EATING HABITS

As adults we’ve all heard children say, “That’s not fair!” And our answer? “Life’s not fair.” So true. That seems the only way to describe what happened to me as far as my weight is concerned.

When I was a child, I just didn’t like to eat. I’d think I was starving, then when I sat down to the table I couldn’t eat all that much. And I was always underweight. When I was a teenager, I remember fixing myself milkshakes with a raw egg in it to help me gain weight. But I never did – I weighed 100 pounds when I married and I continued eating like a bird until about 21 months after we married. That’s when it all changed.

The genius had been sent to Fort Sill in Lawton, OK, and I flew out to join him. The flight was rough and several times I thought I would have to use the barf bag. I managed to make it until we touched down, but I still felt queasy. In a few weeks I found out the reason: I was pregnant! For the first three months it seemed like everything I ate came back up, but I still managed to gain six pounds. My stomach finally settled down, and lo and behold, all foods tasted good to me. What a novel experience! I ate anything I could get my fork on, and I couldn’t seem to get enough. Of course, the pounds began to jump on my body like magnets to steel, and I blew up in weight and size. When I was 4 ½ months along, I went to the post hospital for some medication one weekend and they took one look and brought out a wheel chair. They thought I was ready to deliver!

Because I saw a different army doctor (who usually wasn’t an ob) every time I went, I was allowed to keep putting on the weight, mainly because my blood pressure was so low that they really didn’t pay any attention to what I weighed. Eventually, I gained 50 pounds, but I was to lose that in three months. I remember our next door neighbor, Charlie, who didn’t know me until I was about four months pregnant, said to me, “Boy, you are just shrinking up to nothing.” And I was, not to “nothing” but back to my 100 pounds. And this same cycle repeated itself through two more pregnancies – big weight gain, then back to normal. (I had mononucleosis when Brenda was a year old and I weighed 96 when it was over.)

So what happened?!? All along whether pregnant or not, I had always eaten exactly what I wanted. If I wanted fried foods, I fixed it and ate them; butter, and plenty of it, was as natural to me as drinking a glass of water. I never thought twice about eating all of anything I wanted, and that included sweets. But I suppose the quantities were so small and I was active enough that it didn’t make a difference. But about the time I turned thirty, I began to notice that my clothes were snug. And gradually, the reality of eating set in --- I just could not continue to do what I had done and expect to weigh 100 pounds anymore. In addition, about this time I quit smoking, but I also took up tennis. So they somewhat balanced each other out.

To get to my point, because I spent thirty years eating what I wanted in the quantities I wanted, and not suffering any consequences, the habit was ingrained. For the two sisters, it was the opposite; they realized as children that they had to be careful and they developed the good habit of watching what they ate. So they’ve never had a lasting problem with weight. They’re both nice and slim, and here I am overweight and not doing anything about it.

The only thing I can say is “It’s just not fair!”

CLASS OF ’57 LUNCHEON, CONTINUED

The luncheon at Lou’s was a great winter time diversion for me. Ever since the reunion in June I have desired to reconnect with the people I graduated with and this was a good opportunity to do so. And it was nice to have just the “girls” in attendance for a change. Let’s face it --- men and women are just different animals when both sexes are present; I enjoy both, but it’s nice to have a change.

One person whom I talked with was Sally, who was voted wittiest of our class. She and I had a nice talk about our education careers since we both taught the same age group and the same subject. She was one of those people I didn’t even see at the reunion, so I was glad to catch up with her. She told me she is living in the same house she grew up in; I wonder what that would be like.

There were several others whom I never got around to really do more than say “Hi” when I walked in. But we committed to doing this again in April when we all trek out to Gallatin to see Alice Ann. She suggested we might like to eat at Fairview, an old 19th century home converted into a restaurant. I’m looking forward to it already.

Something very strange has happened to me in my feelings about this class. For some reason, I have never felt a part of this group of people. Oh, there were some who were friends, like Carolyn, but every time I went to the reunions I felt just a little discombobulated. I couldn’t seem to feel a connection. I had also attended the class of ’55 reunions (the genius’s) over the years and I had noticed that those people seemed to have gotten over the competitiveness and one-up-man-ship early on and really seemed to care for each other. I felt perfectly comfortable around them, but it was not so with my own classmates. That is, until the June reunion.

Beforehand, I told the genius that I didn’t even want to go. But once I went, everything changed. I can’t identify what happened; all I know is that here were these people, some of whom like Bill Daniel and Kay Simpkins and the Blumens and Henry Burkitt and on and on, that when I began talking to them, something clicked. I’ve thought about this over the months and what I’ve come up with is that of course the problem was with me, not the classmates. And now I want to make up for lost time. Of course, at 68 there’s not that much time left for some of us, but I realize what I have missed over the years. So I will continue to enjoy the times I can spend with these people who were such a part of my life for four years (or longer) and look forward to every occasion that I have to be with them.

How enlightening it has been for me to discover this about myself and how freeing. As “they” say, we’re never too old to learn.

CLASS OF ’57 LUNCHEON

Yesterday we had a “girl’s” gathering of classmates from Hillsboro’s class of ’57. What fun it was because at the 50th reunion we had last summer there were so many of us that we just didn’t have the opportunity to really talk to anyone for any length of time. All the June reunion did for me was whet my appetite to get to know each other a little better. Yesterday’s lunch at Lou’s house helped me to become at least a little more acquainted with women I hadn’t really seen or talked to in fifty years.

First, there was Carolyn, the very same one of the trio who went to West High School with me on a snowy day (see "Dropping by West High on a Snowy Day"). She and I have kept in touch; it was just a matter of catching up. Then there was Linda, whom the genius went out with a time or two right before he dated me, I think. We had had a tennis connection at one time, so we had a good time chatting about that.

I talked to Wanda about her aging mother (98 years old) and the problems most of us have experienced with our parents at one time or another. The predicaments they get into can be quite funny; if you don’t find humor in those situations, you’ll get depressed, so you might as well laugh like she was doing. I really enjoyed talking to Wanda because we used to go to church together, also, and I had basically lost touch with her.

There were eight of us eating at one table while the others were scattered around a large connecting room. At our table we all agreed that Lynn had changed the least of any of us; she still looks exactly like she did in high school. Lynn, who married a classmate Buddy, told me that my son Jim had broken the heart of her daughter’s best friend. “I mean REALLY broke her heart --- she was just crushed.” That was at least twenty-five years ago, but she kept talking about it. I didn’t know whether I should apologize or not. I didn’t; I figured that was up to him.

Also at our table was the widow of the boy I went with for the last two years of high school. Since none of us had met her until the 40th reunion when he was still alive, we don't know her as well. I think it’s nice that she feels comfortable enough to attend our get-togethers.

Adair was there although I don’t ever remember her attending Hillsboro; I’m pretty sure she didn’t graduate with us. But she was a scream. She lives in Kingston Springs and is a Commissioner for Cheatham County. I’m not sure what that entails, but she had a Senate license plate on her car, so I guess she gets parking privileges somewhere.

Susan was as funny as she usually is. She told me that Bowyer goes to the Y every single day, but SHE doesn’t. She doesn’t believe in exercise (someone after my own heart). I was commiserating with her because I have an exercise freak for a husband until I found out that Bowyer goes only for the whirlpool for his back. So I took back my sympathy because that’s not the same.

