... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1 Happy New Year!!!!!!!

If I was to ask you what song is most sung on New Year's Eve, no doubt you'd say "Auld Lang Syne." The song was originally a poem, and was old when Robert Burns set it to the tune of an old Scottish folk song in the late 1700’s.  The title itself roughly translates to "for old times' sake."  (You can read the full history of the song here, as well as find all the lyrics.)  It’s a song that most of us know at least the first verse and chorus to, and we often find it tossed in with all the other Christmas songs on those CDs we pull out every Christmas.  It is, however, a New Year’s song, rather than a Christmas song, but since the two holidays are so closely placed on the calendar, they are often heard at the same time... as if Christmas started the day after Thanksgiving and lasted until after New Year’s Day. 

New Year's Eve and Day are a time to reflect on what has been in the year soon to pass, and look to the future for what we want to accomplish in the coming year.  As I look back over this past year, memories (some good, some not so much) swirl around in my mind as I remember people, places and events that have been part of my life.  I don't think it would be too presumptuous of me to say that this has been quite the year, with some most unusual things going on.... around this neck of the woods... around the country... and around the world as a whole.  The annals will show that we lost many good and famous people this year, that we tread where none have tread before in the political arena (in several ways), and that many new family members made their grand debut, as babies were born.  The history books won't have to look far to find something to write about for 2016.  It feels good to tuck that one away and look toward a New Year, full of..... well, nothing really.... it's up to each of us to do our part to fill it with whatever we think is best to fill it with.  My hope is that it will be a bit more goodness and kindness, a bit more compassion for our fellow man, and a bit more of the celebrating of the differences between us rather than letting the differences separate us. 

As with any ending and new beginning, traditions spring up around ways to celebrate the closing of a chapter and the start of a new one.  Some throw parties, or go to one.  Some go to New York's Times Square and watch the ball drop, in person.  Other people attend local fireworks events.  Some prefer a quiet night in front of the TV, watching the ball drop with the family.  Some toast the New Year with a glass of champagne, some with sparkling grape juice... and some don't toast at all.  Some kiss a loved one.... or whoever is near by...  some just scream "Happy New Year".... and some just nod and mumble "Well, that's that" as they sit in their PJ's in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn and a soda.

When we were kids, our family always put a jigsaw puzzle together that night, hoping to finish before the ball dropped at midnight, but seldom accomplishing that.  Dad would always get at least one jigsaw puzzle as a gift for Christmas (usually one that was very hard to do.... one Christmas, it was a big red dot... nothing but red).... so on New Year's Eve, we'd get out the square card table (you know the one.... green plastic top, legs that came out from underneath and latched at each corner [careful.... don’t pinch your finger], and wobbly all around) and empty the box of puzzle pieces onto the table.  First we had to turn them all over, picture side up, laying aside the edge pieces and corners.  The edges went together first, then any major feature in the puzzle picture, filling in the sky or water (or whatever the background was) last of all.  Popcorn, Pepsi, and roasted/salted Spanish peanuts were the usual snacks.  Sometimes we had peanut brittle, or fudge, or taffy.... depending on what Mom had made during the Christmas holidays.  It was a fun time with the family, and a nice quiet (ish) way to celebrate the last night of the year.

New Year's Day in the south consists of a meal of collards greens,black-eyed peas, and cornbread... worked in somewhere around the Bowl games that are on TV that day.  They are said to bring luck in the coming year, but we liked 'em because they were delicious.  The black-eyed peas are said by some to be symbolic of humility and a lack of vanity, and to bring monetary luck in the coming year.  There's an old saying, "Eat poor on New Year's, and eat fat the rest of the year."  As for the collard greens and cornbread... the saying goes: "Peas for pennies, greens for dollars, and cornbread for gold," so it's supposed to bring money to you in the coming year.  While I'm not a superstitious person, it feels like something is missing if I don't eat these things on New Year's Day.  The collards can be fresh or canned.... that part doesn't matter as far as I have ever known.  The black-eyed peas can be from the can, frozen, or cooked from dried beans.  Ham, left over from Christmas, is usually added to the beans and the collards for seasoning (and to use up the last bits of the ham.... waste not, want not!)  It's just plain ol' good ol' down home eatin', is what it is... and if it happens to bring luck in the coming year, so much the better. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the time honored tradition of the New Year’s Resolution.  Why do we do this to ourselves?  We make promises to ourselves (and often others) that we're going to do something or other.... some life altering something, like dieting, or exercise, or quitting a bad habit. Our intentions are great.  We want to better ourselves in the coming year.... make our self a better person somehow, whether it’s stopping something (like a bad habit) or starting something (like exercise).  We know that setting a goal is how to accomplish a thing... so we imagine ourselves as the best person we can be, and reach for the sky full of hope and determination.  Then a week or two later, we find out we're human after all, and give in to temptation, or take a day (or seven) off from going to the gym, or whatever.... then we guilt ourselves for weeks because we broke our promise.  After participating in this hallowed tradition for many years, I realized (probably the day I broke my New Year's Resolution for the year) that I was, in essence, starting my new year with failure.... and that wasn't really the message I wanted to give to myself, or give to others who were around me........ Sooooooo..... The next year, I made a resolution to NOT make resolutions.  So far, I've finally succeeded at a resolution.  :) 

