Kiss the Wind

I envy the butterflies as they

Make their journeys,

Sitting on flowers,

Over the fields

Without touching the ground,

I would like to run away,

Through the meadows and lily fields,

Over the trees

And enjoy the valleys,

I would love to run away.

To kiss the wind before

It reached the mountaintops

I want to run away to tomorrow

Before tomorrow reaches me today.

 

Life is poetry.  I always enjoyed teaching poetry to students, especially teenagers.  Within each young man lies a poem.  He just doesn't know it. 

Girls find it early. 

Girls talk about living, dying, finding, and losing love; however, boys don't want to admit they have noticed these things.  They could write volumes on lost loves.

Teenage girls will retreat to the bathroom and cry on the shoulder of a friend. 

Major drama. 

I have never had to send a boy to the restroom to comfort and encourage his friend to return back to the room over a girl. 

Guys just don't do drama.

They will, however, start a fight or get into a fight.  Hmmm, maybe this is their drama.---Instead of crying, they beat the heck out each other.

Answers a lot of questions. 

Instead of going home because his heart is broken, he is sent home for fighting, and that, my friend, saves his pride.  Either way, he got to leave school and rid himself of the hurt he feels from being told, "it's over," while eating lunch with a table full of friends, from the girl he thought he would take to the prom.

Oh, girls, girls, girls, think, think, think before you speak, speak, speak!

That young man you are embarrassing and breaking his heart all in one swoop, may later be "the one who got away." Or, even worse, he is friends with the one who might just be "the one" had you not shown your bad side and caused him to run away from "that girl."

Before you say what you are thinking, guys are not immune from causing pain. They have their own way of causing hurt.  Today I am just relating the thought of how poetry is more difficult for guys to admit that they could write their own hurtin' "somebody done somebody wrong song."

 

 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the reminder of why I am so happy my teen years are behind me.

 

A little Georgia Wisdom: Think before you speak no matter what your age.  Words can hurt, and words can come back to haunt you.

 

Peace

Starring out the window, I watch the sun and clouds work together to help the leaves on my favorite tree cast shadows on the yard outside. This gives me a feeling of peace. I really don't understand why at this point this scene gives me peace.  I am reminded of scripture.  Philippians 4:7 which says    "and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

This past weeks have been stressful for my family.  Death comes and escorts our friends and family to their Heavenly home, and we are saddened by the loss.  We are saddened by unfinished conversations, the silence of laughter, the pain we see in the faces of family, and then there is the joy of knowing that with their own words they made sure that the most important decision to accept Christ and His salvation had been taken care of in this life. Bernice and Elizabeth (Lib) were ready to go; however, we were not ready to let them go.

Bernice fought the good fight with cancer.  She had survived three types of cancer and the fourth was no so gracious. Lib had a heart attack.  There is no good way to go.  Bernice's family had some time to prepare if that is even possible; however, Lib was gone so quickly.  How does one prepare to say good-bye?

The memories each of us has for these two ladies will be forever etched in our hearts.  I chose to remember their laughter.  The quick wit each had can't be adequately shared.  As the old saying goes, "you had to be there."  They both had it.  They saw life as it was and accepted it.  I don't remember either of them trying to change someone's thoughts to fit their  own.  They shared their thoughts, but neither never tied to "make" you see it their way.

They both were good listeners.

Lib was so  kind to me when she was a teenager and then later she was kind when I was one. She heard my teenage stories and never laughed at how silly they were. She made me feel grown-up.  She didn't even get mad at me when I fell down the front steps with her baby.  She knew is was an accident. I was so scared, but Lib's baby daughter, Vickie, was okay.  I cried, but Vickie  and Lib didn't. 

Lib came to visit my parents often.  They lived across the road from her.  We would gather at my parents and have coffee.  Mama usually had a chocolate cake.  I loved those visits.  After I married, I gathered there too and had coffee and cake along with conversations that filled the community with lots of laughter.. 

