MARCH ON INTO APRIL MADNESS

It’s the only time I watch college basketball consistently. I can really get into it, especially last year and the year before when the Gators had such a great team. This year is really special to me because both of my alma maters were in it: Belmont, where I actually received my degrees, and Memphis, where I fiddled around for a year and a half before throwing in the towel.

Memphis has always been strong in basketball. On at least one occasion I remember BJ as a cheerleader for them going to New York to cheer for the Tigers in the NIT. Back then that tourney was a bigger deal than it is today with all the hoopla now going to the NCAA. But I am very pleased that Memphis made it to the final four.

Belmont has also had a good program, but for years they were in the NAIA conference. I actually thought they had made a mistake joining the NCAA, but hey, what do I know? Now they are playing with the big boys and holding their own.

The state of Tennessee had five teams in the big dance this year: the two I have mentioned, UT, Vandy, and Austin Peay. And I understand that MTSU barely missed the cut. So, watch out, America, we're building power houses down here.

I am proud of both of my schools for their efforts. And of course, I will be pulling for Memphis to take the title.

CELEBRATION TIME

Yesterday was a BIG DAY in our household --- Friday, March 28, 2008, was the day that completed seven years of riding an indoor or outdoor bike for the genius. That represents 2557 straight days of riding through all kinds of adverse circumstances including surgeries, illnesses, back pain, my complaining, etc. And he averaged approximately twelve miles per day.

So of course that called for a celebration! But --- before we could begin to plan where we would eat out (the way we celebrate everything!), we had to wait to see if he got his miles in yesterday. Heaven forbid, the bike may have had a flat tire, or he might have fallen down the steps and broken a leg, or any catastrophe could have occurred.

So we dare not count the chickens until they hatched, or in this case, we couldn’t count the miles until they were over and done with. As soon as he finished, he went outside on campus in his gym clothes and called me, so we could plan the celebration. (I wish I had a picture to post of that!)

So we decided to go to Sperry’s, his favorite restaurant, at my treat. During the course of the evening he proceeded to undo all the physical benefits of the bike ride by eating a huge meal: clam chowder, salad with lots of dressing, bread with butter, halibut Oscar, and for dessert, bananas foster, all washed down with two glasses of merlot. He enjoyed it thoroughly.

As for me, I can agree with my nephew, Steve, when he said that Friday, March 28, 2008, marked seven years in which he did NOT ride a bike!

But, as the genius said this morning, “On to YEAR EIGHT!”

A TRIP TO THE DENTIST – OUCH!

This week I paid my dentist a visit in order to start the process of putting a new crown on one of my back teeth. I was hoping it would be an uncomplicated procedure that didn’t involve a lot of shots in my mouth, but my hopes were in vain.

The first clue I had was when he brought out the Q tip with the blue gel gobbed up on the end. Then I knew. After numbing the back corner of my mouth, he stuck what looked like a jack hammer with a needle on the end back there and began digging around. As soon as the solution started going in, I felt it all the way up my face. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, after emptying the first needle, he stuck another one in the gum on the front and back of the tooth.

Soon, every part of my face was paralyzed. I was even having trouble blinking my left eye, and the vision became blurred on that side. “At least,” I thought, “I won’t feel any pain when he starts work on the tooth.” WRONG!! I could feel the pain every time he touched the drill to it, but I didn’t want any more injections, so I kept quiet.

While all this torture was going on, I entertained myself by listening to his receptionist. She has the type of Southern accent that has a “y-u” in every other word (hel-yup, i-yut, we-yull --- just take out the “yu” to see what she was really saying). She even managed to make the word “pretty” into three syllables; it sounded something like pre-itty. I sat there fascinated. It reminded me of the time when Ashley once tried to buy a map in Alabama, and the girl couldn’t understand her because she didn’t say “ma-yup.”

Anyway, at last all the drilling and the plaster casting (the taste of that was awful!) were over and I was on my way home. I decided that a nap was in order so I could sleep off that deadening feeling. So that’s what I did. (I'll use any excuse to take a nap.)

When I awoke, the whole left side of my face, including my ear, was sore. Advil to the rescue!

SURVIVING WHILE Y’MOMMY WAS AWAY

Several people have asked me how Rufus and Jesse fared while Brenda and I were away on our vacation to New Mexico. Some really thoughtful people asked how the genius made out as well. Here’s the scoop.

In our upstairs hall, there is a greenhouse window in which I killed many plants before deciding to turn it into a window for colored glass. I have filled it from top to bottom with various sun catchers, bottles, stained glass panels, etc. The bottom shelf belongs to the dogs because it is such a good place to see down the street and driveway.

I mention this because the genius reported that Rufus made this spot his “home” on the day I left for the Wide West. He remained there almost the entire day waiting for me to return.

Then he settled down to his fate of being mommyless and lived a more or less normal life for the next nine days until I returned. One day the genius said that Rufus jumped up on my side of the bed and sniffed all around and then went out with his tail hanging down. When I accused him of exaggerating about the tail, the genius finally admitted, “Well, I know he felt like it, and besides, it makes a good story.”

I checked in with the genius several times a day to see how he was doing with the dogs. He was on his spring break and could stay home a good portion of the day with them. He was doing fine but did mention how much time they required. Of course, he admits that he made it hard on himself by taking them for walks much more often than I do just to take breaks from his work. So I don’t have a lot of compassion in that area.

However, I do very much appreciate his staying with them so I could take that wonderful trip. We could have taken the dogs, but it definitely would not have been the same.

About five minutes before I was to arrive, I called the genius so he could tell Rufus that I was on my way home. He said that for the remaining five minutes Rufus (and of course Jesse, too) ran from the upstairs lookout window to the front door, then to the back door and to the downstairs window. Over and over again. When I finally got here, he was at the front door waiting.

The welcoming ceremony (jumping all over me) lasted at least five minutes. Jesse was glad to see me, also, but I’m just another person to her; to Rufus, I’m his mommy and that makes all the difference.

MORE DRIVING ADVENTURES

Yesterday I promised to reveal my accident record. In traffic I have had two wrecks --- the first was when I was nineteen and had kept the family car in order to go to the doctor. It turned out that I had a temperature of about 102 degrees, and I seemed to move in slow motion. I was in the left lane, stopped, and wanted to pull into the right. When I looked, nothing was coming, but by the time I pulled into the lane, a car was there and I hit it. I don’t remember anything else except that my parents were very supportive.

The second one occurred about twenty years ago. I was in the right lane crossing a bridge downtown when an old man (uninsured, of course) suddenly cut over to see a pedestrian he knew on the sidewalk. Except I was in the way. That was not my fault, of course, and he eventually paid us some money to repair the car.

And that, my friends, is the extent of my “real” accidents.

I have received three citations in my life. The first was when I was in my early twenties and I didn’t come to a full stop at a stop sign. (That was in Belle Meade where they are famous for giving tickets to people who don’t live there.) The others were for driving cars (one was my mother’s) with expired Metro stickers on them. They didn’t go on my record at all because I quickly renewed them and paid a small fine.

However, lest you think I am a superb driver, let me quickly set the record straight. My biggest problem has been fender benders, usually in our own driveway! I remember the time when the back door of the car was open and I backed out bending it backwards around a pole. Then I later hit the same car that was parked behind the garage out of which I was backing. In fact, I have done that at least four times. Since that involves two cars in the same family, that is NOT good. Once I hit my son-in-law’s Mercedes and that was really not good. Those babies cost a lot to fix.

Oh well! I guess I will continue to drive until I can’t see, or my reactions slow down so much that I will be a menace on the road. Then I will get my oldest grandson, who has no respect for his elderly (I hate that word!) grandmother, to drive me wherever I want to go (see yesterday's comments). That will teach him to be more polite to me.

MY DRIVING ADVENTURES

Getting stopped by a trooper last week led me to think about my driving over the past 50 plus years. I myself think that I am a good driver, but I make other passengers in the car nervous. Therefore, when we drive anywhere, the genius almost always does the driving.

I am somewhat of a competitor on the road. The other day I had made it through Green Hills, a real bottleneck in our end of town, and was heading up the four lane hill on Hillsboro Road just before it narrows to two lanes. I chose to get in the left hand lane for two reasons: 1) that’s the fastest lane, and 2) it was behind a new looking Corvette (a pretty safe bet, I thought). Well, I was wrong about the Corvette --- it was going so slowly I couldn’t believe it! So I began talking to the driver (one of my habits). “OK, did you just drive that baby off the lot? What’s the matter with you? Show me your stuff!”

When I could see that he wasn’t going to go any faster, I pulled over and passed him in the right lane. And then I could see an opening! If I just get past this last car, I will be first on the two lane part. I made it and was able to go the speed limit of 50 mph almost the whole way until I got where I was heading.

