjoyed having him along.

Those first two vacations were wonderful and hold many happy memories.

The Trouble With Being Last In Line

I recently copied this quote from an article I was reading online about birth order: “and the youngest tends to be the most creative and wildest of the group.” Since Brenda and I are both the last born in our families, this phrase made me stop and think.

I wouldn’t call myself creative, although others have. I feel like I get most of my ideas from others and just incorporate them into my own. Brenda, however, I would say is definitely imaginative and resourceful all on her own. If I described her house with its color combinations, you would probably think the affect would be rather bizarre. But it’s not; the overall result is very attractive and unique. She could have easily had a career in interior decorating, but she chose to concentrate on the other side of her brain instead.

Brenda can also cook in the gourmet style; she’s not crazy about turning out the ordinary everyday stuff, but if she decides to have a party, the creative side comes out in full force. She will spend hours on a cake shaped like a hat (for Easter, for example) decorated with all kinds of flowers, usually real. And the appetizers she whips up are to die for. I could and would hire her as a caterer if she decided to do this full time.

So I’ll agree with the first adjective to describe Brenda, but “wild” is not one I would affix to either one of us. Oh, we both like to kick up our heels and have a good time, but “wild” sounds over the top. We just have a rebellious streak sometimes that usually shows up when someone tells us we “have to do something.” Those are just naturally fighting words to us.

She and I have been trying all our lives to be unique, different from our older siblings so we will be noticed, I suppose, first by our parents, then by others. And this tendency to oppose authority or certain conventions has gotten us into trouble.

In Brenda’s case, however, I see a real strength emerging from her struggles. She has learned coping skills that many adults never acquire, and this has helped her in dealing with any problems that arise as a single mother of two teenagers.

The genius and I are very proud of her accomplishments and immensely admire her perseverance in dealing with the difficulties in her life.

The Blue Sponge

When the genius was working for IBM a co-worker and he became engaged in a little game between the two of them involving a piece of blue sponge. It seems that one of the packing materials regularly delivered to the office included a 24 inch square of blue sponge that was about ½ inch thick. His colleague Tom first conceived the idea of cramming one into one of the genius’s file drawers so that when he opened it, the sponge jumped out at him. Never one to be outdone, the genius waited a while and did the same thing to Tom.

Then the blue sponge began to appear in odd places at different times – sometimes a desk drawer, sometimes in a file folder, or even in one’s brief case, always at long enough intervals to keep the element of surprise in it. They became quite clever at devising new ways to shock each other. But eventually, Tom moved to another city.

Several months later, the genius received in the mail a large manila envelope containing nothing but a dismembered blue sponge cut into multiple pieces. But the genius had the last word after all. He emailed Tom with a message typed in blue and filling the whole screen with the words “blue sponge. . .blue sponge . . . blue sponge,” etc. Tom wrote back that somehow an electronic blue sponge just wasn’t the same. And that was the last of the blue sponge.

Why did I digress from Brenda to write about such a silly series of events? Because Ashley and I have our own version of the game, and today she GOT me!

Several years ago there was a movie out starring Hugh Grant as the Prime Minister of England, and Ashley and I happened to see it together. I can’t remember the title exactly, but it had the word “actually” in it. There was an aging rock star in the movie trying to make a come back with a really annoying song that stays on your mind if you ever get it on there.

Ashley and I began to surprise each other by calling on the phone and singing the first lines to each other. I think we even went out and bought the stupid CD so we could play the real thing. We always tried to do it at a time when we knew the other wouldn’t be at home so we could leave it on the answering machine.

Then we began to get creative with the computer – we would send the URL for the single or just the opening words. Ashley even sent me the DVD for Christmas one year. This morning she was out in her car when she heard the song on the radio. She quickly called me and held the phone up to the speaker. But I assume that she had the top down on her convertible because I couldn’t hear the words. So I’m not sure it counts.

But just in case it did, here is my reply. “I feel it in my fingers, Feel it in my toes!”

Brenda Discovers Her Talent

When Brenda was in elementary school, her grades were slightly above average. There would usually be an A or two, maybe some B’s and generally a C. The genius and I encouraged, but didn’t push her in her academics. And we didn’t have to intervene until the sixth grade when she made an F in science one six weeks. We talked to the teacher and we all agreed that she was just careless and could do much better. The next six weeks grade was an A.

In the seventh grade she changed schools in order to attend the same one that her older siblings went to. Again, her grades were about the same – above average, but not exceptional.