I can see that this is going to take two days to write. So I’ll close this episode with Charlotte. I told her that she was indirectly responsible for my writing a blog because she told me about Larry’s blog at the reunion. As I’ve mentioned before, Larry and Betty graduated with us and he got me started on mine, as well as greatly encouraging me. I have truly enjoyed getting to know them. Charlotte is still working (very successfully, I’m told) in real estate. She insisted that she wanted to read my blog so I sent her the address. I hope she leaves comments as some of YOU used to do.

The ’57 luncheon will be continued tomorrow.

THREE FRIENDS AND THEIR ESCAPADES

When I first went to school, Mother walked with me on the opening day. There was no kindergarten in those days, we just jumped right into grade one. I remember that we went the longer and more traffic filled route so we could arrive at the front of Woodmont School instead of the back.

On the way we met two other first grade girls, Judy and Janice, walking with their mothers, also. This meeting would be the first of many for us because our friendship has lasted throughout our lifetimes. We would spend many happy hours together, and --- many times get into trouble for them.

Judy and Janice lived next door to each other about two blocks from my house and right on my way to school (the back way). We visited back and forth, spent nights with each other, and attended the Happiness Club together. Sometimes it was two of us or other times all three. All of us were involved in the smoking incidents that I have mentioned before when we would “borrow” a pack of Home Runs from Judy’s father to enjoy for ourselves.

One time they were spending the night with me and when we climbed into bed, it collapsed. We honestly didn’t do anything to break it, like jumping on it, but with our past history, I’m not sure Mother ever believed it. Anyway, I got a new bed out of that incident that is now upstairs in our guest room.

Judy moved to Chattanooga in the sixth grade. Janice and I maintained our friendship and joined the same high school sorority. That way we still managed to see each other even though she went to Harpeth Hall (a private girls’ school) and I went to Hillsboro. After high school, Judy’s family moved back to Nashville and we took up right where we had left off. She went to Vanderbilt, I went to Memphis State, and Janice went to Agnes Scott in Atlanta, but we all got together at holidays and during the summer.

It was during the summer just before I married the genius when the episode to top all others occurred. I had never been one to drink. I think I had had some alcohol on maybe two or three occasions, and because I was getting married soon, I wanted to have a night where I could really have some fun with the girls. (I guess I thought once I was a young matron, I would be too sedate for such behavior.) The opportunity for such a night soon presented itself when Judy’s parents were going out of town and leaving her there alone. So four of us (Barbara, another friend from high school and college, was in on it also) trooped over to Judy’s when the coast was clear.

We began the night by going to a liquor store in a part of town where we wouldn’t know anyone and sending Barbara in to buy the booze. She was the only one of us who was actually twenty-one, so the purchase was perfectly legal. She came back out with some bottles of cheap champagne, and we headed back to the house to have ourselves some party time. I suppose that for a while we had a good time giggling and having fun, but the thing I remember the most is how sick we all were. And the next morning the hangover was terrible! It was years before I would have anything to drink, so I guess something good came out of it, after all.

But the worst was yet to come. The next morning we cleaned everything up and made sure that the place looked all right, and Judy gathered up the bottles to throw away somewhere else. She was to get rid of the evidence on her way to school (she was still at Vandy). She decided rather than put them in a garbage can somewhere, to get out of the car and leave the sack on the side of the road. Two “well-meaning” ladies on their way to garden club saw her and took down the license plate number. Then unbeknownst to Judy, they got out and looked into the sack. I guess they thought there were kittens in there or something, but when they discovered empty champagne bottles, they called the police. This is the honest truth. And the police came!! The only way to understand their actions is to understand the fifties. The crime rate was not anywhere near what it is today, and something like leaving litter by the side of the road was important to those ladies.

Anyway, Judy’s parents of course learned what happened and they actually had to go to court and pay a small fine or something. Her record was kept clear, so there were no long term consequences. And my parents never found out, thank goodness. I had given them enough headaches through the years without adding THAT one to the list. A few weeks later I was married and I settled nicely into the role of wife and then mother.

Judy worked for American Airlines for a few years and then married and had three children. She later became quite successful selling real estate in Memphis and retired a year or two ago.

Janice went to work for IBM and went right up the corporate ladder. She ended up in NYC and took an early retirement like the genius did when IBM reorganized its huge company. A few years ago she married for the first time a widower with nine children, all grown and flown from the nest. She and her husband bought a condo in Nashville where they spend part of their time when they are not in NY or traveling.

The three of us still get together for dinner once or twice a year and have a great time reminiscing about all of our escapades, especially the last one.

THE WAY TO A MAN’S HEART

As I’ve mentioned before, Mother taught her girls to cook – and she was very patient about it. Well, there WAS that time that she came home after I had made a cake that called for nine egg whites to see nine egg yolks in individual cups staring up at her when she opened up the refridge. And even then she wasn’t too upset; she just had to figure out what to do with the yolks. And the cake was really good. So when we three girls walked down the aisle, we had a pretty good idea on how to whip up a meal.

The genius had a somewhat different experience from mine. His mother had only recently learned to cook when I met him. When she and her husband first married, they had either lived in a boarding house where all the meals were included, or they had a cook (can you imagine that!). Then later on after they moved to the house in Belle Meade, the genius’s grandmother came to live with them. She cooked all their meals until she passed away while visiting her other daughter in Louisville. The genius was sixteen when this occurred, and that’s when Bobbie (the children’s name for their grandmother) began to cook all the meals. By the time I met the genius, his mother had been at it for about five years.

There were some things she did really well: her fried chicken was outstanding, as was her fudge pie. She also made the best toast I ever ate. (It is a little more trouble than just sticking bread in the toaster, but sometimes I get a hankering for it and make some.) And she was the first one to say that she wasn’t a good cook; she didn’t do all that well on a day-to-day basis. (Who does?) But I quickly realized that the way to snag the genius was to cook for him --- good old fashioned comfort food and a lot of it!! Does that man like to eat!! My sisters love to cook for him (in fact, many women love to cook for him) because he enjoys eating so much, and they cater to his every whim.

So I’m convinced that’s one reason he married me because of my cooking “skills.” However, from the time I went back to school, I couldn’t seem to manage cooking all the time as well as studying or teaching. So we ate out quite a bit. We loved meat and threes and have discovered many of them over the years. I guess the one we have stuck with most consistently is the Sylvan Park Restaurant on Murphy Road, but there have been many others. We also love Mexican and continue to eat that at least once a week. The genius especially likes it because he can get all the chips and salsa he wants. In fact, anytime a restaurant has an “all you can eat” sign, he is interested. I try to discourage those and buffet restaurants because usually they are just not good. I think after several bad experiences I have almost convinced him.

But now I’m not working anymore, so I don’t really have an excuse not to cook. “I don’t like to cook anymore” doesn’t really go over too well with the genius. He has worked all day and he wants to stay in at least during the week and eat at home. So I have had to relearn how to do it after twenty plus years of cooking spasmodically. (I have a sign in my kitchen that reads, “I only have a kitchen because it came with the house.” That was funny while I worked but not anymore.) I must say in relearning I have had a few failures --- I had to throw out a batch of cornbread I made from scratch, so I began using a mix. I’m happy to say after watching BJ in Florida whip up delicious cornbread many times, I have learned how. The genius was thrilled with the pan I made over the weekend.

