August 27 Happiness Challenge

This evening I went out to eat with my family. It was the first time I'd been inside a restaurant to eat since March 2020.

There were few people around us so I felt comfortable without my mask. We had a nice visit to celebrate my stepmother's birthday. 

We ate at Coach and Four, which is where my husband proposed to me in July of 1983. They even still have the same booth! I should have taken a picture.

For my family to get together and not have yelling and screaming is unusual, but this time we were all very polite and had a really nice time. So it can be done! We can get together and act normal.

It was also a relief to eat somewhere besides my house or in the car in the parking lot of a restaurant. Unfortunately, the way the Covid numbers are climbing, I suspect it will be a while before we return to any semblance of normal.

But at least we had one evening out. Also, Dad paid!

Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

August 22 Happiness Challenge

My brother called me this afternoon. We didn't talk long, but hearing from him made my day. We hadn't spoken in a while because he's been busy with life stuff, so I was pleased he found a minute to call me. He means so much to me.

 Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

Legacy - My Paternal Grandparents

My father's parents moved to California before I was a year old. They took with them my father's two older brothers and their young families, and his younger sister.

I don't know why my father stayed. Perhaps my mother didn't want to move. In any event, this meant that my paternal grandparents were not people I knew very well.

They existed for me for a long time as a voice on the phone into which I blew kisses at my mother's urging, strange Christmas presents under the tree that I generally did not play with (which in hindsight is terrible, because I suspect these presents were a bit of a hardship for them to send along to my brother and me), and people my father talked about. To me, they were like ghosts.

Finally, they visited when I was about 10 or so. I don't recall much about that visit, or even another one after that. They were here. One of my uncles came with them (I think, I may be mixing up visits) and brought his young daughters with him, so I had playmates to think of, not older folks who sat around playing guitar and talking.

My grandmother talked very fast and very loudly. She loved to cook, I do remember that. She would have dinner waiting when my mother came home from work. She was good in the kitchen.

My Grandpa Joe played the guitar and told stories.

These visits did not last long.

We drove to California in 1976 to visit my grandparents and my father's family. I don't recall much about seeing them. My cousin had run away from home, and there was much concern about her, I remember that. She was a year older than I and she was a constant source of trouble, from what I had overhead my parents say. I remember much ado about her being missing, some guitar playing, a trip to a vast flea market where my mother bought a lamp with an orange shade with fringe on it, and that's about it.

My grandparents came to visit again in 1981, around March. They came in a camper and said they would stay until my graduation in June. I was quite excited about this. But my grandmother, after about two weeks or so, said she missed her dog and they left. I had words with my grandmother about this; I remember that. When I apologized as they were leaving, she said I didn't hurt her, only her feelings.

I think she might have had some health troubles going on at the time, but I didn't know that and still that's a guess. I only felt that I had been lied to and that people I wanted to love and to love me had let me down.

The guitar that I'm playing now came to me at this time, I think. Grandpa Joe gave it to me as a sort of graduation/consolation prize, I think.

After I married, I began corresponding by mail with my grandfather. I felt a kinship with him that I did not feel with my father's other relatives. He sent me stories that he wanted preserved because he thought I would keep them (I still have them). He wrote me poems, and he tried to give me life advice, but not much, really. I guess he thought I'd learn whatever I needed to know.

They visited again about 1988, and my grandfather died a year later. They were pleased to see my house, happy with my husband, and glad that I seemed settled. 

I did not see either of them again, although my grandmother lived to be 97. She died in 2017. After I bought a cellphone, I called her, and until her hearing went, we talked monthly. But after a while she thought I was the cleaning lady or some other person who visited her, and I stopped calling. I sent her cards with notes in large print so she could see them. One of my cousins told me she kept every one of them and had them when she died.

Going out to visit her was never an option. My husband wouldn't leave the farm or his job for very long and I didn't want to go by myself. My uncles smoked and drank a lot of beer, and I didn't want to be in that kind of atmosphere without my husband to ensure my safety. They would not have hurt me, but I can't take a lot of yelling and arguing, and if there is one thing members of my father's family can do, it's yell and argue. I think to them it's conversation, but to me it's nerve wracking.

Anyway, describing these two people is difficult for me because I did not know them. I cannot paint a word picture of them like I could my maternal grandmother. All I have are scattered memories and my grandfather's words on paper.

This was my loss. Maybe it was their loss, too.

Legacy - Maternal Grandmother (Part 2)

(Read Part 1 here.)