Whether you celebrate big and loud... or with just a small group of family or friends....  Whether you eat your collards, greens and cornbread, or go out for a hamburger.... Whether you make a resolution or not.................... Take time to count your blessings...  Look at where you were at the beginning of the year, and how much you’ve learned over the year...  Remember all the times that you showed love to family and friends, and they to you...  Take time to be grateful for all you have, for there’s always someone with less than you have.  Bring the good, the hope, the love, the friendships to the front of your vision for the past year. 

And when you look toward 2017....  fill it with compassion.... fill it with hope.... fill it with goodness..... fill it with love.  Sure, we all know there are going to be bad times and bad days... that’s just part of Life.  But Life is 90% how you look at it....  The choice is yours!  

To quote one of my favorite TV shows:  

“We are all stories in the end.  Make it a good one!”  

(Doctor Who)

  

The Christmas Rush… The Struggles are Real!

Where did I put the tape?  It was here just a second ago.  Oh, there it is. 

Now for a bow…. Red?  No, maybe Green?  This is when I encounter the ultimate frustration in gift wrapping:  the paper on top of the stick-em on the back of those bows.  I try each corner, hoping to find the magic one that lets me peel it off instead of separating the layers of paper itself, and wonder why some genius… or elf… or someone hasn’t invented an easier way to do this.  Finally…. I congratulate myself for accomplishing the impossible, and stick the bow to the package… I frown as I notice that it’s not going to stick.  Need some tape.  Wait, where did I put it?  Oh well, I’ll open another dispenser. 

Looking left, right and underneath the wrapping paper scattered all around, I see that I’ve lost the scissors….. again!  I’m certain that the exhaustion from wrapping gifts isn’t the actual wrapping itself, but the twisting and turning you have to do each time you need tape, scissors, ribbon, or gift tags. 

List After List...

The struggles are real this time of year.  Hurrying to get that last minute shopping done… wrapping the gifts, and double-checking to make sure you didn’t forget someone in the rush… trying to find the scissors (again), when you just had them less than five minutes ago.  Checking list after list to make sure menus are prepared, gifts have been bought or made, and schedules are all worked out so that no one has to be two places at once.

The tree is all decorated, the gifts have been purchased…. You and the UPS guy are on a first name basis nowadays as he delivers all your online purchases.  The menu has been planned, the groceries bought… candies and cookies and cakes are beginning to be baked, cooked, and otherwise prepared.  One more stop at the grocery store should get all those items that you were sure you got last time but can’t seem to find.  Decorative boxes and bows are stacked on the table, waiting their turn at creating the perfect present for under the tree.  What was once excitement for Christmas to come has become an unending To-Do List of things to get done before The Big Day.  The struggles are real!!!

"How many sleeps til Christmas?"

When we were kids, this was the time of year when we could no longer sleep at night.  Those “visions of sugar plums”?  Not so much!  It was more “visions of Santa’s toyshop” really.   Everyday we’d ask Mom and Dad how many sleeps left before Santa came.  Dad seemed to love the excitement, getting us kids all worked up before the big day with his teasing and joking around.  Christmas morning was his favorite time to get us all worked up one last time, as he made us go back to our rooms to get slippers, house robe, etc. before we’d be allowed down the hall and into the living room where the tree was, along with the surprises from Santa.  Our Christmas stockings would be laid out in front of the gifts, and it always always had an orange in the toe of the sock.  I never was sure why, but carried that tradition on down to my children.  There was the usual fare of nuts, fruits, and candies to fill the rest of it up. 

Christmas was a “nothing but fun” time when we were kids.  Grandmother and Granddaddy would come over for breakfast that morning, then afterward Granddaddy and Dad would help us assemble anything that needed assembling from our Christmas toys.  Later that afternoon, all the aunts, uncles and cousins gathered at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house for a big meal and gift exchange.  Rare was the Christmas when someone didn’t get a joke present that someone had skillfully crafted.  Fun, laughter, and love was the theme of the day… with all us kids leaving exhausted at the end of the evening. 