As in all marriages, compromise has helped. The genius eats a big meal at noon in the cafeteria (he pays $100/year for this privilege for all he can eat), and at night we might have sandwiches or even a frozen dinner. Or I might make a one-dish meal like vegetable beef soup, chili, or spaghetti. At any rate, we are still in the process of resolving it, but I’m doing better. And he is a big help with the clean up, which I hate.

I’ll conclude this entry by relating a funny thing that occurred a few nights ago. Right after dinner I took Rufus for a walk and when I came back, he was just finishing the clean up by wiping off the counter. He said, petulantly, “Next time I'll take Rufus for a walk and you can clean up.”

I laughed and said, “Great! I’d much rather stay in and clean than go out in the cold!” Then I went on to say, “You don’t have to do either one --- I’ll do them both --- I don’t mind.” This was all said laughingly because it was so funny to me.

But after thinking it over, I’ll definitely suggest that he walk with Rufus, especially if it’s cold and rainy, while I clean up the kitchen.

DRUG STORES OF YESTERYEAR

I mentioned in my last entry about going to Moon's Drugstore for a coke after the movie. What a great hangout that was! In fact, almost all drugstores back then were great places to gather for a snack or even a meal. Each one had a “soda fountain” where we could order all kinds of goodies.

These soda fountains were really just chrome and formica bars with swiveling stools lined up in front. Behind the counters were one or two soda jerks, dishing up ice cream sundaes, milk shakes, brown cows (cokes with vanilla ice cream in it), and of course, the sodas in different flavors. By soda, I don’t mean that “Yankee” (anything outside of the South is judged to be Yankee) term that is used today to describe soft drinks. A soda was made by taking a tall stemmed glass, mixing a flavored syrup with carbonated water, and adding ice cream. A spoon AND a straw were required to consume it. I never cared for them myself, but some people swore by them.

No, my favorite was either a chocolate coke if I were not very hungry or a chocolate nut sundae if I really wanted a treat. This was made with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and nuts, preferably pecans, sprinkled on top. No cherry, please! Many people thought a banana split was a huge treat, but I could never see mixing several fruits, ice cream, and chocolate. Whatever you ordered, it was made while you sat at the counter and watched. With the sundae came a long spoon to get to that delicious syrup that had slipped down to the bottom of the glass.

There were also tables or booths grouped around so that people could gather around and talk while they ate. There was a drugstore across the street from our church, (I think it was called Wilson’s) and every Sunday we would crowd in between Sunday school and church. Many times we were late to church, or if we were really daring, we didn’t go at all. My mother, sitting in her usual spot on the third row left, had an eagle eye, maybe even eyes in the back of her head, so I usually made it to the service.

Many drugstores served hot meals, also. I remember getting really good meat-and-threes at LaVoi’s in the Westgate shopping center as late as the sixties. And in most of them you could order a hamburger, grilled cheese, or other types of sandwiches. The genius was a soda jerk for LaVoi’s in high school for a while, but I’ve never known him to whip up a sandwich or even a milk shake since we’ve been married. I guess he forgot all he knew about cooking the moment he said, “I do.”

Those places were also great gathering spots for retired men. Foxhall’s on Harding Road had gray haired men in the back every time I went in there, especially in the mornings. I could hear them back there discussing the latest sports news and politics. And they may not have even been retired; maybe they were just hanging out before they went to work.

I miss all these old haunts. I suppose the fast food places with the quick service came in and took over. Or maybe the hassle of trying to live up to the standards of the food inspections got to be too much for the owners. Whatever the reason, there’s no comparison to the homey, slightly shoddy appearance of the drugstore dining area to the sterile atmosphere of the fast food restaurants of today. And what I wouldn’t give for one of those chocolate nut sundaes!!

THE HAPPINESS CLUB

When we were growing up, we lived about a mile from a movie theater, and we spent many enjoyable hours at that place. On Friday and Saturday nights there were great family movies, but when we were little it was Saturday afternoons to which we most looked forward. That was when the Happiness Club took place.

Every kid in the neighborhood gathered at the Belle Meade Theater for an afternoon of entertainment. The show cost a quarter for adults, twelve cents for children under thirteen. But there were usually not that many adults in attendance (I can’t ever remember our parents attending). For the most part, we children were well behaved because there were other adults there in control. Mr. Jordan, the manager, ran a pretty tight ship and had a gang of ushers to see that there were no disturbances. So usually, peace and calm were the norm.

First on the agenda was a live performance by a local artist: a dancer, magician, or a singer, etc. I remember hearing Pat Boone singing there once and his brother Nick a few years later. Then they gave away prizes by drawing the ticket stubs out of a hat and calling the numbers; the only thing I ever won was a box of cookies, and I was thrilled. Finally, after several items were given away, the lights would dim and we would get ready to watch.

First on the agenda was the news reel of the week. We children weren’t all that interested in the latest news bulletins, but we were pretty patient until the cartoons. Then we were delighted by Tom and Jerry, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, or Tweedy Bird and the Putty Tat. We next got to see the previews of the upcoming movies. This brought on an added anticipation because not only could we get excited about the future movies, we knew the feature of the day was eminent.

And finally, the motion picture of the day would be shown. It was almost always a Western. It might be Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy, or another cowboy favorite, and it really didn’t matter to us; we loved them all. Most of us sat enrapt until the credits came on.

Then we went next door to Moon Drug Store for a Coke or something equally as nourishing. When our parents arrived, they were content because they had had a nice quiet afternoon, and we were in high spirits from our afternoon of fun. The Happiness Club made everyone happy.

TWO SCARY MOMENTS

There are two scary moments in a woman’s life: 1) When she realizes she is becoming her mother, and 2) When she sees that her daughters are just like she is. Then there is this terrible feeling that nothing in life is going to change.

I think I first began to understand how much like Mother I was when I cooked. I liked to fix a pot roast (that tasted suspiciously like hers) on Sunday and have it when we got home from church. And I fixed the same vegetables to go with it. Then the next night I would have hash with the leftovers. Until the children were in college, I fixed a hot breakfast every morning just like Mother’s: homemade biscuits (her recipe) or toast, eggs, and bacon or sausage. (I stopped doing this when the children went to college because the genius rarely ate breakfast --- he was up and gone usually before 6:00.) And I made sure that we had three squares a day, until the kids discovered the Golden Arches. Then it was more of a battle.

There were other ways in which I was like my mother. I had a love for reading like she did and would get engrossed in a good book rather than watch television. She and I never cared that much for the small screen, but preferred to read instead. And on a Sunday afternoon after the noon meal, she would read the paper lying down on the sofa in our den and then drift off to sleep. We all knew to leave her alone and let her sleep --- all of us except Daddy, who would e-e-ease the door open to see if she was still asleep and of course, wake her up. I always take a nap on Sunday afternoon, and thank goodness, the genius doesn’t wake me up.

Mother had a passion for speaking the English language correctly and made sure we did also. I remember she used to be driven nearly crazy by the baseball announcer, Dizzy Dean, when he would say, “He slud into second base and was SAFE!” She would say, “Just listen to him, why in the world would they have him as an announcer?” I finally comprehended that I had REALLY become like her when I began teaching English grammar, and corrected 7th and 8th graders for 18 years.