My husband and I parked along the road in front of my grandmother's house. The yard was wrecked. Various uncles and cousins were already toiling, trying to clear out the basement.

The area smelled of sewage, river, and mud. It was early November, 1985, and the worst flood in the history of Roanoke had happened a few days earlier. After taking care of our own flooded basement and waiting for debris to be cleared from the road, we'd driven up to help.

This was the third (or maybe fourth) time the basement had flooded. These were not little floods. My grandmother's house was oppose the Roanoke River, and when the waters rose, get out of the way. I remember these floods as a jumble. The last one, I know I stayed outside and picked up trash. I remember one flood that took out all of our toys and comic books - my uncles, my brother and I had hundreds of comics stashed in a big dryer box under the stairs. Some probably would have been worth money today, but they were all tossed after a flood.

By 1985, I was 22 years old. I was worried about my grandmother after this flood. She'd been a widow for nearly a decade. She was 62 years old when the Flood of '85 hit. That seemed old at the time (doesn't now since that is my husband's age!), and she wasn't bouncing back from this incident. By Christmas, she was saying she didn't want to decorate. I couldn't imagine my grandmother's house without Christmas decorations, so in mid-December, I bought one of those small pre-decorated trees and put it up for her, placing it on the piano. It wasn't very big, but it was Christmassy and had lights. She didn't object.

The city began talking of making a greenway along the river so that there would be no homes to flood. My aunt bought the lot next to my grandmother's homeplace, a few blocks away but far enough from the river that it wouldn't flood. She built a nice little ranch and moved my grandmother in there. My grandmother sold her home. I thought it would be bought by the city and torn down, but it is still standing.

My grandmother's house today from Google Earth. I feel certain the black light post was there
when she lived here, and possibly the bush under the window on the left. The porch saw a lot of play from us kids.

After my grandfather passed away unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1976, my grandmother was left to raise her youngest two children, both boys. One was a teenager and the other a preteen.

Other changes occurred about this time, too. When I was 13, my parents deemed me old enough to keep my brother during the summer, or stay home by myself if I were ill, unless I were running a fever. I saw less of my grandmother as well as my young uncle, with whom I was quite close as a child. They both drifted away from me, something I guess happens as we age and grow. We visited on the holidays, of course, but my memory of my grandmother in my teen years only has one standout. When I went to the prom my sophomore year with a senior, I made the young man drive out of his way so I could let my grandmother see me in my prom dress. My mother told me the next week that my grandmother had told her she'd cried after I left because I'd taken the time to do that.

My grandmother's move into my aunt's home also was a big change. It was no longer Grandma's house I was visiting, and I never felt as comfortable there as I did in the home I remembered from childhood. Grandma continued to keep children, babysitting my aunt's son, who lived with her, of course, and my other uncles' children as they came along. She was always nurturing someone.

When the telephone service changed so that she was no longer a long distance call for me, I began calling her frequently. She always had time to listen and talk. Many days I wish I could pick up the phone and call her.

When my mother died in 2000 of pancreatic cancer, my grandmother lost her eldest child. I cannot imagine what kind of grief she suffered with that loss. It had to be heart wrenching and painful for her. Unfortunately, I was grieving, too, so I wasn't much help. Grandma was 77 when my mother died.

Her last couple of years were spent at Richfield, an assisted living facility. I dutifully visited nearly every weekend, sometimes eating lunch with her. I do not like such places but I loved my Grandma. Later, her sister, Aunt Susie, and her sister-in-law, Aunt Elsie, also moved into Richfield, all on the same floor and in the same area, so I visited with all three of them. I think it helped them to all be together.

A series of small strokes sent Grandma to the hospital, and she died in June 2007. She was still talking during my last visit with her. She told me she'd seen my mother several times, and my grandfather had come and sat on the edge of the bed and told her everything was fine.

I have many other memories I could write - licking the beaters when she made cookies, the time I fell on the stoop and knocked out a tooth, the day I made her laugh by tracing her varicose veins in her legs and then looking up at her and solemnly pronouncing, "Grandma, you're cracking up!" My best childhood memories were made at Grandma's house.

I loved her very much. Below is the poem I wrote when she passed away.

Your lap was the safest place in the world.

Hurts were smoothed away with your kisses

And your hugs as you engulfed us

With your love.

Pulled close and rocked hard, we listened

To your heart beat and your voice

Singing “Daisy, Daisy” as our tears

Vanished like fog in sunshine.

Your heart beat with love

For your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

There was no transgression you could not forgive.