Bernice would join us at Mama and Daddy's house also.  One day she and I met up there (like many, many times before) and we were complaining about how our shoes were so uncomfortable.  She tried on my shoes and I tried on hers.  We both left that day with comfortable shoes...

Her children have given me some of her shoes.  We both liked shoes and pocketbooks.  I resisted the temptation to take some pocketbooks home.  Barry already thinks I have to many.

Bernice wanted to publish another cookbook.  She had already, with her children's help, put one together as a fundraiser.  On the days that I was blessed to spend time with her, we started the wheels in motion to fulfill her dream of publishing another one.  She won't get to see this one completed, but her daughter Cindy, her sister, Bessie, and I have vowed to complete this project. Her whole family will be working on this cookbook.  Friends are joining this effort too.  We will have a cookbook ready by the end of June to send to the publisher.

If you would like to have one of these cookbooks, they will sale for $15.00.  Please email me at churches265@yahoo.com and I will send you an address.  We would love to pre-sale as many as possible.  The monies from the sale of these books will go to pay her mounting doctor and hospital bills.  Living with cancer is not cheap.  The cost is unreal. 

The services are over, the tears that flowed freely have started to slow down, and we are remembering and laughing.  You know, that is the way I want to be remembered.  Tell the funny stories, laugh at the silly things I did, and remember that I was a born again Christian who loved the Lord.


It is me, again, Lord, thanking you for the opportunity to grow up with cousins like Bernice and Lib.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Take time to spend with relatives by getting to know them as friends. Make sure you save those special moments and memories in your heart.

Bittersweet Memories

It has been a long time since I posted a blog.  Time seem to get away, as it has a tendency to do to all of you, from me.

One of the earliest memories of my grandparents was one Christmas when my parents and I stayed at their house on Christmas Eve.  The next morning there was a footprint in the ashes of the fireplace; I knew that footprint was evidence Santa Claus had brought the tricycle that stood under the tree to me. 

Over the years as our family grew, each Christmas we would gather at Granny's and Granddaddy's house with wrapped gifts for the tree.  We celebrated birthdays at their house and Sunday dinners.  Sunday dinners consisted of fried chicken and home canned green beans, hot biscuits, gravy, banana pudding, and cake.  Mama made the chocolate cake.  As I tell you about these gatherings and meals, I can feel the atmosphere of family.  We were strong on laughter.  My cousins and I enjoyed each other's company which included expanding families with new husbands, new wives, new babies, and new lives.

The first Christmas after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother didn't want to celebrate it. My cousins Debbie and Renee, along with my my sister, Sherry went to her house to "talk her into Christmas."  Those young ladies were pretty persuasive! We had Christmas at Granny's! However, the atmosphere hung thick with the emptiness of not having Granddaddy sitting in the rocker, smiling at all his family, but we all agreed we were so happy to have our tradition of Christmas.  This tradition carried forward until my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer.  She passed away January 1, 1994 at the age of 84.  My grandfather died at the age of 67. This seems young now that I am only three short years away from being 67 years old.

My memories of the years between 1948 and 1994 always include Granny and Granddaddy. They worked hard.  My grandmother would set the clock fifteen minutes fast so my granddaddy would not be late for work at Schnadig (International Furniture Company).  He worked there until retirement. Sure he knew the clock was fast, but I think it was a game he played with Granny.  She would have breakfast ready and he would eat and he didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave the house for work, and all the while Granny would be saying, "Ed, you're gonna be late."  I don't think he ever was.

Granny loved flowers and her garden.  She and my Aunt Mildred would plant, hoe, gather, and can the bounty from that garden. After Granny died, she left behind boxes of canned green beans.  The Golly Green Giant would have been proud!