Now why would I be so aggressive, and why do I care? I had all day and there was no hurry at all. That’s just the way I drive.

And deliver me from ever becoming one of those little old white-haired ladies who drive cars that look like big boats and go 25 miles an hour in a 40 mile speed zone. I will dye my hair forever to keep that from happening.

There are certain cars to avoid getting behind: the one mentioned above, the vans and SUVs driven by cell phone moms with or without a carload of kids, and big dump trucks that block any view and put out lots of exhaust. Safe bets are the men going through mid-life crises driving little sports cars and showing off for the younger women. (That’s why I was so disappointed in the Corvette --- he must not have been in his crisis yet.)

You would think that with my aggressive driving habits, I would have had plenty of wrecks. Not so, at least in traffic. But, I’ll talk about that tomorrow.

WRAP UP

The New Mexico vacation --- one I’ll never forget --- was truly one of the all time greatest!! On the way home Brenda asked me what I liked the best. I couldn’t name any one thing at first; the best way to do it, I thought, was to list all the highlights and see if anything came out on top.

First, was the Shamrock, Texas event staying at the Irish Inn in time to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Many of the townspeople make reservations at the hotel to stay there for the weekend so it was a big festivity that we just happened in on. Thank goodness for the noise maker we always carry to sleep by. Brenda really loved her early morning swim there in the heated pool.

Then there was the Santa Fe experience: the wonderful hotel we splurged on; the plaza with the vendors; the quaint architecture; the mass at the old church; the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum; the beautiful mountains; the excellent food, and on and on. One negative was the high altitude and my breathlessness, but that was minor.

Taos was not so great for me, but Brenda loved the shopping time for the kids. There were some cute, unusual shops, but I just never got into it. (Very atypical for me). The bridge over the gorge was truly magnificent, and I’m so sorry that the pictures didn’t turn out. And the drive to and from Taos was really the most scenic of the whole trip.

Then Truth or Consequences with all of its pampering hot springs and massages --- that was great also. And here I was able to do what I like doing every spring break: thaw out my body in the warm sun and replenish my depleted supply of endorphins. Brenda really enjoyed the springs (she is very much a water person, she says).

The last highlight was our stay with Margie and Steve and their lovely daughters. Brenda says I left something out of the description of our visit: it begins with happy and ends with hour, I think. It was all great, though, and we enjoyed that very much.

I can’t really call the police stop a highlight, but it was certainly memorable!

All in all, I can’t rank the high points. For me the best three were Santa Fe, T or C, and Tyler, Texas. I think Brenda would add Taos and make that four, but however we do it, this trip was one of the best!!!

DAY NINE

I woke up smelling coffee --- always a good feeling. So I quickly got my shower and dressed to go downstairs. However, we received a disturbing telephone call.

Brenda’s children had been vacationing in Florida with their father and it seems that he had had some sort of attack during the night and was in the emergency room in Fort Lauderdale. Long story short --- the doctors could find nothing wrong and sent him on his way. But we didn’t know if Brenda should fly down to help with the drive back. We decided to go ahead and leave and I could always drop Brenda at the Little Rock or Memphis airport, if necessary.

After a great send off breakfast of pigs in blankets, Margie plied us with Easter cakes and baskets of candy for each one of us as well as more pigs. So we started on the drive back.

All went well until we reach Texarkana. I was driving around a loop that circled the city and going through some construction (speed limit 45 mph). And there he was --- a motorcycle cop. I probably was doing at least 60, maybe more, so naturally, he pulled out behind me with flashing lights. He saunters up to the car and asks, “Is there an emergency?” (Probably what he asks everyone.)

And I said, “Well, kind of.”

He said after a pause, “I’m listening.”

So I explained the situation and he wrote me up a warning. I told him (and it’s the truth) “This is the first time I’ve ever been stopped for speeding.” Not that I don’t speed, it’s just that I’ve never been caught, but of course, I didn’t tell him that. Anyway, we went on our way, careful to keep the speed only nine miles over the limit from then on.

We pulled into our driveway about 7:30 ready to be overwhelmed by Rufus and Jesse as they greeted us. We were not disappointed.

DAY EIGHT

Brenda and I reached Steve and Margie’s beautiful house about 3:30. After a tour of the home, including the backyard where a knock-your-eyes-out swimming pool was being built, they drove us around the town to look at the lovely flowers that were in bloom. The azaleas were not quite in full bloom, but they still looked very lush and gorgeous to us. We came back and talked and got caught up on our news. They then took us out to a great dinner at a restaurant nearby.

We returned and talked and laughed a lot until their two beautiful daughters came in from University of Texas. I hadn’t seen Megan and Caitland for several years, but I knew by their pictures that they had grown into two lovely young women. But more importantly, they are very poised and personable; Brenda and I really enjoyed visiting with them.

In fact, we enjoyed the entire visit. Steve and Margie made us feel right at home and acted as if they were thrilled to have an aging aunt and an attractive cousin staying with them. We very much appreciated their hospitality.

After laughing a great deal, we retired for the night.

DAY SEVEN

We slept until eight this day and were packed and on the road by 9:30. We first stopped at a gift shop and bought T shirts with T or C on them. Mine has a map of New Mexico on the front with all the places we have visited. I feel like taking a permanent marker and circling all the spots we have hit.

Then we started south. Soon we reached Las Cruces and headed on over to El Paso. Not a whole lot to report except we could look across the river and see Mexico on the other side. The houses looked like little shanties clinging to the side of the hill all crowded together. But they were very colorful, so it wasn't an unattractive sight.

We covered a little less than half of this huge state and stopped in Sweetwater for the night.

Tomorrow we will head over to Tyler to spend the night with my nephew and his wife, Steve and Margie. We are really looking forward to seeing them and their two beautiful daughters.

DAY SIX

There’s really not a whole lot to report on this day. It was more of the same of T or C: massage for me, pedicure and haircut for Brenda, and hot springs for both of us. We also got plenty of that New Mexico hot sun. We also some more of those interesting people at the springs.

Then last night we ate at a great Mexican restaurant – way too much food.

We’ll be on the road for the trek across Texas tomorrow.

The hot springs overlooking the Rio Grande Brenda in the springs overlooking the river

DAY FIVE

This is really beautiful weather we are having. Every morning we get up FREEZING and then after we warm up La Casita, (means the little house), we are fine. I had forgotten about the difference in temperature in this part of the country. It gets so cold at night, and then the sun heats everything up and it is almost hot during the day. I’m not used to such a contrast.

I started my day yesterday with a hot cup of coffee that is served outside the office. While Brenda went for a walk, I relaxed. We went to a discount store, kind of a mini Walmart, and purchased a couple of large towels so we would have plenty to wrap up in after we came out of the springs. Then it was on to the water where we alternated between sun bathing and springs bathing in our own private pool.

I left Brenda to do that while I grabbed a bite of lunch and then went to my massage. I will have to say that it was the best I have ever had. I don’t know if it was the wonderful New Mexican atmosphere, or if I was just ready for it, or if the therapist was so good. Probably a combination of all three. But I felt great afterwards, so stress free and not a muscle was aching anywhere.

The rest of the day was spent reading and relaxing until dinner. We ate at another restaurant that was just so-so for me; Brenda enjoyed hers.

One thing I will have to add about New Mexico, especially T or C. The razor companies must not sell many supplies to the men here (or the women either for that matter), nor do the make-up people do very well. I’ve never seen so many lo-o-o-ng and unkempt gray beards (and hair, too). Some of the women have hair (lots of times gray) down to their waists. I think most of the 60’s hippies ended up in New Mexico.

It’s all very fascinating!

DAY FOUR

Yesterday Brenda and I got up, checked out of that marvelous room, and strolled down to see the Georgia O’Keefe Museum. On the way down to it, however, we encountered a number of sidewalk vendors. So we looked them over and decided to come back afterwards to make the final decision.

The museum was wonderful. Her paintings with her remarks beside them were fascinating and we both thoroughly enjoyed our visit. I bought a biography about her and am in the process of reading it now.

Then it was back to the vendors where we bought some jewelry and a box for my box collection at home. After driving by the oldest church in North America, we ate a fabulous Mexican meal and started south.

After the three hour drive, we checked into the Riverbend Inn, situated right on the Rio Grande. Our little cottage is not much to look at outside (below), but the inside is very Southwestern. It has two bedrooms, one of which is also the sitting area, a large eat-in kitchen, and a bath. (I would like to bring home the painted tile basin in the bathroom.)

Of course, we hit the hot mineral springs as soon as we were unpacked and they are spectacular. The picture below of the view doesn’t really do it justice, but we can look out over the water to the mountains opposite. It was very relaxing and already my back felt better.