And then there came the time when I understood that in many ways my daughters were becoming me. But they were doing it in different ways. Ashley was following in the way of the kitchen like I did. Every Christmas she fixes various kinds of candies and cakes just like I did when she was young (and just like my mother used to do, also). This Christmas she said she fixed sixteen different recipes of these sweets to give away. It was a family affair when I was a child, and continued to be so on through the three generations. The children are always involved in the process in some way.

Unfortunately, Ashley is also like me in her messiness. She’s getting better as she gets older, as I did, but it’s still there. And it also is with Brenda. It just doesn’t matter to us if our beds are unmade or there are clothes on the chairs. We are all alike in that it gets to us after a while and we do something about it. But then the process begins all over again.

Brenda and Ashley are both similar to me in that they have always enjoyed their children. They both spend a lot of time with their kids, playing games, cooking, watching certain TV shows, and just hanging out. I was the same, and as I’ve said before, had to do something drastic when they left home, like go back to school.

I’ve probably exaggerated a little when I say I became my mother and my daughters are becoming me, because we are all our own persons. But it is sometimes a little scary how alike we are, often without even realizing it. And then one day we have an epiphany --- but it’s comforting to know that hopefully, the good traits are being perpetuated.

LE CLUB

The people who know us well know that we belong to a club where we eat dinner and go to parties occasionally. But probably most people don’t know the history of this club.

When we were living away from home somewhere (I don’t remember where at the time), the genius’s mother wrote to tell us that she was in a musical made up of some Vanderbilt faculty members. She was very excited about the show and mentioned it was for the purpose of raising money for a club. And that’s about all I remember about it until we moved back here. Then she began inviting us family members to the club for special occasions, like birthdays, etc. It was a nice building erected right in the middle of the campus, and inside it had a big dining room plus other rooms for private affairs. There was also a very attractive lounge in which to meet for a drink and snacks. It was just for the purpose of eating (no golfing, swimming, etc.) and every weekday there was a hot lunch buffet for the members and their guests.

In order to belong, originally, a person had to teach or work at either Vanderbilt or Fisk University, and one other college, I can’t remember which one. Then it was expanded to include other college faculties, and eventually, for a higher fee, graduates of any of the universities in the Middle Tennessee area could join. Now even the higher fee has been eliminated, and everyone may become a member for the same fairly low cost. The genius joined when he was a faculty loan professor at Fisk while still working for IBM, so we have been members for many years. He has served a stint on the board and was even president for a year.

It has been a very nice experience belonging to the University Club of Nashville. The services have expanded to include a very reasonably priced bar menu or a more elaborate dinner in a private room set up for that purpose. There are many special affairs from parties at Christmas, Valentine’s, Easter, etc. to buffets before Vanderbilt athletic events. And any of the numerous rooms may be rented for private occasions, such as wedding receptions or rehearsal dinners. We have used the club for both.

We still attend quite a few of the special fetes, but what we enjoy the most is going to the bar and having a sandwich or an appetizer and visiting with other members. Sometimes we arrange to meet other couples, or we do as we did last night and just go to eat and talk to others. There were quite a few people there last night to watch the Vandy-UT basketball game on the big screen. They would have done better to go the women’s game a block away --- they won handily, while the men lost their away game.

Whatever the outcome, we just the enjoy the food and companionship and hope to continue for many years.

HALLOWEEN OF 1952

It was a year or two after the ’51 freeze and it was Halloween. I was in the eighth grade so was too old to dress up in a costume; some of my friends and I donned jeans and big old flannel shirts (probably our fathers’) and went trick or treating. That was the safe fifties and we didn’t need a chaperone. Those were great times, as I’ve said before from the safety standpoint. Anyway, after an enjoyable evening, I was back home and was in bed when the phone rang.

My room was pretty close to the phone (we only had one, of course --- remember those little niches in the hall wall that held the phone?), and I could tell by the voices that something momentous had occurred. I heard my mother say “Go look out the window; you can see it from here!” So I ran to the window and the sky was aglow; something big was on fire. It turned out to be our neighborhood high school. Some people dressed and drove over to look at it, but we were not one of those lucky ones. Mother and Daddy were not going to let us miss our sleep, nor did they want to miss theirs. So we had to be content to look at it the next day.

At that time MA was already away at college, but BJ was a junior at the high school. And I would be attending the next year. But what in the world would all the students do meanwhile? There was talk of dividing us up between other high schools (I include myself in the “us” because I was to attend there the following year). My future mother-in-law got on the phone immediately and lined up a private school for the genius in the event that he would be sent to another public school. Ironically, the private school is the same one where he teaches now. But another plan was worked out for us --- one that pleased everyone, especially the students.

A year or two before the fire an old girls’ school had closed and sold its property to the Baptist Convention who wished to start a coed college there. Because the college (Belmont, where I later obtained two degrees) was so new, there were plenty of empty buildings on their campus to make room for us to hold classes, etc. The campus was only a few miles closer into town, so it was not so inconvenient as to be out of the question. And it turned out to be a very workable solution to the problem.

So the next year I went to a high school on a college campus and what fun it was! Of course, we could get away with more mischief because we were not all in one building, and I’m sure that’s where I learned the bad habit of cutting classes and not getting caught. Knowing me, though, I would have figured out a way, multiple buildings or not; I did when we moved into our new high school. So, for one year I attended school in this fashion and the next year, in the fall of 1954, we moved into the building that is still used today.

There was a lot of speculation about how the fire started, especially since it happened on Halloween. But Mother, who was president of the PTA at the time and was usually in the “know” about events at the school, always maintained that it began with faulty wiring in a section that was being added to the school at the time. I guess there’s the possibility that she could have been sworn to secrecy not to tell that it was a “prank,” but I don’t know what would have been the purpose of that. I would think the police would have wanted to catch the arsonist, if that were the case. So it is my belief that it was an accident and exactly what the officials said it was.

However it started, we students enjoyed attending high school like we were college students.

JANUARY

Now that I have to be outside several times a day with Rufus, I have become keenly aware of the weather. Today is an example of Nashville winter weather that I don’t like: upper 30’s, very cloudy, damp. This combination means that the cold works its way beneath my several layers and goes to the bone. There are two things to be thankful for, however: It’s not raining nor is it windy. Those conditions are the worst of all.

We used to study a poem when I taught school that was entitled “January” by John Updike, and I’m sometimes reminded of a line in there during the winter months. “The sun (is) a spark from dark to dark.” I liked that poem a lot (the eighth graders couldn’t seem to get past the poet’s name and would keep giggling about it). When the sun does shine in January, it does not seem much more than a spark to me during the very short days.

It was in January almost sixty years ago that Nashville experienced its worst ice and snow storm in recorded history. Anyone living here in the fifties remembers the blizzard of ’51, and we’ve never experienced anything like it since. If you mention it to someone who was here, everyone has his/her own story to tell about it.

It all began on a day much like today, but it began to rain. That lasted through part of the night, giving everything a good soaking. Then the temperature began to drop very quickly, and the rain turned to sleet and snow. By the next day the power lines, trees, bushes, roof tops, anything exposed were covered with a thick coating of ice. It was a beautiful scene; many people made pictures of the trees, especially. To make matters worse, though, the snow continued and weighed everything down even more.