Once we all went camping in Panama City, Florida.  Granddaddy decided he wanted a pair of shorts to stay cool.  Granny wouldn't wear them then.  Years later on another trip to Florida, she decided she would get her a pair and wear.  She liked her Florida shorts (Granddaddy would have enjoyed her adventurous side).  Didn't wear them at home, but always when she traveled to the beach. I hope I can find their pictures to share with you all.  Granny might not like it, but I think she would eventually find the humor in sharing them. Granddaddy wouldn't care. He would just smile that crooked smile.

Granny taught me how to plant tomato plants and make turkey dressing for Thanksgiving.  Mama taught me the art of canning green beans, but I still don't like to do it, so I will admit, we don't have home canned green beans.

Growing up with family surrounding you was special.  We farmed back in the 1950s.  I sound like I was a hard worker. I guess since Granny made me a small cotton pick sack to sling on my shoulder when all the women worked one cotton season picking cotton, that I qualify as a farmer. I hope you saw my picture on the tractor with my granddaddy.  Does that make me a farmer?  I would like to think so; however, I didn't like to work in the garden.  That was hard work.

 I did my fair share of what we called "stringing beans." Some people would call this "snapping" beans.  We always had to make sure we had the ends off to pull the string from the beans before we broke them into smaller pieces.  Each person had newspaper spread in his or her lap for the beans that were to be de-stringed.  (Is that a word?) Then we left the strings and ends in our laps and threw our broken beans into a common metal dishpan for washing and later cooking. So many family came to help that there were so many of us working together on summer evenings, we had to have several pans so we could sit in a circle under the shade tree and still reach a pan. Now as I tell you about it, it sounds fun. The talking and fellowship was fun, the work was not.  It was work.

If you have followed my blog, you can guess that within this short story are many insights into life just waiting to be shared.  In those years between 1948 and 1994, there were many, many lessons that I was fortunate to learn at the feet of some extraordinary folks.  This is just the beginning.  The old rooster story of this "farmer" is definitely for another day.

Sometimes I think I would love to go back for a day and relive that time, but I would have to go through the heartache of losing our loved ones again.  No, like the song says, "I couldn't live there anymore."

It is me, again, Lord, thanking you for the bittersweet memories that shape the person I am today.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Savor even the small moments in life. It is those moments that adds the flavor to your character.

Hog Killin' Weather

Reading a post on our family web site written by my cousin Lynn brought back a lot of memories. I remember when it was hog killing weather which was usually winter when it was really cold outside.  It was an all day affair to process the hog, but everyone around would help. 

Me and my grandaddy, Edgar Loudermilk

 I have seen Granny can sausages. She and Granddaddy had a smoke house in which they hung the salted hams.   I don't remember them ever smoking the hams, but we still called it the smoke house.

Mama use to fry pork and after she took up the meat she would pour  hot coffee into the grease and make "red-eye gravy" which we poured over a biscuit.

One time Daddy had killed a hog and there was all this fresh pork.   Mama had been cooking and eating this fresh meat during the day, and during the night had a gall bladder attack.   She had to have major surgery.   She almost died from the combination of a highly infected gall bladder and the surgery, and it was triggered from all the fresh pork.

One of my favorite meals is fried fat back, small green onions, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers and cornbread with fresh butter on the cornbread.   Add some fried potatoes and you have a meal fit for a king.

Wonderful memories of a time when we grew and processed our own food.  I would have no idea how to process the meat the way my parents and grandparents did.  Good thing we have a grocery store near by.

The "good old days" really means the "hard working days."  So thankful we don't have to depend on my knowledge of agriculture and food preservation.  My family would starve to death.

It is me again, Lord, thank you for the good memories of a time long ago.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  When you are given opportunities to have experiences or learn from your elders, make sure you don't walk away empty handed. 

Dreaming About Mama

The weather is more like spring than winter.  The little jonquil and daffodil blooms have already opened here in the North Georgia Mountains.  This makes me feel like spring has arrived.  Spring makes me miss Mama even more.  It was in Spring that she went home to be with our Lord, Jesus Christ.