We hate at a nice restaurant and came back to more hot springs.

I’m looking forward to a Swedish massage tomorrow!!

DAY THREE

What a great place this is! I’m sitting here in this luxurious bed with its hand painted headboard (see photo), dressed in one of the two soft robes provided for each room, overlooking the church with SNOW on its roof. It was in the 50’s yesterday, but seemed much colder because of the wind and today we wake up to snow on the roofs and a smattering on the grass. The streets looked untouched, thank goodness since we will be driving south today.

Yesterday we drove north to Taos after attending mass at the church pictured below. It was an interesting service, but I’m afraid my back wouldn’t let me be Roman Catholic for long. There was a lot of standing and kneeling to go along with the sitting and I was hurting by the time we got out. It’s still a little sore, but I’m sure the massage therapists in Truth or Consequences will get that out in no time.

There are lots of little unusual shops in Taos and of course, the art museums. And we had a great scenic drive up to it – all curvy roads with little traffic. The speed limit was mostly 35 or 45 so it took us two hours. We took a straighter road coming back, but it was neat too because it was right beside the Rio Grande most of the way.

And speaking of that river we drove eight miles outside of Taos to look at a bridge over a huge, deep gorge through which the river flowed. It was 650 feet deep and the bridge ran over it (you couldn’t even tell when we got there because the trusses are underneath the road). It was truly an awesome sight. The sad thing is that we thought we had gotten pictures but when we got back to the hotel, they weren’t on the camera. So that will just have to be in our memories. Brenda, the engineer, was very impressed with the bridge and braved the strong wind to walk out on it.

We got back to Santa Fe in time to eat a late supper, walk around a little, and crash. A great night’s sleep was had by both.

About noon we will head to T or C for three days of rest and relaxation, and maybe some day trips.

DAY TWO

Yesterday Brenda and I arrived in Santa Fe about 1:30. We drove straight to the downtown area and parked the car. Our plan was to get a bite to eat and call all the hotels around The Plaza (old town square) and try to get a place to stay. We wandered into La Fonda on the Plaza planning to eat at their restaurant and begin our calls. But the truth is we liked what we saw and promptly registered.

La Fonda means "the inn" and it’s the only hotel in New Mexico listed in the National Historic Hotels. The town dates back to 1607 (same as Jamestown) and La Fonda claims the site goes back to that time. The building we are in now was erected in 1925. Our room is really cool with interesting woodwork and art and a deep set window that overlooks an old church. We went into it (the church) yesterday and it is famous for a free standing circular stairway that has no visible means of support.

Brenda and I enjoyed bargaining with the sellers that had set up on the street. She bought stuff for the children, but the only thing I got was a handmade purse with lots of colors in it. Then we finished the day by eating a light dinner on a heated balcony overlooking the plaza. We enjoyed watching the people (there are some really strange ones – lots of aging hippies).

I am having a slight problem with the altitude. I had forgotten about that aspect of being 7000 feet high, but I get out of breath very easily and one glass of wine is all I can have.

Today we will attend a church service in one of the many old churches around and then perhaps journey up to Taos. It’s up to Brenda because I have already been. If we don’t go, we have plenty to do here.

Then tomorrow we will start out for Truth or Consequences for a three day stay at a place overlooking a river. Maybe the hot springs will help all my aches and pains.

NEW MEXICO VACATION

DAY ONE:

Brenda and I got on the road at 6:40 a.m. this morning and we drove and drove and drove!! We managed to cover three states and land in the fourth. All in all we clocked 864 miles and ended up in Shamrock, Texas.

People are usually surprised to hear that we pass through Texas on the way to New Mexico but we cut through only that top little part of the state that sticks up into Oklahoma.

The day was pretty uneventful – the weather was fine once we got about 100 miles out of Nashville. No more rain and most of it was sunshine. There was one kind of scary event in Oklahoma when we ran into what we thought at first was a dust storm. But the farther we went we realized it was smoke from wild fires off to the north of us. The wind was pretty strong and visibility was poor for a while (see photo below).

We came through all of that and finally stopped in Shamrock. We thought it appropriate that we stay in the Irish Inn in time to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

Tomorrow we head for Santa Fe and should reach there about 12:00 or 1:00 (in time for a good New Mexican meal). We gain an hour when we cross into the state so that helps.

ANTICIPATING

Brenda and I are getting very excited about our trip to New Mexico. I’ve been to AAA and gotten all the maps and tour guide books. Today I had the car washed and even had the leather cleaned inside so we could start fresh and sparkling. Part of the joy of traveling for me is the planning and anticipation. My father was this way and Brenda and I have inherited that gene.

We have decided to really be work horses the first day and try to get in 12-14 hours. But the neat thing about going with Brenda is we are so flexible that if one of us wants to stop earlier it will be ok with the other. If we do go that far, it will lighten the load for Saturday and we will reach Santa Fe earlier.

It’s tough to decide what clothes to take because NM has such varied weather. Up north where we are going first it looks pretty chilly, even snowy, but down in the southern part it’s warm. But we have plenty of room – we can just take all we want. What a difference from the way the family used to go, all packed to the hilt with everything.

At any rate, I really believe that Brenda and I will enjoy the ride, not just the getting there. Without waxing too poetic, isn’t that the way life should be? Shouldn’t we purposely seek to get pleasure from the journey as well as the destination? I can hear the family reading this now saying, “Good grief! She’s going to start teaching metaphors and similes next!”

As I mentioned before, I plan to make my blogs a travel journal and may even have pictures to share. The trick is to be able to get to the internet in order to put it on. So don’t give up on us.

FAMILY HISTORY

Jane asked me when I was visiting her mother the other day if I had a copy of the family history. My mother, the historian in the family, took it upon herself many years ago to research the Lauderdale genealogy, then mailed copies to all who were interested in this huge family of ours. What she came up with was pretty interesting.

First of all, our branch of the family dates directly back to James Lauderdale of Sumner County who was the brother of Major William Lauderdale. The members of this family were close friends of Andrew Jackson, whose plantation was across the river from theirs. It was William who built many forts across the South in his skirmishes with the Native Americans. The most famous one bears his name in South Florida. James Lauderdale was killed just prior to the War of 1812 in New Orleans in a battle with the British.

But to go back even further, these two brothers were descendents of the Earl of Lauderdale in Scotland. They landed first in Virginia and then moved into Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi. All three states have counties bearing the Lauderdale name. This branch of the family can be traced back to 1067, when the title was first bestowed, and moreover, the earldom exists to this day.

I have always been interested in Scottish history, and recently read a series of books about the Highlanders and their many battles with the English. The Highlanders eventually lost their battles and wars and many of them were forced to come to America where they settled in the mountains of North Carolina. The Earl of Lauderdale was a lowlander, however, and chose the winning side. Thus, the title and family castle still exist today in Lauder, Scotland. The family name is Maitland.

The family still resides in Thirlestane Castle (see photo) which is open to the public for tours. That would be great fun to visit it; maybe we could get a glimpse of our cousins!

MY COUSIN JANE

A few days ago I went to visit my 93 year old aunt Edna who is in Rehab after having fallen and broken her hip. She was looking very chipper, considering what she has been through, and I have no doubt that she will soon be back home again living in the same house she has lived in for over 50 years. I had a very nice visit with my cousin Jane, her daughter, and we had fun getting caught up with each other.

Jane is one of the 47 first cousins I have on my father’s side of the family, but she’s the only one who grew up with us in the same town. Her father and mine were brothers who were very close, and consequently, even though I was eight years older than Jane, we were close growing up. I can’t say enough good things about her now; however, there were times during our growing up years when we all wondered how she would turn out.

As Edna remarked the other day during my visit, my uncle Gene gave Jane everything she wanted when she wanted it. All little boys and girls want and ask for a horse when they are little, and of course, never get one. Jane asked, however, and got one. I can’t remember which came first, the house across from the horse or the other way around, but they eventually ended up buying a house across the street from a pasture that the horse stayed in. And Jane adored that horse.

Jane has always loved being a part of such a large family as ours is and she did what my sisters and I only talked about doing. She went to Ole Miss in the same town where many of our relatives lived. I am envious of the time she was able to spend with them during her college years. She met her husband Preston there and they both became pharmacists and moved back to Nashville.

So over the years we have had many happy times together, but we had one experience that surprised both of us. Oddly enough, the first year I taught at FRA, her youngest son Jim was one of my students. He was a fine boy, president of the student body, and a very likeable young man. He did tend to act up, occasionally, as most eighth grade boys do, and one day I was forced to give him a detention slip. He promptly took it home and hung it on his wall in his room. That was an interesting year having a cousin in my classroom.

