Silk Shirt Meets Cotton Undergarments On The Country Porch

Although it was a hot summer's day in the country, Robert was determined to meet the fair skinned girl with flaming red locks falling in big curls past the middle of her back. Robert was a milkman that delivered milk to his clients' doorstep every day. Today was different, however, because he was going all the way to a farm that did not need his milk delivery services. The couple on the farm had thirteen children and the youngest was sixteen-year-old Mary, a very beautiful redhead who had caught his eye.

Wearing a silk shirt and suit in the heat was not easy for Robert, but he wanted to look his best when he met Mary. As he approached the house, he was not prepared for the sight ahead.

During the middle of the day when the sun was high and the heat was highest, the farming family would eat lunch. After lunch, they would all head to the porch, sit in the chairs and hope for a breeze to cool them a bit. There was not any air conditioning in those days, so a gentle wind was their best chance at getting cooler. Of course, the house and the porch were large because this was a family of fifteen.

Since they were all family and the closest neighbor was miles away, they wore the least amount of clothes possible in order to feel cooler. This meant that they all sat in their underwear and the women also wore bras and slips, but that was their only clothing.

As Robert approached the porch wearing his silk shirt, tie, suit and shiny shoes, he saw fifteen partially clothed people. Imagine how the city slicker felt! Robert asked the father if he could take Mary on a date. Robert also told the father that he had brought Mary a gift.

In her cotton slip, Mary accepted the date and the French perfume from Robert, much to his relief.

When Robert left the farm, Mary opened the perfume. Deciding that it smelled stinky, she dumped the whole bottle on the family dog who did not lose the fragrance for a very long time.

After a short courtship, Robert and Mary got married and eventually had four daughters of their own. Their oldest daughter, Teresa, eventually grew up, got married. Her first child and the first grandchild on both sides of the family, was born with fair skin and flaming red hair. Obviously, I am that grandchild and those two people who met so long ago on a front porch are my grandparents - Robert and Mary who were also called Gran-Gran and Mam-Maw by their only redheaded grandchild.

As I look at this photo of them, I see two young people just starting life together. It is so strange to know that in 2011 while I write this post, Robert and Mary have each already lived more than eighty years and both have also died.

Life is so short.





Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale.~Hans Christian Anderson~(1805-1875)


Update: My mother just called and said that she is going to send me the "facts" of this story because although it sounds great on my blog, it is not all true.

Hmph...That means for over two decades I have been telling this story wrong!

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Love During Harvest

I rank the Super Harvest Moon as one of the most romantic moons we can see in the sky.




"The feeling of love is
the same feeling
that you get when
you stare into
the moon on a clear night."



When I was twelve years old my grandfather, my mother's father, agreed to go to a Daddy-Daughter dinner at church with me. My parents had been divorced for several years and Dad didn't want to go to any church at that time. I was so excited that Gran-Gran, my grandfather, volunteered.

Mom made me a beautiful pastel pink dress. It had a high collar, six inch cuffs, a large ruffle at the bottom and covered with white lace. She also let me borrow her pink pearl beaded ring. Alyssa will love to know that I was wearing black, shiny patent leather shoes. Shocked you didn't I? I know, it isn't shocking at all. I still love black patent leather.

Gran-Gran brought me a beautiful pink and white corsage to wear. I still have the dried flowers.

Anyway, Gran-Gran was a charming man and everyone made him feel welcome. After eating a lovely spaghetti dinner, salad and garlic bread, we all sat in a big circle and played a game called, "I See The Moon."

One of the women drew an imaginary moon on the floor with her finger while saying, "I see the moon and the moon sees me." The next person was supposed to copy her moon drawing. One person after the next attempted to "win" and each time she would say, "No, that isn't right."

My grandfather was about to leap out of his chair. I could tell that he knew some secret as to why everyone was getting it wrong.

That didn't surprise me.

Not only did Gran-Gran love, love, love playing games, but he was also a really smart man.

Finally it was his turn, so Gran-Gran leaned over EXACTLY like the woman, drew the moon EXACTLY like the woman and then sat up and folded his hands EXACTLY like her too.

Everyone looked at this woman as she said, "Yes, you won."

The secret was that you couldn't just draw the moon the same, you had to completely mimic the woman's movements as well. Obviously, Gran-Gran figured this out.

He was so excited, clapping his hands, smiling big and eating up all the attention. I was so proud to have him as my grandfather. I already loved him so much, but this has become the most precious time we spent together.

That night when we went back home, Gran-Gran had to play the same game with Mom and Mam-Maw. Both of them hate games which makes that really funny to me now. He talked and talked about how much fun he had with me.

So last night as I stared up at the big Super Harvest Moon, one of my thoughts was of Gran-Gran and the beautiful memory from that night so long ago when he made a gawky, insecure girl feel as beautiful as Cinderella.

Many people associate the moon with a great emotion that they feel for someone else. Maybe that is what makes the moon so pink and red sometimes...it is just bursting with love.





"Love one another
and you will be happy.
It's as simple
and as difficult as that."~Michael Leunig~







Basking in the glow of lovely memories,

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I Saw Mr. Robert Today

I am going to share something extremely personal. I was vacillating between writing it or not writing it, but I feel the need to forever record these moments.

Dad's doctor called me today. Each of his words exploded in my brain and left holes in my heart.

I almost couldn't listen and yet, I knew this information was necessary...

"...finding a way to make it more comfortable for him."

"...with dignity..."

"The same cancer found in his lung is in his pelvis..."