You soothed brows and bolstered self-esteem

And you seldom asked for anything in return.

Your life was hard but you always sang.

Even near the end, you heard music.

You made fried apple pies and macaroni and cheese

With equal amounts of joy and tenderness.

Those are spices no one could add but you,

Grandma.

Though you are now in a better place, safe in Heaven

And strolling along glided streets with Grandpa

Holding your hand

You remain still here with us, held close and fast

And with each beat of our hearts

We will remember your love.

Grandma

Legacy - Maternal Grandmother (Part 1)

My grandmother swooped down and pulled my crying brother up into her arms. He immediately fell into her bosom, his snotty face buried in the towel that always magically appeared on Grandma's shoulder when one of us had a cold or needed hugging.

She carried him over to her rocker and settled in. She rocked fiercely, almost angrily, and the rocker clacked on the hardwood floors as she matched the tempo of my brother's heaving sobs. Then the rocker began to slow as my brother's tears eased. Grandma began to sing. "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do." My brother's crying eased, and soon he fell asleep, as children do when they've worn themselves out from crying and then been comforted.

This meant I could go back to playing, because my favorite little person was in safe hands. Grandma's arms around you in while she was in her rocker was the safest place of all.

That memory is my favorite of all the memories I have of Grandma. It is probably an amalgamation of memories, for I'm sure it happened more than once. But my memory of watching her soothe my brother puts her high in the ranks of good people in my life.

Grandma took care of us until we started school. Then she watched us in the summers or when we were sick. My brother, Loren, and I were joined by my two youngest uncles. Junior was four years older than we were, so he was the boss. My other uncle, Jerry, was a year younger than I. He and I played together a lot, leaving my brother, three years younger than I, to himself or to be the bratty little hanger-on with the rest of us. Grandma made us include him and I generally tried to, because I was supposed to protect him.

My grandmother was a housewife. She did not drive, but once a week she would walk three blocks to Aunt Neva's and do her hair. She dragged us all along with her. I didn't mind. In the summer, Aunt Neva had Concord grapes growing on a vine and I loved to steal a bunch and eat them still hot from the sun. Aunt Neva's house smelled always of baking beans and frequently of hair perm solution. I didn't know it then, but Aunt Neva lived in the house my grandmother grew up in.

As we aged, we occasionally took longer walks to Main Street in Salem. These were glorious nearly day-long trips. I expect they wore my grandmother out - she would have been in her late 40s, I guess - but to us they were the epitome of summer. First, we'd stop by Aunt Pearl's house for a Coke and a place to pee if necessary. She and Grandma would chat until we became whiny and wanted to move on.

Then, we'd go to Brooks Byrd Pharmacy for an icy snow cone. I always had blue raspberry. Then we'd march to Newberry's to spend whatever money we'd managed to save. Newberry's was like a local Woolworth's (or today's Dollar General) - it was a store with everything. We bought balsa wood airplanes, paddles with the ball attached, Slinkys, and as we aged, models that we then spent hours gluing together.

Grandma was fairly lenient with us in the late 1960s and early 1970s. We would take our bikes and be gone most of the afternoon, leaving her to cook dinner for Granddaddy. We would race in if we were bleeding, and politely ask for a "Granddaddy cookie" to soothe the pain. These were Little Debbie Oatmeal Cookies that Grandma kept in a blue cookie jar on a yellow cart beside the stove. Since Granddaddy took one in his lunch everyday, a kid could only have these special treats when blood was involved.

Once, my grandfather was cutting down a tree in the back, or trimming it, perhaps, I can't recall. In any event, eight-year-old me wanted to help. He handed me a small saw, and I proceeded to saw open the joint in my left thumb. He sent me in to my grandmother, who put the bleeding thumb under water to see how bad it was cut. I began to pass out and she magically managed to hold me up, swirl a chair around for me to sit down in, and keep my thumb under water all at the same time. She wrapped my thumb in a towel and had me place my head between my knees, which I did. She bandaged my thumb, gave me a Granddaddy cookie, and I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book. I still have a nice scar there.

My grandmother had a big "rag bag" in the bottom of the hall closet. My uncles and my brother and I loved to dig through it. We pulled out old blankets to use for capes so we could be super heroes. We spent many hours jumping off the back stoop in efforts to fly.

She lowered her head several times a day for one of us to give her a necklace made of clover flowers. We would sit for a long time making clover chains, which we then adorned her with. They were always gone when next we went into the house.