(Ironically enough, I was able to have the very same thing happen with a cousin on the other side of the family a few years later. That will have to be another day’s blog.)

Every summer Jane and Preston play host to the whole Nashville family at their swim and tennis club for our annual reunion. Anywhere from 30-50 of us gather to greet everyone and catch up on the news of each family. Members from both sides of my family attend and we have a wonderful time. Moreover, we are very grateful to Jane and Preston for their hospitality.

Theirs is a very close family. Edna still lives in the house they moved into so many years ago, and Jane’s oldest, Trisha, lives there with her. Actually, Trisha and Roderick, her husband, bought the house from her and added a nice suite out the back for Edna. There are four children now and I’m sure that is a lively house when they are all at home. But Edna is in very good hands.

I am glad that I have a cousin as thoughtful and family-oriented as Jane is. We have been close over the years (she was in our wedding) and I really appreciate our friendship and family connection now more than ever.

FROLICING CONTINUED

Yesterday I promised to report on how the dogs reacted to the snow. I must say it was pretty hilarious. It was an entirely new experience for Rufus and seemed to be for Jesse, also.

I took Rufus out first thing in the morning while Jesse watched through the storm door in the front. He was startled when we went out on the porch to see all of the white stuff, and began jumping around first one way and then another. Then he ran out into it and started jumping up, making the snow fly up in the air. He was so funny trying to catch the swirling snow that he had made with his own motion.

After a while of this activity, he realized that he needed to get about his business and began trying to sniff around for an appropriate spot. That didn’t produce any exciting smells so he started frantically digging. Finally, he gave up and ran to one of his favorite bushes and let loose.

Next, it was Jesse’s turn. She came out while Rufus watched her and immediately began to sniff around, but she had a different method. She put her head down and tunneled through the snow trying to find her spot. When she came up for air, her little black face was as white as Rufus’s. She didn’t waste much time, however, and came back in covered all over with the stuff. Of course, she then proceeded to shake it all over the entry.

Later on in the day Jay and Annie came over and took them into the back yard to play. Jay devised a game for Rufus that was really comical to watch. He would make a snowball and throw it for Rufus to chase after. When he reached it, Rufus would pounce on it with his two front paws and then watch mystified when the snowball crumbled into pieces. I laughed out loud watching this activity repeated over and over.

Wanting some attention of her own, Jesse led Annie to the yard next door where she proceeded to leave a little present right on the walkway, which was the only surface free of snow. I could just imagine the neighbors coming out unawares and stepping right into it. So, of course, we cleaned it up.

Today the snow is almost all gone, and I hope that’s all we get this year. But it surely was fun while it lasted.

FROLICING IN THE SNOW

Finally! We have a real snow on the ground, not just a little dusting here and there. Of course, the genius is not at all happy about it because it meant he had to cancel the big math contest he has been working hard on for months. But I think most everyone else in Nashville is glad to see it.

Snow in this city is an interesting phenomenon. First come the warnings that we may have some. Immediately, the whole city goes into action and everyone (especially little old ladies) scrambles to the grocery, clearing the shelves of everything except pickles, Chinese horse radish, and maybe a few cleaning products. And that’s just the beginning.

Next, come the school closings. While the sun is still shining, and not a flake has appeared on the scene, every educational system and every private school (except the genius’s) begin to announce that they will not be open the next day. The parents all have to make plans for child care, etc. and then the next day --- nothing! Not a sign of the white stuff. This happens several times a year.

When we do have a nice winter storm like we have today, all hell breaks loose on the roads. How many times I have heard from Yankees (remember, that’s anyone not from the South) say, “People in Nashville don’t know how to drive in the snow!” And it’s true. The drivers try to cre-e-ep up snow covered hills (there are lots of hills in this town), and of course, by driving so slowly and carefully, don’t make it up. Down they come to try again -- or worse, they end up in the ditch.

For ten years I had a 4W drive Isuzu Rodeo that would take me anywhere, but the trick was to avoid all the main roads because that’s where the pile-ups were. I loved that car; I even did doughnuts in a parking lot one time with it.

To be fair to the drivers, though, it is important to mention that the snows here are often very wet and heavy. Today’s is like that. The stuff piles up on the trees and bushes like white icing and is beautiful. But it is really harder to drive in than the dry stuff that just blows off the road.

So I plan to take the dogs out in a little bit to really romp and play in it. They already showed signs of that when I first took them out this morning, but I wouldn’t let them stay out. I’m going to wait until it stops coming down.

I’ll report tomorrow on how they do.

CLIMBING

One of the past times we enjoyed as children was climbing. From the time we were little tots, it seemed, we were climbing on jungle gyms, then trees, and finally houses and barns.

There was one particular tree in the yard next door that was split a little at the bottom so it was easy to get a good foot hold for starting up. I remember climbing really high in that tree and looking around at all the houses on our street. At that time in my life I had no fear of heights and I loved being up there.

Then someone began to build a two story house on the corner and we quickly learned that if we waited until all the workman were gone, we could enjoy a new climbing adventure by hoisting each other up on the beams. We scampered all over that building until Mother found out and forbade our going there anymore. Why we didn’t fall and break something, I don’t know.

Even worse than that, though, was when we discovered the joy of ascending first the stairs and then the ladder of the Frists' three storied barn and playing on that roof. The Frist property ran all behind the houses across the street for almost a whole block, kind of a mini farm in the middle of the city. We were able to get away with this venture until one of the neighbors across the street told Mother and of course, that was the end of that.

Mother never found out about the other roof climbing we did. We were all teenagers by then and into sun bathing like the rest of our generation. We had a small almost flat spot over some windows upstairs that had been added when we expanded our house. To get to it we had to climb out the window onto the very steep part of the roof, carefully walk up the slant, and step up to the flat place. And there we were able to lie in the sun topless!! What a risque scheme that was for us girls of the fifties. However, even that activity had to cease when pilots spotted us and began buzzing the house. When that had occurred several times, we had to quit going topless, and that was the main reason we were up there in the first place.

I don’t remember when I became afraid of high places or why (probably when the planes started flying low and we were scrambling around up there on that little flat area), but I’m happy to say now that the fear of heights has mostly gone.

But I don’t think I’ll be doing much tree or roof climbing.

VACATIONING IN NEW MEXICO

The genius and I have taken several road trips out West. We have driven to Phoenix to see Ashley and family on several occasions, and once we even drove to San Francisco and back. One of our favorite journeys was the time we went to New Mexico.

We drove to Albuquerque in two days and spent a couple of nights where we got our first taste of New Mexican food --- yum!! We looked around the town and then headed straight down the middle of the state. Our next destination was Socorro, the home of New Mexico Tech, which was of interest to us for two reasons: 1) The genius’ father once attended the school (when it was called New Mexico School of Mines) and 2) a great uncle of the genius (Xavier Illinski, isn’t that a great name?) served as its president for several years.

We found a very nice (and inexpensive) motel with an exercise room, always a must for the genius, and checked in. The scenery is really beautiful in this town as in all of New Mexico and we had fun just walking around. We visited the college and saw Uncle Illinski’s picture in the gallery of presidents. Then we visited the registrar’s office where they actually gave us a copy of the father’s transcript (I hope that my children and grandchildren never see the grades I made at Memphis State!).

From Socorro we were able to make little side trips. One was to Roswell where a space ship supposedly landed. Of course, the town has seized on this alleged episode to draw tourists in and we saw it all. I remained a skeptic about it, but the genius wasn’t ready to discount it; he has always kept an open mind about life in outer space. Anyway, we enjoyed the trip before we headed on down to Las Cruces at the bottom of the state.

We took the southern route through Texas to come home and not much happened except for one potentially disastrous event. We ate lunch at a Wendy’s in a small town somewhere and started on our way. About an hour out I realized I didn’t have my purse. When we were sure it was not in the car, the genius crossed the median and flew back to that town (I don’t remember the name). We came screeching into the Wendy’s and jumped out and ran in. The clean up lady had found it and had put it behind the counter to hold for us. Everything was there safe and sound: cash, credit cards, etc. The genius gave her $10.00, but I was so relieved that I added $40.00 to it.

(Now, of course, he doesn’t trust me at all to get my purse when we go out. I would like to say that I have never done that again, but that is not the case. As he can testify, I have left it on several occasions, always remembering in time. Many times now I don’t even take one, just to be safe and also to keep him from nagging.)

Except for that little glitch, we had a wonderful time. One reason I wrote about this is that Brenda and I are going to go on a similar journey for Spring Break (a week away!) and we are both really excited. Rufus (and Jesse) are staying with the genius while we tour New Mexico. I promise to keep some kind of a journal while we are on the road.

Hopefully, we’ll both hold on to our purses!