"The cancer has deteriorated the bones in his hip..."

"His entire body has cancer."

He was a kind man on the other end of the phone and I felt his compassion. When the call was over, I softly hung up the phone almost as if I didn't want to disturb the painful numbness surrounding my body.

I thought about the email my mother had written to me that started with "I'm sorry that you have to experience this pain" and after a beautifully written email, ended "Call me if you need me. I love you."

So I called her and we talked for a little while as I tried to find solace.

There was none.

I wanted to hear Dad's voice, so I called him hoping he was not asleep.

"Hi Dad!"

"Hi."

"I'm sorry you're hurting," and I desperately held in the sob that was threatening to burst out.

"Thanks."

"Dad, I heard you and Mom had a party today."

"I wouldn't really call it a party."

We both chuckled and then he said, "I saw Mr. Robert today."

I froze.

My grandfather's name was Gran-Gran to me, but everyone else called him Mr. Robert. My dad and Gran-Gran were very close and spent many happy hours together playing basketball, watching television and so many other things. Of course, that was a long time ago because my grandfather has passed away.

I said, "You saw Gran-Gran?"

I could hear him smile suddenly recognizing what he just told me as he said, "Mr. Robert's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes Dad."

"That's not a good sign, is it?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

"If you see Gran-Gran any time soon Dad, make sure the two of you talk to Jesus about me being with you both."

"You're not going to have a problem," he said matter-of-factly.

"I love you Dad."

"I love you."



My Dad is going to die.

I will have to live the rest of my life without him.

I don't want him to die.

I know many of my readers probably do not believe in Jesus Christ or an afterlife and I'm not trying to convince you otherwise. I have found a sense of peace knowing that Gran-Gran will be there when Dad steps out of his very sick body.

Maybe it was Heavenly Father's way of providing me with comfort.

I still don't want him to hurt...or die.







Praying that Jesus will carry my Dad through this trial,

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Holding Onto the Old Stuff

In our world of constant change, I still find the "old stuff" fun to look at and remember.

Today it only takes a user name, password and a few clicks to pay your bills online, however, less than a hundred years ago writing checks was considered the savvy way of doing business.


One of my first jobs was as the assistant to an accountant. The office was lined with large ledger books which I found totally fascinating. Each book was filled with lovely green and white ledger sheets. My main responsibility was to help keep the accounts receivable and payable balanced. I added numbers on an electric adding machine a large portion of the day comparing the totals with those on the ledger sheets beneath the red line. It was more exciting than going to an amusement park!

Years earlier, some of my fondest memories were created as I spent many happy hours at work with my aunts and grandfather. My aunts kept the books and my grandfather did everything else at a lumber and building supply company in a very small town. If I wasn't walking through the lumber yard with Gran-Gran (my grandfather), I was up front with my aunts (Barbara and Janie) watching them post to customers accounts as product was sold.

I was always mesmerized as their nimble fingers flew over the adding machine keys producing meaningless numbers on the roll of paper that seemed to endlessly snake over the desk. When the customers were gone, I was allowed to play on the adding machine and mimic my aunts' every move.

No one realized how much I stared at them and all that my young brain stored away. I'm sure those experiences were the foundation of my love for numbers and accounting.

Some of the little memories that are indelibly etched in my mind...

• Gran-Gran scrunching his face as he bent over to read the numbers on the adding machine tape
• The gnarly wood surface on the corner of the desk where the laminate had chipped off
• The way both aunts smiled a lot at the customers and remembered all their names
• The sweet way Aunt Janie always touched my curls
• Aunt Barbara coloring pictures and darkly tracing all the outer edges of everything
• Gran-Gran's beautiful penmanship when he wrote in the ledgers
• Fresh lumber and paint smells permeating the air
• Walking with Gran-Gran through the lumber as he counted it in his head and then writing it down on a little piece of paper that he stuck in his pocket
• The endless and comforting love I felt surrounded by my grandfather and aunts

Sentimental and precious memories.

Just because technology increases and improves basic tasks in our every day lives, some things don't change like parts of our personality.

I have a check book with my name and address printed boldly on the front with a little number in the top right hand corner. The batch of checks were accompanied by a check register with lines and a total column reminiscent of those ledger pages of long ago.

I still like the old stuff.

Anything particularly antiquated that you still cling to instead of moving into the technological generation?

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Kill The Cows

Every weekend was spent with Mam-Maw and Gran-Gran, my mother's parents. We would make the two hour drive to the country to spend the weekend with them. We also always visited my other grandparents and great-grandparents who also lived in the same town. Beautiful and lasting memories were made during those visits...truly enough memories to last a lifetime.

On the two hour trip, Dad would always play Kill The Cows with me. This is how it was played. We both would pick which side of the road would be ours for the whole two hour trip. During the drive, every time we saw a cow on our side, we added it to our running tally. Dad gave me a little metal counter since I couldn't count very far if at all because we started playing this game when I was three years old. The object of the game was to have the most cows at the end of the trip...HOWEVER, there was a catch. Every time you saw a graveyard on the other person's side of the road, it would Kill The Cows for them!

I always lost! It wasn't until a few years ago, when visiting my dad, that I finally realized why I always lost. Being the adult, Dad had memorized where all the graveyards were and also knew the cow pasture's locations. He would divert my attention so that I would miss the cemetery on his side or he chose the side of the car that had the graveyard on my side at the end of the trip. Obviously, Dad loved winning. I laugh every time I remember Kill The Cows and Dad's winning obsession.

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