In the afternoons, we were not to bother Grandma while she was on the phone with Mamma Fore. Mamma Fore was her friend and they talked for at least an hour. Generally, we weren't there anyway, unless one of us was ill.

When I was 11, my grandmother told of us of a dream she had of walking through a beautiful apple orchid. Jesus came to her and took her wedding ring from her finger. "You won't need this any more," he told her.

My grandfather died of a heart attack about a week later.

To be continued . . .

Legacy Questions - Maternal Grandfather

Someone gave me a book entitled Legacy Questions. It has 867 questions to answer about your life in preparation for writing a memoir.

I am going to go through and answer as many of the questions as I can. Obviously I won't mention things that may be used as identification questions at banks and things, but that doesn't mean there aren't stories there.

The first question is "What do you know about your grandparents?"

I was fortunate in that I knew both my maternal and paternal grandparents. My mother's parents lived within driving distance, so I spent time with them. My father's parents moved to California when I was about six months old, so my interactions with them were limited to phone calls and infrequent visits. After I married, my grandfather in California and I became pen pals, and he wrote me many stories and poems. I have the originals safely tucked away. I typed out most of his stories and made a book out of them, which I have shared with my father.

My mother's father was, in my eyes, anyway, a stern man. He and my grandmother had six children. My mother was the oldest. The youngest is a year younger than I am, born on my first birthday.

Granddaddy went to work early and came home at 4:10 p.m. every day. My grandmother had dinner on the table when he walked in, and they ate around 4:20 p.m., after he'd washed up.

My grandfather worked for Kroger at the warehouse where he was a fork truck operator. He worked there for 35 years.

My grandfather was 57 years old when he had a heart attack. (Incidentally, his father also died at the age of 57.) I'm not sure about the details of his pension, but for some reason Kroger refused to pay my grandmother whatever it was she thought they owed her. Nobody in the family shopped at Kroger for a very long time after my grandfather passed away.

He smoked cigarettes constantly. He had a workshop in the basement where he worked on television sets during the weekend to make extra money. My brother and I, along with my two youngest uncles were never supposed to go in there (of course we did), and we definitely were not to mess with his tools (we generally did not). I remember him as being rather gruff, probably wondering who these kids were that were at his house all the time.

He drove a big white Ford car with a blue interior. Occasionally he took us on day trips to Hillsville, where there was a big store called Hills that had all sorts of trinkets, and to a place called Sunset or Sunnybrook or something like that up near Floyd. That store also had all sorts of intriguing items.

Once he raced us kids in a foot race. He laughed the entire time he was running. He also, after I reached about the age of 9 or 10, let us mow the yard. At the time he still had two boys at home. He'd pay us each a quarter and we'd split the yard-mowing up for the privilege of earning that quarter.

Then, quarter in hand, we'd race off to Orange Market on Apperson Drive to purchase comic books, candy, and a soda (yes, a long time ago, you could buy all of that for a quarter. Or maybe we put our quarters together, I don't really remember).

My mother worked about a block away from my grandparents' house, so if I stayed home from school because I was sick, I stayed with Grandma, and by the time Mom left work at 5 p.m. I was fed and she could take me home to Botetourt and put me to bed.

Grandpa grew up in Botetourt on the property that borders the land on which I grew up. A barn that he helped build still stands there. He only went to school through the fourth grade; I assume he quit to work on the family farm. He attended the Pleasant Dale Church of the Brethren when he was young. (I was later baptized in the same church, and I saw his name on the roster.) I think he attended school in what I knew as a barn growing up, which has since burned down. I'm not sure what the name of the school would have been.

He had six siblings, three brothers and three sisters (I think), so a family of seven children. 

One story passed down was of a prisoner (?) that they saw walking in the field. He was bloody and in rags. Then he disappeared. My grandfather always said it was a ghost.

His mother moved the family to Salem after my great-grandfather passed away, and Grandpa got his job at Kroger. He was ineligible for the draft due to poor vision.

I remember him with glasses and a hearing aid, his head bent over a TV, telling us to go away while he worked. I do not know if he was a happy man, but he was a hard-working one. I hope he was happy.

Grandpa would stop work on Saturdays to watch wrestling. In the evenings, he watched the Johnny Cash show. On Sunday nights, if we were there, we watched The Wonderful World of Disney with him.

This is a picture of my grandparents holding my mother when she was a baby, circa 1944.

The Nephew Builds a House

My nephew has started construction on his new home. It is on the hill on the farm across the road from ours.

I look directly at it out of my office window.