Then the problems began. Lines snapped or trees fell across and broke them, and almost everyone in the city was without power. What’s more, no one could go anywhere; the city transit system completely shut down. At our house we had a coal furnace dependent on an electric stoker to feed it periodically, and I remember that Daddy had to go regularly to the basement to shovel coal into it by hand. We also had a wood burning fireplace (to my knowledge, no one had any other kind back then), and Mother cooked our meals over the fire. I remember her propping her big iron skillet over the fire and cooking bacon and eggs. She even made toast in that pan. One family across the street had a gas stove, so the neighbors took turns in the morning fixing their own coffee on the neighbors' burners.

All in all, it was a delightful experience for us girls. I was only eleven years old, BJ was 14, and MA 17. MA had gone to a slumber party at a friend’s house about five miles away, and was stuck there for several days. She eventually bundled up and walked the entire distance home, even turning down a policeman’s offer of a ride on the way. She was quite proud of herself for that feat.

It snowed several inches more, and the temperature stayed well below freezing. It set a record one of the first nights when it dropped to -13 degrees.

The best part of all was that we were out of school for three weeks. Nashville has lots of good sledding hills, and there was not the snow-removing equipment of today, so the streets stayed nice and slick for a long time. A house was being built down the street and the builders had dug out the basement, leaving a huge mound of dirt in the yard. When the snow and ice came, that small mountain was a terrific place to sled. When we tired of that, we could walk a few blocks and find another hill. I remember starting on a hill in the street, crossing another street, and going on down a driveway into someone’s backyard. One of us would always stand watch at the street crossing for cars, but there was almost non existent traffic. The town was practically paralyzed.

Then an amazing event occurred. When the main roads began to be cleared, people took to the streets to see what had happened. The worst traffic jam in Nashville’s history took place, with cars completely stopped on the roads leading into town, and some lined up for five miles.

I don’t recall how many days Daddy was home from work, but I seem to remember he made it out after about two or three days. We didn’t have a food shortage at home, but then Mother always kept plenty of groceries on hand.

We girls had a ball, loving every minute of the carefree days of sledding and playing in the snow. We did have to attend school into the month of June to make up the missed days, but we didn’t mind. We, like most of Nashville, will remember the “Great Blizzard” with fondness.

SO NOW WE HAVE RUFUS

There are several reasons why we bought Rufus, but the primary one was that I wanted some company at home after I retired. With the genius still working full time, I didn’t want to be too lonely all day while he was gone. After all, I had not really had that experience since we first married. From the time that Ashley was born, eighteen months to the day after we married, either I was raising the kids, going to school, or teaching. So I wanted a “baby” to keep me happy.

The thing about Rufus is that he’s not a dog. Now hear me out (or read me out) on this before you judge me to be completely over the top. There is a rationale to what I’m saying. Number one, he doesn’t shed like a dog. I have never found any hair on the furniture or my clothes or the car. Number two, he doesn’t smell like a dog. Even when he needs a bath, the odor is not unpleasant and it’s never a dog odor. And Number three, he doesn’t look like a dog. When my friend, Felix, first saw him he said, “That’s not a dog; that’s a stuffed animal!” So I maintain that he is at least part human.

He also understands what I’m saying. This morning I told him that Jesse (Jim’s dog) was coming for a visit and he promptly got onto his perch on the back of the sofa where he can see everything outside to await her arrival. He stayed right there for thirty minutes until she got here. And then of course, he went wild, jumping down and running around and crying pitifully until she came in the door. Then he was ecstatic. Jesse was excited too, but much more ladylike about it.

I compare having Rufus in the bed next to me to the time when the children were babies. For the middle of the night feeding I always put them in bed with me and we would both doze for a while before I put them back in their own beds. Oh, I know, everyone told me that was dangerous, that I could roll over on them and smother them. They said the same to me about Rufus, but I never smothered the babies and I’m not going to hurt Rufus either; he’s a part of my sleep time now.

And the last reason that I know he is part human is because of his name. He is named after the genius and that’s bound to make him a very smart little man.

AND THEN THERE WAS FLOPPY

After Snoopy died, we decided that Puddy needed a companion, so we headed back to the Shelter to find another dog. Brenda picked this one out --- a short haired black puppy that was mostly belly. When we brought him home and put him on a pillow in the den, he would just flop off; his belly pulled him back onto the floor. Thus the name “Floppy.” It was a very appropriate one because his ears were long and bouncy, and he was just so uncoordinated when he walked or ran.

Floppy fit right into the pen life, but he soon outgrew Puddy and eventually became a medium sized large dog, if that makes sense. He was about as big as a black lab. Because of his size, he was worrisome to Puddy, so we often brought her in just to give her a break from his awkward ways. He had a funny way of running --- looking at him from the back, you could see his back legs off to one side and his front legs were straight. We called it the “side winder run.”

And Floppy was not very bright; in fact, he seemed downright retarded at times. But could he eat!! Anything edible put in front of him was soon sucked up like a live vacuum cleaner. I don’t remember his turning his nose up at any food; he even ate broccoli! And he cleaned up any crumbs spilled on the kitchen floor. The only problem with bringing him inside was that he was like the proverbial bull in a china shop. He wasn’t used to being inside and nothing was safe from his waggy tail or floppy body.

Floppy lived to be pretty old, and one day he just ran off and didn’t come back. I looked around the neighborhood for him, but to no avail. It was kind of a strange feeling for us to lose a dog this way with no closure. But we decided that we would get no more dogs. By that time the kids were gone, and we didn’t feel the need or desire to have another.

A post script to this blog on pets is at least a mention of the cats we had. There were several; probably the longest lasting one was a white female who had at least two litters before we had her fixed. The kids liked the cats, but the genius did not, so they mostly stayed in the garage or ran under the house, if they needed to stay safe. There was another big white one from one of the litters, a male with blue eyes, who was deaf. We kept him, and he was a very loving cat. They all had names like “snowball” or “fluffy” but we called all of them “Kitty” when we wanted them to come to us.

So that was the extent of the pets we had while the kids were growing up. Of course, none of them was as pampered as Rufus is now, (I wouldn’t have dreamed of letting one of the dogs, even Puddy, sleep with us). But we enjoyed having them as a part of lives, and we gave them a good home.

As our preacher said not long ago, “I don’t know about your pets, but my dogs are going to heaven.” I agree wholeheartedly!!!

DOG NUMBER TWO

One day a few years after we got Snoopy, I had taken the children for their piano lessons. As we were leaving, a woman came up to us carrying a mangy little red and white puppy. When I say mangy, I mean literally --- she had spots of mange all over her little body. This woman was trying to get someone to carry it to the Humane Shelter, and good Samaritan that I was, I agreed to do it.

So I took that sickly looking thing in the car with us, wondering what diseases I was exposing the children to. When I got to the shelter, it was closed (unbeknownst to me, Mondays were always their day off). So I told the kids we would take it home to keep over night. You can guess what happened. We became attached to that little puppy and instead of taking her to the shelter the next day, we took her to the vet. And that was the beginning of our relationship with Puddy --- she was by far the family’s favorite pet of all time, (until Rufus, of course).