MEETING RUFUS

As mentioned before, I had visitors on the first day I was at my new home and one of them turned out to be a little white dog named Rufus. He was extremely hyper, barking and jumping around every time he got near me. I was still feeling a little sore from my surgery, so I could only react with a waggy tail. This was to be the first of many times that Rufus and I would be together.

A few days later when I was feeling much better, my new family took me to Rufus’ house to eat Christmas dinner. Rufus and I really got to know each other that night. We chased each other around the house nipping and yipping at each other. I really slept well that night and I heard later that Rufus did too.

Laurie began taking me to Rufus’ house a lot to let me spend the day. I enjoy these days so much because we get to do fun things like take long walks together, play tug-o-war with toys, chase each other around, and we even take naps together. Rufus’ mommy bought us a big bed that has turned out to be our wrestling arena. We love to roll around in it.

This routine continued for several months until one day Laurie took me to Rufus’ to stay for a long visit. I stay here all the time now and they come to visit me here. I sleep with Rufus and his mommy at night, but when Laurie comes, I snuggle up in her lap like I always have done.

Rufus and I are best friends now. He has taught me how to bark at other dogs who pass by the house; I run upstairs and get in their special window in the hall where I can see everything, and bark and bark. We have such fun. I have taught him to not be so afraid of some things, like going to the groomers. When I go with him, he doesn’t bite the groomer even one time (that’s a first!). And Rufus will go for longer walks now that I’m with him; he’s not so fearful of new territories.

And the good news is that I have gained weight. I was so skinny after my month on the streets that I needed to fill out some. So Rufus’ mommy has fed me real chicken along with my dog food. And we get some treats during the day. It is fun to live here, but I do miss Jay, Annie, Laurie, and Jim.

Hopefully, they all will soon come to live with us here!

JESSE: MY STORY

They call me Jesse --- now. I have had other names, but this one I think will be the one to endure.

I was born to a wonderful mother who took good care of me and fed me whenever I was hungry. The only problem was that I just didn’t stay with her long enough. One day a very nice lady came and cuddled me in her lap and held me close. It was love at first sight. She took me home with her and everything was fine until her man came home. He was not at all pleased to see me and didn’t like me from the very first day. I learned to stay away from “the man” whenever he was home. The lady was terrific, though, feeding me when I was hungry and taking me for nice walks which I loved. I had a bed to sleep in and was very happy and content as long as “he” was not around.

I stayed at this place for about a year (I heard the lady say it was my birthday, so I knew how old I was). Then she received a phone call and said she had to go away for a while; her mother was sick. I was afraid, but thought if I just stayed away from “him” and didn’t bother him, I would be all right. But he was not a good person; he forgot to feed me and give me enough water. When I began crying, he got angry. Finally, one day he took my collar off and took me in the car. I had hopes that he was taking me to the lady, but it was not to be. Instead, he lifted me out of the car and put me in someone’s yard; then he left!!

I was hungry and thirsty and wanted someone to take me into their house. Sometimes people would stop and pet me and even give me a little food. Big dogs barked at me, but mostly they were in fences or on a leash being walked. I was very sad and afraid. The nights were getting cold and I was having trouble finding a warm spot.

This miserable time continued for about a month. Then the owner of one of the dogs on a leash picked me up and took me into her car for a ride. When I first saw the new place, I was scared because there were so many other dogs, some of them very big! But the people there were very nice; they fed me, gave me a bath, and gave me shots. Then I went to sleep and awoke with a pain in my tummy --- they said I had been spayed. All of this occurred in one day.

While I was sleeping and trying to regain my strength, someone picked me up and took me to see a man and a lady named Jim and Laurie. They held and cuddled me just like I have always wanted. Then they put me in their car and carried me home with them!

When we got there, they held me all day, being careful not to hurt my sore place. When they brought in their children (a boy and a girl named Jay and Annie) to meet me, I was so happy!! They all loved me, I could tell --- at last I had found a happy home!!

Later that day, visitors came to see me and brought a white furry dog with them. But that is a story for another day.

THE SIXTIES

The last two blogs have been set in the forties and fifties, but let’s move on to the sixties --- that’s when all the changes began. Many people my age were involved in the “no war, drugs, and love” scene, but as I said, I was too busy having and raising children to do more than observe what was going on. I do recall that we were living on the UF campus when we began hearing about the Civil Rights Act and wondering how the government could legislate whom restaurants served, etc. Then Kennedy was killed and Johnson was able to get that bill passed. I remember resisting the idea, but I liked being able to eat with African Americans for the first time ever.

I had always wanted to associate with people of the black race on a social basis, but had had no opportunity. Now with integration in the public and work places, I could do so. The genius had some black acquaintances at work and we invited them into our home on several occasions. And Ashley had a friend from school who lived near us and visited us often. And Ashley, in turn, went to her house to play. So things began to look up for us in this area.

So what happened? Many things, actually, but busing was a huge factor.

The genius and I were raised in public schools and believed strongly in the system. Our children had attended H. G. Hill, an innovative pod system school, for several years when busing went into effect. I’m not sure what happened in other schools, but at ours, busloads of students from a single housing project were brought in. Hill was made into a K-4, and the fifth and sixth grades would be at another school across town. Ashley was in the 4th, Jim, the 2nd, and Brenda in kindergarten when it all started.

School began at 10:00 a.m. to accommodate all the schedules for busing all ages and ended at 4:00. I remember we had to take piano lessons in the morning instead of the afternoon. It was a strange schedule, but adjusting to that was minor. The culture shock each group endured was something else entirely. Every day it seemed that the children came home with a different negative story. The language they heard on the playground was shocking, the fights that broke out, both inside and out, the behavior problems, the sexual innuendos, the lack of learning, I could go on and on. We lasted one year in the public schools and it was all over for us. As much as we wanted integration, we were not willing to sacrifice our own children in the process.

We watched all around us as the schools began to close their doors and be torn down. The first to go were Parmer and Woodmont, the two schools the genius and I attended, then eventually, Burton, Stokes, Robertson Academy, and H. G. Hill (but it has reopened now). For some reason, Julia Green has lasted until this day, but that is the only one on this end of town. And of course, new private schools opened and flourished. We enrolled ours in one and never looked back.

It was a financial sacrifice that we had not counted on when we began having children, but in spite of all the hardships, I believe with all my heart that we made the right decision. Our children were (are) very bright, and we wanted them to learn in the best environment possible --- that just wasn’t going to happen in public schools unless they tracked from the first grade on. But that couldn’t take place because it was considered racist. So we felt that we made the only decision we could. The good news is that at the children’s new schools there were some African Americans, some of whom they came to know very well.

I know that segregation of the schools was not right, nor fair. And I don’t pretend to have the answers to the problems. But I do know as a teacher that our public education in Nashville is in a shambles. I can’t tell you how many times I heard the following from parents while I was teaching at FRA: “I just don’t understand it; (Mary, Bob, etc.) was making straight A’s at __________ and now he can’t even pass!”

And one more thing: the powers that be are finally realizing what busing has accomplished in the area of parent interest. As long as there were neighborhood schools, everyone was involved. Why not? They could walk or drive a short distance to school to attend meetings, sporting events, etc. All that went out the window in the 60’s. I don’t know if we can ever rectify what has happened to the system, especially with the drug, sex, and crime problems, but I hope that this one step of restoring neighborhood schools will help to inject some common sense into the situation.

That would be an excellent beginning!!

INCIDENT ON THE BUS

I’ve written before about riding the city buses to town. It was a method of transportation I used often when I was a child and even into my teens. And it was in the segregated bus that I rebelled against the system in a very small way.

The bus had a front door that was the entrance and a side back door that was the exit. Behind the exit were two rows of two-seaters and one long seat across the back. These back rows behind the exit were where the black people were to sit. If the bus was really crowded, the whites just moved on back and took up all the seats except for the long back one. It didn’t matter to them that the blacks had to stand; they were just interested in getting their own seats.

One day a friend and I boarded the bus on West End, heading to town. The bus was practically filled up with white people; the only seats available were on the very last row. At one end of the row were one or two black people, but the other end was free. So we decided to sit there until more African Americans got on and then of course, we would give up our seats to them. There was a man in front of us (who was actually in a seat reserved for “coloreds”) and he kept turning around and looking at us with a frown on his face. I knew what he was upset about and it wasn’t that we were taking the black people’s seats.

Sure enough, in a few stops two AA’s got on the bus and right when we noticed them, the man in front of us turned around and said in a nasty tone, “You all are going to have to move; you can’t sit with them.”

We were already starting to rise so I said to him, “We’re moving because these are their seats, not because we don’t want to sit next to them.” Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have had that much nerve to speak that way to an adult, but I was so angry, it just slipped out. We quickly made our way toward the front to stand in order to be away from him. He was the kind who might send the KKK after us.