This was the view (the photo is from about 10 years ago):

And now this is the view:

Those scars in the earth is where his house will be as they've started the foundation. 

I am excited for him. He is only 25 years old, so this is a big step for a young man. He has a two-year old daughter whom I did not get to see much of during the pandemic and he and his wife are expecting another child. It will be fun to look out my window and watch tiny little figures playing on that hillside.

He's a fine young man. He visits us when he can (not during the pandemic, of course, but he's coming around now when he has a minute, and bringing his little girl). He asks my husband for advice about many things. He's a hands-on, outside kind of man, much like my husband. He likes to get dirty and he enjoys working. He also is very much in love with his little girl. She adores her daddy, too. That is so nice to see.

Had we had children, I would hope a boy would have turned out much like my nephew, as he takes after his uncle in many ways. He even has hands like my husband's (big with long fingers).

I am so glad one of the nephews wanted to live on the farm.

Changes always. Change is good. 

Life goes on.

Dad Had a Party

My father turned 80 on July 1, and his wife threw a party for him at the country club. It was supposed to be a surprise party, but you can't invite over 100 people and not have someone blab. So he knew he was having a party, he just didn't know who was invited.

His big surprise was that my cousin from California came in for the party and to stay for a week. Dad seemed pretty pleased with his big event.

The entry decorations

My father as a young man, circa 1976 or so. Maybe earlier, I'm not sure.

Dad and his wife enter the party!

My brother makes a speech.

This is where he starts to bring in the surprise guests.

Dad realizes his nephew from California is there.

Hugs all around.

Dad was very happy.

The surprise left my father speechless, which my brother considered a score.

My brother and his girlfriend.

Dad greeting folks.

Just an overview to show lots of people there. I think there were nearly 80 people present.

My father, my brother's girlfriend, and my cousin Lisa.

My cousins George and Becky.

Dad with my cousin Steve.

Dad and his wife Rita share a moment.

My step mother and my cousin.

My stepmother, her daughter Shonna, and Shonna's friend.

Cousin Steve.

My husband with Steve and Lisa

The Husband's Ancestors

My mother-in-law sent us the photo below. I'd never seen it before. This is a copy of the original, apparently, as there are copy lines in the picture, but it's a cool photo all the same.

I'm going to guess this was taken in the early 1950s. The relatives, from left to right, are:

Aunt Genevieve, Aunt Franny (Francis), and Aunt Nancy (rear)

Jimmy (my father-in-law), Ella, and Arthur aka "Aut"

Ella and Arthur were my husband's grandparents. Grandpa passed away while my husband and I were dating, and I did not get to know him well. I know he loved to play tricks on folks and was a good businessman.

I spent a lot of time with his grandmother, who was very demanding and yet quite the character. She grew prize-winning roses and taught me how to grow roses, too, although mine never looked as good as hers did.

The dashing fellow who would become my father-in-law - doesn't he have a rakish look about him?

Of the three young women, Aunt Genevieve looks the happiest. Aunt Franny does not look very happy (and honestly I never knew her to be a happy person), and Aunt Nancy looks a little mischievous.

All of these folks, except for Aunt Nancy, have passed on.

Here is a news video of Grandma talking about the burning of the Botetourt County Courthouse in 1976.

Curio (virginia.edu)

I Stuck Out My Tongue

My father had both of his children over Sunday for Father's Day. That's my dad in the rear, and my brother on the front right.

Me? I'm on the left with my tongue sticking out.

Happy Birthday to My Brother

 Happy birthday to a great guy, loving dad, hard worker, and best brother ever! He's one of my heroes!

Trey's Engagement Party

My nephew is getting married in October. My brother threw an engagement party for him and his bride-to-be on Saturday.

 

Valerie and Trey

The bride's father John and my brother, Loren.

Cutting the cake.

More cutting the cake.

The bride-to-be's mother.

Bride and groom.

My brother giving a speech.

My step-sister and my father.

My brother with his stepson, his grandson, &
the stepson's fiancée.

My step-nephew, his daughter, & his fiancée.

My father and my niece, Zoe.

Goodies at the table.

The cake!

My father.

Trey, my nephew

Tasha, my brother's girlfriend, and my brother.

Crowd shot.

Little doo-dads on the table.

My niece.

Gift table.

My brother and his son.

My step-nephew & his daughter.

The sign-in table.

The in-laws to be.

Greeting the new in-laws.

My stepmother was happy to see us.

Crowd

Crowd

Decorations