Puddy was essentially an outside dog like Snoopy. The two of them shared the fenced-in yard both at the Haverford and Chickering houses, but we also brought her in a lot to enjoy her. She loved being around all of us, and because she was a small dog, she was aptly named --- she looked like a “puddy dog” all of her life.

When we moved to Chickering, we had a big chain link fence installed around the small barn that was already there, and both dogs enjoyed the freedom of running around, plus they had shelter in inclement weather. When we wanted to bring Puddy in, one of us would stand at the back door and someone would open the gate. Here she came, flying to greet us in the house. We never put her on a leash because we didn’t need to. She always wanted to come in, so just opening the gate worked most of the time. One time it didn’t, and she paid for it.

There was a big Saint Bernard named Santana, who lived a few doors down who would wander into the yard every now and then to fight with our dogs through the fence. Snoopy and Puddy on one side of the fence would snarl and bark frantically while running back and forth, and Santana would be on the other side doing the same. One snowy day, the genius came home early from work and went straight out to the fence to let Puddy into the house. As he opened the gate, Santana appeared and the genius shouted, “Run, Puddy!” She ran, all right --- straight to Santana to fight. Of course, it was no contest, and we were horrified as we watched the genius in his IBM uniform (three piece pin striped suit, white button down collar with tie, twelve pound wing tipped shoes) rolling around in the snow getting Santana off of Puddy. We were all out there by that time getting Puddy and running with her to the house. She received a bite or two, nothing serious, but we were all a wreck.

We never trusted her to be out like that again --- she just thought she could beat up anyone, no matter what the size.

We didn’t have Puddy spayed, for some reason, and every now and then she would go into heat. We would bring her in and keep her for a few days while several dogs hung around outside. One time we decided to mate her with a little neighborhood dog that we named “Parva Dog” (pronounced parwa, Ashley told us it meant “small” in Latin). So they spent a night or two together, but it didn’t “take.” There would be no little puddy dogs to come later.

Puddy lived to be seventeen years old, and finally became so weak that we had to send her to her final rest. Snoopy had already been the same route some years earlier, and both times we all shed tears over their departures.

We buried both of them deep in the fenced-in area where they spent so much time, but we will never forget them, especially Puddy. I can look up from this chair and see Puddy above our fireplace in the living room along with the three children, immortalized in a portrait we had done when the children were grown and just leaving the nest. Of all of the subjects, I believe the artist captured Puddy’s expression the best.

THE FIRST PET

Right after we moved into our first little house with that fenced-in back yard, we realized that the only thing we lacked was a dog. Every child needs a dog, right? So it was off to the Humane Shelter to pick one out.

The children were really too young to choose one, (Ashley was 3½, Jim was 1½), so we picked out a reddish brown shepherd mix female. I’m sure the children must have named it; surely we wouldn’t have named our dog “Snoopy,” but that was the name someone picked out. So we took Snoopy home to raise.

All went well with her. Once she got big enough, she could stay outside except on the coldest nights. And she was well behaved enough that we didn’t have to keep her penned up all the time. Most of the dogs in the neighborhood ran free; I don’t think we even had leash laws back then.

Then Snoopy went into heat. Every dog from miles around came to visit, but it was Fang, the boxer mix a few doors up, who won out. They spent the night together (one of the sisters, I can’t remember which one, said it was like she was a prostitute). Sometime during the next morning I came outside and Fang and Snoopy were “stuck together.” Snoopy was whimpering, and I panicked, ran inside, and called the genius. “What do I do?” I wailed. The genius said, “Call the fire department!” (Why neither one of us thought to call the vet I don’t know). But call the fire department I did. They were very nice and said to try turning the hose on them!! When I went back outside to try this tactic, they were apart. So I don’t know what would have been the result of that.

I do know the result of the other – in due time we had eleven puppies, eight of which survived. What a mess that was with all of that going on in the garage and me just barely home from the hospital having a new baby, Brenda, myself. At least Snoopy and I could empathize with each other.

We were able to find homes for all the puppies, but meanwhile, Snoopy’s personality changed. She had become very protective of us and our property. The first inkling we had was when we received a telephone call one night from a neighbor up the street who complained that Snoopy had bitten him on the leg while he was jogging by our house. From that time on we kept her in the fence in the back yard, and no one but our children were allowed inside. We had a pretty good sized crawl space under the house and that’s where Snoopy stayed in really hot or cold weather. So it was a pretty good arrangement.

One day, however, two neighborhood boys were playing on the carport and one of them, Harry, told the other one, Al, that Snoopy was shut up and it was ok to climb over the fence. So over the fence Al went. As soon as Snoopy got wind that something was up, she shot out from under the house and before Al could get back over the fence, bit him in the abdomen. I was gone at the time, but when I returned and learned what had happened, I called Al’s father and talked to him. Of course, Snoopy was caught up on his shots, so Al’s father was not in the least perturbed. His take on the event was that Al shouldn’t have crawled over the fence anyway when no one was at home. (That attitude is surely different from today.)

Not long ago the genius and I were seated in our favorite restaurant that Al now happens to own and he came up to the table to ask if everything was all right. Out of the blue I asked him if he had a scar on his stomach, and I thought the genius would fall right out of his chair. (He had forgotten about the incident.) Al knew right away what I was talking about and he laughed and said, “You must be the owners of that dog that bit me.” There were no hard feelings at all.

As it turned out, he DOES still have a scar. But, thank goodness, he didn’t show it to us.

BILL AND JIM IV

I have mentioned before about Jim’s being a tennis prodigy when he was little. When he began at 6 years old to bat the ball around, there were not many boys his age who played, so he usually sought games with older boys. In fact, he hung around Sequoia all day, picking up games with anyone he could, teenagers or adults. So it was very nice to discover another tennis player his age who lived only a few blocks away.

Bill is the son of friends we knew in high school; in fact, I had gone to elementary school and church with Anne, his mother, and we had been in the same high school sorority. So we had some pretty close ties. Somehow Bill and Jim got together and when they were nine years old, began playing doubles together. That was the beginning of a long, enjoyable relationship between the two families.

One of the parents would take turns taking them to tournaments, and there were many of those all over the South. Or sometimes Anne and I would go and take all of the children (eight between us). I remember going once to a tourney in Clarksville, about 60 miles away, planning to spend the day and then return home each night. This particular time rain delayed the schedule and we ended up having to grab what motel we could, run to K Mart and buy toothbrushes and something to sleep in, and be ready the next morning to play at 8:00. (And what do you do in a small town with eight children and rain --- you go to the bowling alley and spend the day!)

Jim and Bill were very successful as a doubles team (singles, also); therefore, we often had to remain for the duration of the tournament. We sometimes made family vacations of them, but found that didn’t work too well; the competitive nature of the tournament made it hard to relax. So mostly we just went to the tournament to play and watch.

When the genius took the two boys to tournaments, he had a sleeping rule: he would sleep on the floor and give each boy a bed until one of them lost. Then he got the bed. And the loser got the floor. That gave the boys a little more incentive to stay in there.

Once when Jim and Bill were about twelve, I drove them over to Knoxville. At that time I was mortally afraid of heights, and unbeknownst to me beforehand, we had to pass over some mountains. The boys knew I was scared and made it worse, by ooooing and ahhhhing each time we came to a drop off. By the time I got over those mountains and into Knoxville, all I could think about was, “How am I going to drive home?” I was one nervous wreck.