Perhaps, you can understand why Rosa Parks is such a hero to me.

THE SEGREGATED SOUTH

One of the reasons I write this blog is to show my children and grandchildren (and whoever else might be interested) the way life was back in the forties and fifties. There were some aspects about that life that were great (safe neighborhoods, no drugs, low crime rates), but one part that I abhorred, especially when I became old enough to understand it, was the segregation of the races in the South.

At first, of course, I was too young to comprehend what was going on. All I knew was that the only black person I had any knowledge of at all was Lizzie, Mother’s “day help.” Lizzie was a very sweet old lady who helped Mother clean, wash, iron, and occasionally baby sit when Mother went to town. We all loved her and I remember hanging around her and asking her personal questions, like how old she was (she didn’t know!). She lived with her niece and we always visited her every Christmas, taking her a big bag of groceries. This practice continued long after she “retired.” She seemed really appreciative and glad to see us every year.

When I look back on that time, however, I realize that I didn’t have a clue about what it was like to be an African American living in the South. There were separate facilities (water fountains, bathrooms, etc.) everywhere the “colored” were allowed to go, like the bus station and train depot, but other than that, I was unaware of the poverty in which they lived. Oh, I guess I vaguely knew that they were poor, but amazingly enough, I thought they were happy. I do remember that Villa Place (close to Belmont University) was their “Belle Meade” and I was fascinated every time I went down that street and would see fairly large houses that were nicely kept, but more colorful (no pun intended) than ours. And there were always Cadillacs parked in front of the houses.

Of course, the worst injustice took place on the public transportation vehicles, like the buses and trains, and also in the movie theaters. On the buses they were required to sit in the back or stand up. And in the theaters, they had to sit in the balconies and had different entrances from the whites. They couldn’t even go in the front door of a “white” hotel, much less be a guest.

By the time I was in my teens, I was aware of the unfairness of these practices and at least one time rebelled. But that is a story best saved for the next blog.

MUSIC, MUSIC, MUSIC

Remember the old song, “Put another nickel in, In the nickelodeon, All I want is loving you, And music, music, music”? That sums up how I feel about music. I love all kinds --- from classical to fifties rock’n’roll to big band to inspirational, and on and on. But probably the music I appreciate as much as any is good ole Country.

First of all, the songs usually have a lively beat and often the lyrics are priceless. Kenny Chesney’s song about summertime brings to mind my high school summer days when life was soooo easy (although I’m sure we didn’t think so at the time). Trisha Yearwood’s “Jasper County Rain” tells the sad story of unrequited love, and while it is sad, there’s something about it that is so true to life. And songs like that about the South really hit me right where I live.

Many of them tell a great story. There’s one about a bus wreck in which four people, a teacher, a preacher, a farmer, and a hooker are described. Three of them die because there are “three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.” We know as the song progresses that the teacher and farmer die, and that the preacher says to the hooker, “Can’t you see heaven?” but we are not sure until the end which one of them goes. Finally, the singer tells us that he is in church listening to his preacher tell the story. From the pulpit the preacher holds up the blood stained Bible and reveals that it was his mother who was the survivor. I had actually listened to this song quite a few times before I really "heard" the words and understood the ending. What a story of redemption!

Other country songs can be quite inspirational. Denise Jackson once told me that she was sure some of the songs that Alan writes are inspired by God (“Where Were You?”, “It’s All About Him”). But then she laughed and said “Not all of them, though --- ‘It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere’ was not.” But you know, I really like that song, and when Jimmy Buffet comes on in the middle of it, I just get chills --- I can just see him strolling out on stage as a surprise and joining in the song.

I think that one of the best lines in country music is from a song by Randy Travis (?) “Forever and Ever, Amen”. In it he sings “I’ll love you as long as old men sit and talk about the weather, and as long as old women sit and talk about old men.” Can’t you just see a group of old weather beaten old men sitting on a front porch talking while their wives are sitting in the kitchen complaining about them? I love it!!

EXTREME ALTERCATION

Last night we had the Jim IV family over for dinner, partly so we could visit with them, but also so they could visit with Jesse. I had fed the dogs and had given both of them a dog biscuit which is my usual routine for them. We were all settled in at the dining room table pleasantly eating our meal when a huge ruckus arose under the table. Then both dogs burst out and ran into the living room growling at each other. Not friendly growls either.

Some of the adults jumped up and grabbed each one. Obviously, something really traumatic had occurred between the two. We finally figured it out. Jesse had finished her biscuit and as usual, Rufus had just played with his and had some left, actually the whole thing left. Jesse had tried to take it from him and he reacted by growling. That is all a usual procedure they have performed many times. But, for some reason, (perhaps she was emboldened by her family being here), Jesse took it a step further and got serious about it, thus the growling chase of Rufus around the room.

The aftermath was interesting to watch. Rufus wanted nothing to do with her and just wanted to be held by his mommy. He wasn’t trembling, but he definitely wanted me to hold him in my lap for a while. Jesse sensed the coolness and stayed away from him. This self-imposed isolation from each other went on until bedtime, long after the other family had left. Then while Rufus was sleeping in their joint bed, Jesse slowly approached him and began sniffing him. Rufus awoke and just turned over on his back with his paws in the air, as if to say, “OK, I forgive you.”

From then on, things have been great. Last night they slept back to back with their feet touching me. That’s actually the closest they’ve ever slept, so I guess the fight brought them closer together.

How human can you get?

Today, I just want to give you an idea of what my days are like. Never a dull moment!!

FIRST REAL JOB

There’s a short segment of my life that I realize I haven’t covered in my blogs. The memories are a little painful for me because my mother was very disappointed that I wanted to quit college and get a job. I finally convinced her that this was the best move for me at that time in my life. So I applied for a secretarial job at the Vanderbilt outpatient Mental Health Clinic and was hired a few days later.

I began work in June 1959 at the huge salary of $200/month, $25.00 of which went to Mother and Daddy for rent. Of course, that was a lot more money then than it is now, and I really had no expenses to speak of. Daddy drove Mother and me to work every day (in our one family car) and picked us up so I had no need for gas money. I thoroughly enjoyed the freedom and independence I felt from having my own money.

The work was not difficult and was certainly interesting. My main job was to type, file, make appointments, answer the phone, and check patients in. It sounds hard, but it wasn’t because there was another woman in the office who did the same things I did, except she was called the office manager; I was just a secretary. Most of the work came from the three social workers who took all of the case histories, etc. I typed up the histories from the notes that were made in the interviews and any later appointments. And that was the interesting part; my eyes were opened to the realities of life when I read what some of those people had been through.

My office was very close to the emergency room and at first, when an ambulance came in with sirens wailing, I would run to the window to see what was happening. I guess I expected to see blood and gore, but I can’t remember ever seeing that. It was usually suspected heart attacks or strokes or accident victims. This activity got old very quickly and after a few weeks, I scarcely paid any attention to it.

When I began work, I had no love interests, but I had made up my mind that I didn’t want to date any med students. I wanted a husband who would have reasonable hours and not be called out in the middle of the night. Actually, only two of them asked me out, but by that time I had met the genius and I couldn’t see past the stars in my eyes. Ironically, a few years later when we settled back in Nashville and he worked with IBM, there were many occasions when he had to work long hours. And he was called out in the middle of the night multiple times when important computers went down. So I had to adjust my ideas about marriage as all of us married folks must do from time to time. I still have to.

I worked for one year and then the genius and I married on June 18, 1960. I learned so much about “real life” that year that I’m sure I matured at a faster rate than if I had been in college. Additionally, I was able to finish my education later when I really appreciated it --- and in a unique way (playing tennis). So I’m grateful for those months and all worked out for the best.

CAMP LAKEWOOD

Remember my two friends from first grade, Judy and Janice? When we were about ten years old, the three of us went to a Y camp called Camp Lakewood held at Montgomery Bell State Park. Both of the sisters had attended this camp and had had great experiences, so our mothers felt it would be good for us, also.

When we arrived on a Sunday afternoon in June, we were greeted by our counselors and shown to our cabin. It was tiny with four very narrow beds or cots and no electricity or plumbing. We met our fourth cabin mate, a girl I vaguely knew from church; she was a year younger than the three of us. When I look back on that time, I realize how difficult that must have been for her to be stuck with three really good friends who were all a year older than she. I do remember that we occasionally would try to include her with us, but I also recall that we considered her somewhat of a nuisance. She surely must have picked up on that.