I dream about Mama.  I have been dreaming about her on a regular basis since she died.  I want to sit and talk to her.  In my dreams the coffee pot is either brewing, or we are just putting on the pot.  She is not sick in my dreams.  The sad part of my dream is that she and I don't sit down and talk.  Isn't that strange?  One would think that I would be sitting with her, drinking coffee, laughing, and talking.

Maybe my dreams are really trying to tell me something.  Mama and I had unfinished business together. 

If your parents are still with you, clear the air of unfinished business before they are gone.  I always wanted my mama to be proud of me and my accomplishments, but I don't think she was.  I made mistakes in my personal life that haunted my relationship with my mom. The Lord has forgiven me, but I have a hard time forgiving myself.  Do you ever feel that way?  It is harder to forgive one's self than to forgive others.  

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for forgiveness even when I can't forgive myself.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Make sure you tell loved ones how you feel.  It's good for the soul.

That's My Daddy

I have written about my daddy before, but he was such an unusual man, one writing can't contain the love I had, and still have, for him.

Daddy had a saying for just about everything.  Folks would stop by, and if he had not been feeling well, he was "under the weather" (sick) or he was "Fair to middlin'" (feeling fine, but not great) this was also a term used for a certain grade of cotton.

One day I asked Daddy if he was hungry, "Yes, my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

I find myself using old sayings and idioms.  My Hispanic students probably don't have a clue to what I am saying.  I have been trying to break this habit of mine, but it is a hard one to break.  I grew up with Daddy.

One day, about a year before my daddy passed away, he and I were sitting in the car waiting for my brother and sister to come out of a furniture store.  Two very large ladies came out.  Daddy, in a soft and thoughtful voice said, "If those two ladies are told to haul butt, they are already loaded."  Yes, that was my dad.

I miss that man.  Lord knows he was hard to get along with sometimes. We had our share of disagreements, but I sure did love him.  Growing up it seemed like I was closer to my mom.  But the year after Mama died, Daddy and I got closer.  I wanted Daddy to be there when I retired so we could go places together.  God had other plans for him.  Daddy missed my mama; he missed Uncle Buford; He missed Uncle Tim.  All three passed away within a few months of each other. In November the year before these three died,  his brother, Uncle Clyde, died.  Those deaths, so close together, really touched Daddy.

When we pray for healing for our loved ones, and they don't get better like we want, one must remember this:  The person we are praying to get better may be praying for God to take them home. 

It is me again, Lord, thanking you for the wonderful memories of my dad.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  Don't get angry with God when a loved one passes and you feel your prayers weren't answered.  God may have answered your loved one's prayers instead.

Ouch! It Was Cozy

The best smell in the world is early morning breakfast with Mama cooking. Some how, no matter how cold outside, the house felt warm inside just by breathing the smell of coffee, biscuits, gravy, and coco syrup. Growing up we had just one heater to heat the whole house, but then Mama would start cooking breakfast, you knew that it would be warm and cozy in our house.

As the house grew from three rooms, when I was small, to the six bedrooms. Each of us had a morning ritual getting up. Mine was to go stand in front of the gas space heater and pull my gown up to warm by bottom in front of the heater. One day our little dog was in front of the heater and I made a mistake of getting between the dog and the heater. I accidently stepped on her tail, she yelped, and I jumped back and touched my legs on the hot metal. Ouch! I had a small burned place on the back of my legs that matched the small metal safety rails on the space heater.

Years later after the upper floor was added and the space heater was history, brother Eddie would come down the steps and sit down in front of the heating vent to get warm and talk to Mama from the stairs.

We had a loved filled home growing up. I miss those days, but I don't miss the gas space heater.

It's me again, Lord, thanking you for wonderful memories of my childhood.

A little Georgia Wisdom:  If if comes down to you or the dog, let the dog have the space in front of the fire.  The scar lasts a very long time.