(An incident occurred in the seventh grade science class that her classmates still remember. The teacher had stepped out of the room when someone got the bright idea to get Brenda to put a paper clip on the end of a pencil and stick it into the electrical outlet. Of course, sparks flew everywhere. The teacher later told me when he walked in the door, all the students except for Brenda were laughing – she was crying. That occasion might have accounted for her being placed in the standard track when she went on to eighth grade.)

During her eighth grade year, her math teacher began to notice that Brenda was excelling in that subject and suggested to the genius and me that in 9th grade she be moved to the honors track. That would mean that at some point she would have to take two math courses in one year, but she was willing to do that. So we agreed to that plan of action.

Something happened to Brenda after that. She decided if she could do well in math, she could shine in her other classes as well. And that’s what she did. During her high school years she won three math medals, made the honor society, and topped it all off by winning a full academic scholarship in civil engineering to college. The university she chose was renowned for its engineering program and was only about 90 miles away. Four years later she graduated Cum Laude and was on her way.

Her hidden talent had been discovered.

Brenda, the Third Child

It’s amazing to me how three children can be so different. Our third and final child, Brenda, was born when Ashley was four and Jim was two. To say I had my hands full was an understatement.

I had literally run out of hands with the third one. When I would try to cross a street, I would hold Brenda in one arm, Jim’s hand with the other, and tell Ashley to hold on to my clothes as we crossed. That didn’t happen more than once or twice. I just avoided crossing the street. In fact, I avoided going out at all if I had to take all three of them.

Brenda was another “good” baby. I guess she had to be; she must have learned early on that I couldn’t come running as soon as she peeped. And she was frequently entertained by the other two playing nearby.

I remember certain crises when Brenda was a baby. When she was three weeks old, our dog, Snoopy, had eleven puppies in our garage! And when she was a year old, she had to have a little knot removed surgically from her head. For a while the surgeon thought that she might have some terrible disease that gave her a life span of thirty. So we were in a bad state until the pathology report came back negative. By that time, I was at home with a raging fever and sore throat that turned out to be my second bout with mononucleosis. I was in bed for three months. Fortunately, I received plenty of help from our parents, sisters, and friends.

Amazingly, Brenda and I bonded during that sickness; the other two were off to play school, and she and I could prop up in the bed and play, read, or even sleep together. So it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.

She was a sweet, easy-to-please child. There were no battles over clothes with this girl; she went along with whatever I picked out. And she was that way with everyone else, too.

One day she came to me and asked, “Mom, what is my talent? Ashley has her academics and Jim his tennis, what do I have?” I remember that I immediately thought of her sweet nature and said so. And I stressed that that was so very important in life. She told me later that her compliance and sweetness were an act, but I don’t believe it. She’s still just as loving and compassionate as she was then.

But she did have a hidden talent that we didn’t know about until later.

The Monster

At the request of Jay (aka James Rufus V), I am injecting a Rufus tale into the current scene. This one is told from Rufus’s point of view.

Every so often Y’Daddy goes outside after dark and puts something on the street in front of our house. And the next morning when I make my first run of the day, everyone else on the street has done the same thing. There they are – the sentinels standing guard and protecting their houses from . . . The Monster. They have been secretly placed outside during the night.

The next day The Monster can be heard from a long way away. I perk up my ears and start a series of small barks in my throat. Deep down in me is a fear like no other and I always hope against hope that the guards will do their duty.

Finally, it gets to our street. I usually run to Y’Mommy to tell her and then I rush back to the front door to bark in earnest now. As it nears our house, I can see the huge arm come out and try to get each guard. But The Monster has never been able to defeat our protectors. Sometimes one of them may get knocked over by the big arm, but these guardian angels have performed their task well.


We are safe once more from The Monster.

Random Jim IV Stories

1) The genius didn’t believe that people could tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Jim and I insisted we could. So the taste contest was on. The genius bought a can of each and put them in glasses for us to try.

I went first. I failed. Of course, my protestations that I always drank diet drinks fell on deaf ears. I will forever go down in history as failing the Coke-Pepsi taste test.

Then it was Jim’s turn. He decided to add a different twist to his part. He would tell by sniffing, not tasting! It was too much for the genius – he wanted to place a bet on that one. The wager was $5.00 (a lot for a teenaged boy), and so the stage was set.

Out came the two glasses of identical dark liquid. Without hesitation Jim sniffed the first and said, “Pepsi.” Then the second and said, “Coke.” Then he turned to his father and said, “The easiest $5.00 I ever made.” And he was right!

2) Jim is 23 months younger than his sister Ashley. Like any typical older sibling, she held the upper hand and usually got her way with him. He was not nor is he now a violent person, so he left her alone. But that all ended when he was ten.