The memories I have of the various activities during the two weeks are somewhat vague. I know that we all made lariats, and mine wasn’t very good. I also remember the tent campout one night and how a girl from Chattanooga spilled a bottle of citronella on the wooden floor of the tent. The smell was overbearing and we became very irritated at her. We swam in the lake and hiked the trails during the day, and of course at night sat around the campfire and sang. (Remember "Kookaburra sits on the old gum tre-ee"?)

I also remember the bath house where the concrete showers and old toilets and sinks were. We were all in mortal fear of the spiders that were supposed to be there. I don’t remember ever seeing any, but we knew they were lurking around close by. The one thing we didn’t want to do was have to visit that place during the night.

The best thing that happened to me, the event that was to have the most lasting benefit was when I finally jumped into water that was over my head and swam out. I had known how to swim in shallow water for a year or two but was still afraid when I got in the deep end. The instructor was very patient with me while I stood there for what seems like fifteen or twenty minutes just trying to get up the nerve to take the plunge. She had a long pole and she kept telling me to grab it when I came up if I needed to. Of course, when I did jump in, I wanted to swim all around and didn’t need the pole at all. It took just the one leap and I was fine.

When we had been there a week, it was visitation day. I still remember standing at the bottom of a hill and watching my family come down, MA and BJ running, and Daddy and Mother following at a sedate pace. I don’t remember how long they stayed or what we did while they were there; I just recall that when they left, I was sorry to see them go, but I had no desire to go with them. I really wanted to stay the remaining week. There were many girls around me who were crying and begging to go home (and some did), but I was not one of them. Looking back, I think that my reaction was healthy.

By the next summer, Judy had moved away from Nashville, and we didn’t go back. But I cherish the memory of that one summer at Camp Lakewood.

EXTENDED VISIT

We are now a two-dog family, at least for a month or so. Rufus can quit sitting on his perch in anticipation of Jesse’s visits because she has now come to stay for an extended visit. Jim IV and Laurie have sold their house and are in the busy process of moving, so we are delighted to have her come to our house until they get settled in.

Rufus is beside himself; surely he will get used to it and begin to settle down after a while, but so far he is still in the “ecstatic stage.” When she arrived yesterday, they were both glad to see each other (Jesse is getting more demonstrative) and ran around, nipping at each other for what seemed like hours. They had dual walks, which are sometimes not successful for Rufus because he is so enthralled with her that he forgets to do his outside duty. Then I have to unfasten Jesse and leave her while I take him back out. He is usually so anxious to get back to her that he goes quickly.

At some point in the morning they both collapse (usually Jesse first) and rest for an hour or two. Then they are at it again. One of their favorite games now is to play tug-a-war with one of the toys. They also like to get into the bigger bed I bought for them and wrestle and roll around in that confined space. I took a picture with them both resting in that bed and Brenda says they look like the two little magnet dogs we played with as children.

As far as eating goes, I do have to be careful that they both get their share. If Rufus is at all picky, which is often, Jesse will eat his food. So this morning I put it on two different paper plates and gave each their meal. They both finished their own and then went to the other’s to investigate and make sure that all was eaten.

They slept with me last night and did fairly well, although each one got restless at different times during the night. Jesse hasn’t learned to negotiate the bed steps yet so I have to pick her up to put her on the bed. And she can’t jump down, so she is there until I take her down in the morning. And that’s not all bad.

We look forward to the next few weeks having Jesse as a visitor. Having her around just proves my point that I’ve tried to make to the genius all along – having two dogs is in many ways easier than one.

GETTING MY DRIVER’S LICENSE

Brenda swears I haven’t told this story, so here goes.

The summer I was sixteen (actually almost seventeen) my father decided it was time (finally!) to get my driver’s license. Because there was only one car in the whole family of five drivers, what was the use? But I did know how to drive, and the big day when I would try to become a legal driver had arrived. BJ, who was home from college, had had to get up early and drive both Mother and Daddy to work in order to keep the car for the day.

Before we left, Daddy called me on the phone to give me directions. First, he told me that all of the paperwork was on his dresser in his bedroom. And then I was to get BJ to drive me downtown, down Church Street all the way down to Third Avenue (which was a one way street), turn left, go up Third until we reached Union Street (another one way). Then we were to turn left on Union and pick him at Capital Hill. I agreed.

So we started off and all went well until we were on Church Street; then I told BJ to turn left on Seventh Avenue. We soon realized we could NOT turn right on Union so were forced to turn left and go around the block. Then I told her to turn left on Fifth Avenue, and you guessed it --- another time where we were stymied by the one way Union Street, and we circled another block. Finally, we made it down to Third where Daddy had said to come to in the first place. This time we made it fine and swung over to pick him up.

Unbeknownst to us, he had been standing on Capital hill watching us circle around the blocks, so was therefore mad as a hornet when he got into the car. Then I guess he realized that being angry wasn’t going to help, so he took a deep breath and said in a quiet voice, “Where is the paperwork?” I looked at him in horror and said in a small voice, “I forgot it.” Why in the world he didn’t just get out of the car and walk away, I don’t know, but he had BJ drive us back home and pick it up.

Somehow, I managed to pass the test, even to parallel park the car. But I’ve never forgotten that day.

GOING TO THE OFFICE

During my eight years in elementary school I was sent to the office three times. Two of these were justified, but one was absolutely unfair and uncalled for. The easiest way to describe them, I believe, is in chronological order.

In the first grade I had a maternal, but strict teacher named Mrs. Whitfield. One day she went out of the room but before she left, she told us that if anyone was out of his/her seat when she returned, that person would be sent to the office. After she left, we were all good for a while, but for some strange reason I will never know, I stood up just seconds before she came back into the room. I will never forget running down the hall towards the office, crying, while Mrs. Whitfield came behind me hitting her yardstick on the floor. Mrs. Mathis, a veritable terror of a principal (even though she was less than five feet tall), talked to me a few minutes and sent me back to the room. That was my first experience of seeing the inside of her office.

The second is painful for me to recall because it was so unjust. We second graders were at lunch and our teacher was collecting our money at the end of the cafeteria line. I had brought my lunch, so I was only buying milk that cost 5 cents. Mother had given me five pennies and I had my hand poised over the penny bowl to drop in the money when she turned away for a second. During that time I dropped in two or three of the pennies and had the others ready to go. SHE thought I had taken the two pennies OUT of the bowl and was pretending to have dropped them in. In other words, she was accusing me of stealing five pennies from the bowl. I have thought and thought about that incident and I just can’t imagine why she would think that of me --- to my knowledge, I had never given her any reason to suspect me of cheating or stealing. But I can speculate that perhaps someone else had been dipping into the till and she was suspicious of everyone. At any rate, I can still remember the shock of her accusations and how mortified I was all throughout lunch, knowing I would have to go face Mrs. Mathis again. But that lady dismissed me quickly after she heard my story and that was that. It was a traumatic experience for a second grader to have to go through, however, and I have never forgotten the feeling of injustice I had that day.

The third time was when I was in the fifth grade. Several of us girls had been acting up, I believe, and we were all sent to see Mr. Thompson, a new principal. He took his paddle out of his drawer and placed it on his desk, while we were all watching wide-eyed. He informed us that he wasn’t above paddling girls if it were called for and he didn’t want to see us back in there. That did it for me. Except for the second half of my seventh grade year (when I probably needed a good paddling) I was a model student.

But that’s another story. It’s enough to say now that I managed to avoid the principal’s office for the rest of my education.

UNDERWEAR OF YESTERYEAR

When we were children, we wore underclothing that was quite different from that of today. We dressed much more warmly because we had to walk to and from school. (No, it was NOT five miles uphill both ways, it was about half a mile that was mostly level except for one small hill.) So there were layers of underwear that children don’t wear now.

In the winter we girls always wore a sleeveless undershirt much like a thin tank top. In addition, because we always had on dresses (pants to school were unheard of), we also wore a full slip shaped like a sleeveless dress over the undershirt. The thin-strapped slip was part of the passage into womanhood and came later when a girl began wearing a bra. Our underpants (the real star of today’s blog) were made of a thick nylon and were loose like boxers; they were held up with elastic than ran through a band around the waist. We did have long wool pants that we called leggings for especially cold days, but they were discarded as soon as we got to school.

One day during that memorable third grade year, I was eating lunch in the cafeteria. After I finished, I started walking to the window to deposit my tray and was halfway across the room (right in front of the 8th grade table) when disaster occurred --- the elastic in my underpants broke and down they came, puddling around my feet. Imagine my predicament: My hands were full holding the tray, and my feet were caught by my fallen underpants. So I did what any smart third grader would do --- just kept my cool and shuffled along as if this happened everyday. Thankfully, my boyfriend of the moment came along and asked me if I needed help; I immediately thrust the tray at him and pulled up the offending piece of clothing, which I then clutched from the outside of my dress to hold it up.