They did well in the tournament, as usual. By this time they had played so much tennis and had gotten so adept at the game that the doubles matches went on forever because they would both stand at the baseline and get every ball back over the net. Many of the points consisted of the ball going over the net 40 or 50 times before someone would make an error. These matches made me edgy enough, but then I would think about the ride home and get almost sick. Bill’s father, Walter, bless his heart, flew over for the finals and drove me back home. I was extremely grateful.

(I am happy to say now that I no longer have that fear, and for THAT, I am extremely grateful. Now when I ride to Knoxville, I wonder why in the world I was so upset. Since that time I have been to the top of the World Trade Center, Empire State Building, the Washington Monument, and twice to the Grand Canyon.)

Bill and Jim had a great time growing up together on the courts. They played doubles all through high school, winning many state titles, and topping it off with the Tennessee high school championship when they were juniors. They went to different colleges, so that was essentially the end of a great team, but they remain good friends to this day.

HOUSES FOR SALE

One Sunday after church, the genius and I were riding through the old neighborhood when I noticed that our house on Haverford was for sale and had an open house that afternoon. I quickly made plans to go back and see our first little house in Nashville. As I stepped into the same little entry hall, I was totally unprepared for the changes that had been wrought over the years.

To the left was the living dining room, but it was much bigger. A wall had been knocked out between the living room and small den that we had made from the garage when we lived there, creating one large room. Behind the entry hall, the small kitchen had been made much bigger by knocking out the wall between it and a bedroom. Behind the kitchen a huge den with a fireplace had been added with stairs leading up at the side of the room to three bedrooms and two baths upstairs. A huge master suite had been added to the rear of the den on the other side. And two of the original bedrooms were still there, but they looked much smaller than I remembered. I was told that the additions occurred at several different times, and that many of the visitors that day to the open house had been former owners of the house. It was very interesting to see all the changes (also the price, which was $468,000.)

The very same thing happened to the house on Chickering Lane. Someone moved in and knocked out walls and added on to that house, also. I went back a couple of years ago when it was up for sale again. Walls had been removed between the living room and den and also the kitchen and dining room. The double garage was converted into a huge den with a new laundry room and bath attached. Then off the back of the study a master suite was added. Outside a beautiful new patio was built for outside entertaining, plus a carport-storage area. The upstairs was still the same, but lots of money had gone into the renovation of that house. They were asking almost $700,000 for it then, but with Nashville real estate prices the way they are now, I’m sure it’s at least a million if they decided to sell today.

So that’s the story of our lives with houses. We seem to be able to buy houses with lots of potential, but frankly, the genius and I have never been into renovating or even building from scratch. We’re just happy to find what we like and stay there and let someone else do the work.

BUYING HOUSES

The first house we ever purchased was a little house in West Meade on Haverford Drive. (I always like that name for a street.) Jim had just been offered a job with IBM and we were happy to be back in Nashville after living at fourteen different locations in five years.

At that time we had only two little ones, Ashley and Jim, so the house we bought was small - - - three bedrooms and one bath. The lot was great, filled with flowers and shrubs that bloomed every year. And there was a fenced-in yard in the back. The cost was $14,500; our payments were a little over $100 per month.

We lived in that house for several years until we realized we had outgrown it. Brenda had arrived and getting kids ready for school with one bathroom was not easy. So we began to hunt for something a little bigger.

A time or two we found something acceptable, but others were there ahead of us with offers. So I told Carolyn Warden, who had gone into real estate, that if a house along a certain stretch of Chickering Lane ever came up for sale, we would be interested. There were six or seven houses on the same side of that street that were near to the entrance of the Sequoia Club, our swim and tennis club, where we hung out almost daily in the summer. It had two large pools, 2 wading pools for little ones, a playground, a basketball court, and 8 tennis courts. The side that bordered the adjacent yards was all grown up with bushes and trees, so that it was a very private place to swim and play tennis.

One day Carolyn called me and said that one of the houses was going on the market on Sunday and we could see it on Saturday if we wished. So I first played tennis, then got in the car and drove the five houses up from Sequoia and went in to see the house. It was a two story house on two acres that sat down in a valley and had a huge back yard. In fact, there was a small A-frame barn out back with an electric fence around half of the back property where they kept 2 horses. A little creek ran through this part. The inside had a living room, large dining room, eat-in kitchen, ½ bath, den, and a study with a fireplace. Upstairs were four nice bedrooms and two baths. I took one look and said to myself that we would never be able to afford it. It was priced about $10,000 over the range we were looking for.

But we knew it was perfect for us, and we made an offer of $56,500 that was accepted! We were on our way to the house of our dreams. And amazingly, we made a discovery about the back yard - - - after we cleared the back fence, we discovered that our property backed up to the eight tennis courts! How convenient was that for a family so involved in the game? Our house was closer to the courts than the Sequoia parking lot was. (Of course, others discovered that too and we had many people over the years use our driveway in which to park.)

We lived there for 23 years and would be there today if it were not for the maintenance of all that land. It just got to be too much for us. But, it was a great place to raise our children and we enjoyed every minute.

Both the Haverford and Chickering houses have changed drastically, but that’s a story for another day.

OUR HONEYMOON

Speaking of trips, I’m reminded of the first trip the genius and I took together: our honeymoon. Somewhere we had heard that Panama City Beach would be a good place to go and not too expensive, so we set out after the wedding for that spot as our eventual destination. People rarely made reservations in those days; heck, we never called long distance unless it was an emergency. So we would just take pot luck when we got there.

We got married on a Saturday night in June in 1960, so after the reception our goal was to make it out of town and then stop at the first motel we could. My father had recommended the James K. Polk in Columbia, about an hour south of Nashville, and since they had an opening, we stayed there. (The James K. Polk Motel is still advertised on the interstate, so I guess it’s up and running after all these years.) Of course we were both exhausted because of all the parties, etc. that had been held for weeks beforehand, so we slept fairly late the next day. Then we set out again on U. S. Route 31. (There were no interstates in those days.)

About three o’clock in the afternoon we stopped at Montgomery, AL. I have really laughed about that because by interstate, that’s about a 4 ½ drive from Nashville. But we stopped and checked into another Mom and Pop motel. I do remember that the genius introduced me to fried clams at Howard Johnson’s that night, a dish I have loved ever since. The next morning it was on to Panama City Beach.

I think of that city today and the way it was back then and marvel. First of all, there was a definite difference between Panama City and Panama City Beach. They were separated by what seems to me now about 10 miles. And we had to drive off of the highway to get to the beach part where the motels were. And there were only three!! The genius looked at the motels, then at the Gulf with its calm surf, and quickly decided this place would be no fun. (Ironically, the Florida Panhandle on the Gulf is the only place we have gone for the last 25 years. We rarely ever go to the Atlantic coast.) So we decided to drive across the state to Jacksonville. That night was spent in Mexico Beach in a motel that smelled of bug spray and the next day started out for the East Coast.

I remember that those roads in Florida were flat and straight and we drove 90-95 miles an hour on them in our eight-cylinder Plymouth Fury. And thought nothing of it!!! I can’t believe how foolish we were. But we reached Jacksonville that afternoon and secured a room in another mom and pop place right on the beach. For the remainder of the week we had a ball, playing in the waves and eating great seafood.