They were playing at a friend’s house about 3 blocks from home when Ashley said something to him that set him off. He hauled off and hit her smack in the stomach and that was that. He was free at last. They didn’t tell me about it until much later, but they both agree that it was definitely a defining moment in their relationship.

3) Jim was nine years old when he played in his first Southern tennis tournament in Atlanta. He did pretty well his first matches, considering that most of his opponents were one year older (he was playing in the ten and unders). But then he came up against a seeded player in the round of sixteen.

The two boys were very even and had a close first set, which Jim lost 6-4. They were on the center court right in front of the club house and had drawn quite a crowd.

Jim’s opponent had not been the best sport up to this point, and when he became pretty flagrant about his poor line calls, Jim asked for a line judge. The tide began to turn ever so slightly in Jim’s favor after that and he finally won the second set 7-6. The other boy had gotten more and more out of control and when the second set was over, he threw his racket across the net. With that, the tournament director came out on the court and defaulted him.

The rest of that story came a year later. The Southern Tennis Association because of that match voted to discontinue the tens for ranking.

Still Perpetuating the Name

When the genius and I married, I knew that the family name ended with him if we didn’t have a boy. And the same was true for Jim IV; he was the last male to carry on the surname. So when Jim and Laurie were married, of course we hoped that at some point a boy would arrive.

When they told us they were expecting, we were very excited. And we were sure that with all the modern medical innovations, they would find out the sex of the baby as soon as they could. But noooo, they were of the opinion that it was best to wait until the birth to learn. So we patiently (?) waited for several more months.

When the baby did arrive, we were thrilled to learn the last name would be carried on, but were really surprised that they had decided to name him James Rufus . . . V. So now we have four Rufuses in the family today, counting the dog, and two others who have passed on.

It’s amazing that we would be so excited about handing a name life “Rufus” on down through the generations, but the dynastic experience is still very much alive in the South, at least in our family.

The Other Grandmother

Just before I was two years old, my family moved to a house on a one-block-long street that was very kid friendly. Next door was another family who had three children and the youngest was my age. A-N-D her name was Peggy, also. In order to avoid confusion, the two families, in good old Southern fashion, decided to use both of our given names. She was Peggy Sue and I was Peggy Wade.

Neither of us liked the use of the full names but we were able to change them when we started to school. I remember being very adamant and insisted that I be called by my first name only.

Peggy (Sue) and I became best friends and playmates, but she moved several blocks away when we were ten and was zoned to a different school. We saw each other occasionally, especially when we went to the same high school. We lost touch for a while after we married, but we renewed our acquaintance when our children were in the same private school. Also, we were both big into tennis and we saw each other frequently in that arena.

Why have I digressed to tell this story when I’ve been writing about Jim? Because Jim became very good friends with Laurie, Peggy’s youngest daughter. Eventually, they married and are now living happily in Franklin.

I am very pleased to share my grandchildren with their other grandmother, my first friend.

Jim IV

As a child, Jim was a laid-back individual who could be content either by himself or playing with other friends. Nothing ever seemed to bother him; he just enjoyed life as it came at him. When I would send him into the store for a quart of milk, he would saunter out about 15 minutes later and say that he couldn’t find the milk, but would have some interesting observation to make about the store.

Once when he was older, I asked him to look up a telephone number (I was forever trying to teach the children little life experiences). A loooong time later I asked him if he had found it, and he came back and asked me, “Do you know how many pages of Smiths there are in the phone book?” (To this day, when Jim is taking a long time doing something we say he is “counting the Smiths.”)

I don’t mean to imply that Jim isn’t intelligent – he’s actually very bright and anyone can see that after talking with him five minutes. He, like me, is a word-person, and he is constantly coming up with made-up words or puns. As a matter of fact, all of the children at one time or another have been addicted to working crosswords puzzles (I’m afraid they learned that from me). Sometimes if we are all on vacation together, Jim and I will buy 2 USA Today papers and have a contest to see who can get the crossword first. I honestly don’t remember who usually wins.

Unlike Ashley, Jim was an underachiever in the academic world. He was simply more interested in other things like sports, music, and friendships. So his grades, while not bad, were not up to the level that they could have been had he been more motivated in this area.

Friendships have always been a big part of his life. He genuinely enjoys his buddies, some of whom he has known for over 35 years. Making up this varied group are a lawyer, contractor, tennis pro, sculptor, minister, and realtor. People usually respond very favorably to Jim because they know that he really likes them and enjoys being with them.

Therefore, it was perhaps inevitable that he would first become friends with his wife before they fell in love with each other, but that’s another story.