When I got back to the room, Mrs. Hardcastle, who was trying to keep from smiling, handed me a safety pin. Instead of excusing myself and in private pinning the underpants together, I just nonchalantly pinned them from the outside to my dress and went around the rest of the day with a big safety pin at the waistline of the dress. I’m still amazed at my actions that day as was my family when they got the news.

After that incident, Mother did a thorough inspection of my clothes, making sure all my pants were in good shape so I would not embarrass them again.

THIRD GRADE

I just noticed in the obituaries that the grandson of my third grade teacher died (he was 51), and I was transported back to that year when I had Mrs. Hardcastle as a teacher.

It was my first experience in a portable classroom, but certainly not my last. I was to spend a year in one as a fifth grader, and many years later, I taught in one for three years. There are some advantages (privacy, not bothered by others’ noise), but the disadvantages (a feeling of isolation, having to go through bad weather to the main building, very little supervision by the principal) outweighed the benefits.

In addition, the class was a split one with second and third graders in the same room. I vaguely remember my mother being upset about this arrangement, but I don’t know if she complained or not. At any rate, I stayed where I was --- in a single portable classroom vying with second graders for the teacher’s attention.

One incident stands out in my mind that occurred that year. At some point during the morning lessons I noticed a second grade boy, Robin, crying quietly on the other side of the room. Of course, we were all curious as to what his problem was, especially since he was an ill-behaved child who was also very tough when he was punished, which was often. His crying was a shock to all of us. The news finally circulated around the room that his parents were getting a DIVORCE! I still remember our horror at hearing that information – no one in the room had had that occur. And really when I stop and think about it, I knew very few classmates even in high school whose parents were divorced. How far we’ve come --- and not in a good way!

An addendum to the story of Robin is that years later, after I was married and living back in Nashville, I read in the paper that he had been arrested for something (burglary maybe) and I thought back to that day in the third grade when he was so vulnerable and and unable to hide his tears. I’m not going to be so judgmental as to blame his parents; my point is how different life was back in the forties and fifties from today. And what would Mrs. Hardcastle, who has been dead many years, think?

MORE READING

For the first three months we were married we lived in Jacksonville, Florida. I read many paperback books during that time, but I don’t recall a single one; they must have been of what I would call the “mental pablum” variety. But while we were in Florence, Alabama, our next stop for two months, I recall vividly what I read --- I discovered the author Ayn Rand. First, I read the 1000 + page Atlas Shrugged, and then went on to whatever else she wrote, The Fountainhead, Anthem, etc. While not entirely agreeing with her, I became very intrigued with her ideas. And she was an excellent writer --- just grabbed me from the first page.

The business of becoming enamored with one author has continued until this day. Many times I will like one book that I read and then search out either all or some of his/her other novels that were written. Here are a few writers I have explored: Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, Ellery Queen, Erle Stanley Gardner (all mystery writers), Michael Crichton, John Grisham, Grace Livingston Hill, Lawanna Blackwell, (even Barbara Cartland and Georgette Heyer because I was interested in the Regency period and then I met the master of that genre, Jane Austen). And there are many more. I like to read series --- for a while I read the Left Behind books, but didn’t finish those, then I got involved in reading huge tomes by Diana Gabaldin about a time traveler. Those were great and I’m eagerly waiting for book number seven which she has promised to write. The other day I bought four books by Anita Shreve, three of which are all set on the New Hampshire coast in the same house.

So in essence, I like a variety of novels. What I don’t like are scary, suspense ones that make me tense and nervous. I like to read for pleasure and relaxation, often before I go to sleep, and not be stressed out by something I just read. And I like endings that are somewhat happy ever after. I will never read another Nicholas Sparks book because he seems to thrive on unhappy endings. That’s also why I prefer Shakespeare’s comedies where everyone marries as opposed to the tragedies where all the main characters die.

One could argue that reading is an addiction for me and I wouldn’t disagree with that. In fact, I’ve been known to get slightly panicky when I run out of reading material. TV just doesn’t do the same for me and never has. So the answer I have found to my compulsion is to have several unread novels or biographies on hand, so I won’t get to that stage of not having a book standing by. Then it can take me once again to the world of the unexplored.

READING, READING, READING

From the time I learned to read at five years of age, I have been an avid bookworm. My love for all types of reading material has not diminished over the years; if anything, it has increased. Many times, especially because I taught literature, I have been asked what types of books I read. The answer is somewhat complicated because I go through different stages of reading.

When I was in grade school, I went through every Nancy Drew and Judy Bolton books as well as those orange colored biographies that were in our school library. (Does anyone else remember those?) I also loved all of the Little House on the Prairie series and Anne of Green Gables. When I was in the seventh grade, my favorite all time teacher Mrs. Evelyn Knight introduced me to Jane Eyre and other classics. She was really an inspiration to me and helped me to move to a different level in my reading.

(When I returned from the Christmas holiday, she had moved to Arkansas and I never saw her again. That was a very traumatic time for me, and my stress over the situation was demonstrated by my awful behavior to the teacher who took her place. I was ultimately to learn the lesson of “what goes around, comes around” when this same replacement teacher became the head of our children’s private school years later.)

I must have had somewhat of a lapse during my high school years because I don’t remember reading as much as I had before. I recall that I read of lots of periodicals like The Reader’s Digest, The Saturday Evening Post, and Life. I do remember reading a book entitled The Wall about the plight of Jews in Poland during WWII that really changed my religious views (I began to have serious doubts about the existence of God, etc.). And then there was all that good traditional literature that I studied during that period and didn’t appreciate.

In college I was the same as in high school --- more interested in my social life than I was in reading, but that was all to change when I married. That’s when my love affair with books was renewed.

GOING TO PETSMART

Whenever we go to Petsmart, Rufus gets very upset. As soon as we take the exit off the interstate, he jumps from my shoulders and leaps into the backseat shivering. He knows it’s time for his grooming. So yesterday when I had Jesse with us, I decided to take them both just for shopping.

Jesse had no clue about the place and walked right in. Rufus, on the other hand, dug in his heels and I had to pull him into the store. I took both of them into the grooming salon so Daisy, his groomer, could meet Jesse and could see that there is a dog in the family who is meek and mild tempered. Rufus is always very uncooperative, squirming and biting whenever she tries to groom him. (Well, think about it – they shave his “private parts”! No wonder he’s nervous.) But yesterday he actually put his paws on the half-door to the grooming area and wagged his tail. I guess he was calmed down somewhat by Jesse’s presence.

Then I took them out into the store to shop. I bought a bigger bed so they could both sleep in one together and also an attachment that allows me to put both dogs on one leash. I certainly needed it in the store because Rufus got into it with a Weimeranner, and in the process got wound around my leg several times. I had a heck of a time getting out of there.

But I did make it and the new leash attachment, which I tried as soon as I got home, is a big success. The bed is less so, but maybe they will get more attached to it as time goes on.

Today really is grooming day, and without Jesse with us, Rufus will probably go through the trembling-in-the-backseat process all over again.

POVERTY LEVEL CONT’D

Living in Flavet on the University of Florida campus on @ $250/month sounds like a pretty miserable life, but there were plenty of good times while we were there. In the first place, everyone living around us was in the same boat; no one had any money, so we could commiserate with each other. And for the most part, the people were intelligent and fun. So we enjoyed making new friends.

Also, we all knew that this was just temporary; it wasn’t like we were all going to have to spend twenty years living in these conditions. In fact, we all had hopes that we would be better off financially than we were before because of the additional education. A family of four moved in across the hall from us about the same time we did. The husband was getting his law degree and the wife told me that he had been quite successful in business; that she had gotten to the point where she could go into a store and buy anything she wanted. Now they were reduced to living like this.

We had no air conditioning, of course, and when the windows were open (which was most of the time), we could hear the frat parties not too far away. We heard “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles over and over again and loved it. And speaking of music, we were able to see a very young Johnny Cash in concert. We sat on the gym floor not twenty feet away from him while he sang; he was obviously high on something, but we didn’t care, we just loved his music.

Another person we were able to see was the famous (or infamous) Steve Spurrier, quarterbacking the football team as he was on his way to winning the Heisman trophy. We have been Gator sports fans ever since and have had many hours of enjoyment watching the various teams. The highlight for me as a fan was attending the 2007 BCS Bowl championship game as my team upset favored Ohio State for their second national title. I’ll be forever grateful to my son-in-law Mike for getting such great tickets to that game.

So all in all, it wasn’t too bad living in Flavet. We celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary in 2000 by visiting Gainesville and other places we had lived in Florida. Where the apartments had been there is now an open field with the sign on it that reads “Flavet Field.” I wonder how many people have come back to remember that time they lived in “army barracks”; I bet there are many.