Then it was back to Nashville to pack up for Jim’s job for Chicago Bridge and Iron Company. We had to go to Birmingham to get his first assignment. I do remember having trouble finding a place to stay and finally ended up in an old hotel downtown. One motel we looked at consisted of a group of large teepees; a clever idea, but they didn’t look clean so we didn’t stay there.

The next day the genius returned from meeting the company executives with a grin on his face: our assignment for the next three months would be - - - Jacksonville, Florida!!

NEW ORLEANS REVISITED, ETC.

The next time we went to New Orleans we had a different arrangement for getting there. BJ and Jerry had liked the luxury van so much that they bought one for themselves, so that became our mode of transportation for several trips. The summer we were going back to the Crescent City, however, BJ and Jerry combined the New Orleans visit with a train trip around the country. The plan was this: MA, Chun, the genius and I would drive the van to the Dauphine Hotel and BJ and Jerry would ride the Amtrak and meet us there. So once again we set out for the Big Easy.

We got to the Dauphine about 5:00 and settled in. The hotel had the neatest little bar that was somewhat set off by itself and opened onto the street. And they always offered the guests a round of free drinks. We decided to wait there for BJ and Jerry’s call when they arrived about 7:00 at the train station five blocks away. The plan was for one of the men to drive the five blocks so they wouldn’t have to drag the luggage that far.

Right on time, the call came through - - - they had arrived and were ready to be picked up. By that time, there was no way ANY of us was going to leave the bar, much less drive anywhere. So we laughingly told them to get a cab. At first they thought we were teasing, but they soon realized we were serious. And they were not too happy when they arrived and we were making merry in the bar. They had given us the loan of THEIR van, and we wouldn’t even drive it five blocks to collect them. A free glass of wine soon calmed them down, though.

If any of us had thought about it ahead of time, we would have realized that happy hour was not to be denied, especially when it began with free drinks.

We were all a little wild in those days. We had behaved ourselves all through our children’s growing up days, and we were at the stage in our lives when we were ready to kick up our heels a little. On one trip to Vicksburg, MS, we made reservations at an old plantation home for dinner. They seated us in the original dining room of the house and closed the doors. So we had a very private location, and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Too much, in fact --- the manager had to come in twice and tell us we were making too much noise. After dinner, while the men were settling the bill, MA and BJ disappeared. I started looking around that old house for them and finally spotted them coming out of one of the rooms upstairs. The fact that there was a rope across the bottom of the stairs hadn’t deterred them a bit. They had taken their own tour of the house.

We have settled down now. No more trips together and not much wine drinking. But we surely have a lot of good memories.

NEW ORLEANS TRIPS

When the sisters were here, we reminisced about some of our trips that we took over the years. The first two were to New Orleans probably about twenty years ago. It was a favorite place for all of us to visit so what better city than that?

First of all, we borrowed a luxury van from Jerry’s brother so that we could all travel together in comfort. He told Jerry that there should be no drinking, no smoking, and no cussing in his van. All of us nonsmokers said, “Well, at least we can keep one out of three.” We started out on our trip early one morning in July.

We entertained ourselves part of the way by listening to Lewis Grizzard tapes. I remember one particular part of the tape where he talked about servers in restaurants. He told about going into a place to eat and a waiter sashayed up to him and said, “Hello, my name is Keith.” Lewis said, “What am I supposed to say to that? ‘Hi, my name is Lewis’”? We all laughed at that and other jokes he told throughout.

About five o’clock we were about an hour from New Orleans, and BJ took over the driving. She was the only female who knew how to drive the van, and the men were tired of driving. Besides, they were ready for happy hour. So we broke out the wine and chips and dip and started in. We set the onion dip on a little table that had miraculously appeared from somewhere, and it wasn’t two seconds later that BJ went around a sharp curve. That dip flew off the table and landed upside down on the spotless carpet--- but luckily, no wine spilled. That would have been disastrous!

BJ somehow made it into the city and kept asking us for help in directions to reach our hotel. By that time, no one could help her – we were way too jolly. I don’t know how we ever made it to the Dauphine Hotel in the French Quarter, but she got us there.

The next morning we had reservations at Brennan’s, the famous breakfast restaurant, at 9 o’clock. So we got up and dressed and walked over, arriving right on time. We were ushered in and seated at a great table overlooking the inner courtyard. Our waiter walks up, begins to pour the water, and says, “Hello, my name is Keith. I’m going to be your waiter this morning.” Can you just imagine the looks on our faces? And how we reacted? I’m happy to say that actually we exercised great self control, but we surely have laughed over it many times since.

The second trip was every bit as enjoyable as the first, but that’s for another day.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

The sisters and I plus spouses had another great New Year’s celebration this year. We tried to figure out how many years we have been doing this, but the best estimate we could come up with was over twenty years.

We don’t even remember the first one, but we do know where it was: Fairfield Glade, TN. MA and Chun (her husband) had bought a share of a two bedroom condo and we decided to spend New Year’s Eve there and go to one of the country clubs for a party. We packed our party outfits and away we went. At that time all of us were living in or near Nashville and we drove the two hours to the “Glade.”

Every year we swapped out on who got the 2 bedrooms and who had to sleep downstairs on the pull out sofa. Eventually, the genius and I ended up down there all the time because he gets up so early. He would pull the mattress out of the sofa and put it on the floor while I took the cushions and made my bed right next to it. The only drawback to this arrangement was that we couldn’t go to bed until everyone else did and I had to get up early, something I am averse to.

And we did stay up late, too. We had some great times at the country club dances, eating fabulous meals, dancing usually to forties and fifties music, and in general just making merry for hours. At midnight the champagne was brought out, the silly hats donned, the confetti was thrown, and the kissing began. I don’t remember what year we began to slow down, but at some point we stopped going to the club and we began to eat out and then go back to MA and Chun’s and bring in the New Year at their house. (By that time the two of them had moved up there for good and built a house. BJ and Jerry actually moved there also, but they have since moved back to Hendersonville.)

I remember when we saw the new millennium in up there in 2000. We had all been worried about the Y2K effect, and at midnight all the lights went out. I do recall being a little scared, but they soon came back on. Chun had sneaked out to the garage and turned the main switch off.

By that time we had begun to play games or listen to Lewis Grizzard tapes to pass the time until 12 o’clock. I don’t know when we began to go to bed before midnight. I think one time we saw the ball drop at Times Square at 11:00 and decided we could go ahead and retire for the night on Eastern time.

This year was no exception. The genius had a cold and went upstairs early (9:00). The rest of us did make it until almost 12:00 and then called it a night. By the time we were snuggled in bed, the fireworks began outside. We are just old fogies and not ashamed to admit it!

Another big part of our 2-3 day get together, which we now spend at a different house each year, is the New Year’s Day meal. About one o’clock we sit down to pork roast, turnip greens (which MA and Chun pick and freeze each summer), black eyed peas, sweet potato casserole, and cornbread. For dessert this year we had banana pudding. It is one of my all time favorite meals. This year everything was particularly good.

So we have celebrated another new year together and we look forward to many more. Next year, after a three year layoff, we will go back to the mountains at Fairfield.