"Thank You" & "I Love You" Gifts

Today, we’re the planners of those gatherings instead of the children running around laughing and playing…. But it’s no less fun.  Family comes in from all across the country.  We see friends we haven’t seen for years.  We eat far too much food, and indulge in far too many sweets.  But it’s worth it!  Every bit of it!!  It’s our way of punctuating the year…. Putting a period on the end of a sentence that has lasted all year long.  It’s a time of love and laughter and celebrating… It’s a time for church and remembering the reason we celebrate… It’s a time for saying “Thank You” to those around us, to those we love, and to those we work with… 

Yes, the struggles are real, as we prepare for such a big celebration, but the rewards are always more than we can ever imagine.  It’s all worth the effort!!

Wishing all of you a Joyous Christmas, 

surrounded by those you love most dear… 

and a New Year full of wonder, surprises, and success!

… and if you see my scissors, could you lay them on the kitchen table please?  I just had them five minutes ago…… 

The Signs of Christmas...

1966 Sears Christmas Catalog

It all started about the time that the Sears Christmas Catalog came in the mail each year.  From there, the excitement just continued to build until the crescendo on Christmas morning.  The old Sears Christmas Catalogs were about an inch thick, and full of dreams… dreams of what Sanny Claws (how we pronounced Santa’s name back then) would leave us under the tree.  Us kids would pour over that catalog time and time again, circling the treasures we’d found, and folding down the corner of every page that had something on it we wanted to add to our list… comparing with each other, and giggling and laughing, ooo’ing and ahhh’ing, planning and scheming the entire time.    We knew we couldn’t have everything we wanted, so as time went on, we pared down our lists to just the few things that we’d finally decided on.  We made sure to show Mom and Dad, but we knew it was really Santa that would bring it to us.  They were, somehow, just the intermediaries. 

Decorating for Christmas started well in advance of the big day, and was always an all-day affair that started early in the morning with a trip into the woods behind the house.  We always had a real tree, and Mom would give us our instructions of what we needed to get (what type… pine, cedar, or whatever) with instructions not to get it but just “so tall”… along with mentioning any other stuff we were to find as well… running cedar, blue ball cedar, holly, mistletoe.  In truth, we had to get multiple trees most every year because Mom didn’t go with us to actually chop down the trees, but she was the one that had to choose which one went into the house.  So off we’d go, with the wagon hooked behind the tractor, Dad driving, us riding.  We’d look at lots of trees… some pine, some cedar, choosing the two or three that would be cut and loaded onto the wagon, then it was off to find the running cedar and blue ball cedar. 

Running Cedar

Running cedar is a vine sort of plant that runs along the forest floor in places, and is usually found in large patches with its frilly leaves poking up out of the blanket of leaves.  We’d pull some up to use for wrapping around railings and banisters and the like, making sure to clean off the leaves and dirt as much as we could first. 

Blue ball cedar is a cedar tree that grows tiny blue balls on its limbs and always has that Christmas smell to it.  This was to be used to adorn shelves, mantles, flower arrangements, and tables. Then we were off to get a couple of branches of holly with berries… it had to have the berries on it.  It wasn’t “real” holly without the bright red

Blue Ball Cedar

berries peeking out from amongst the glossy, but prickly, green leaves.  These added to the overall decorations wherever Mom decided… a sprig here, a sprig there… usually in with the blue ball cedar.  Sometimes we’d be lucky enough to find some mistletoe growing wayyyy up in a tree.  Dad would take his shotgun and shoot some down, then us kids would scramble around picking up the pieces.  Sometimes Dad would find mistletoe while he was out hunting rabbits and squirrels, and would have already brought some back to the house.  He always made sure to pick the mistletoe berries off of it before bringing it home though.  Those were poisonous and not to be brought into the house.

Once we had everything, we’d head back and show Mom what we’d found.  She’d pick out which tree we’d use and Dad would put it in the Christmas Tree Stand.  (It would be the kids’ job to make sure it stayed watered during its stay in the house.)   The trees were never the right shape since they had grown in the wild, so they usually had to be shaped into the typical Christmas tree shape before taking them into the house.  The main thing was that they had no gapping bare spots that couldn’t be hidden by turning that side toward the wall. 

Wreath flocked with
Ivory Soap Flakes "snow"

While we were gone, Mom would have cleared out the space where the tree was going to go that year.  Several years she put “snow” on the tree by mixing Ivory Soap Flakes with water (recipe here) and carefully placing it on the tips of each limb.  It was a messy process that was done outside, but made the tree look like it had been snowed on.  Once the tree was inside, Dad put the lights on the tree (the ones with the big screw-in bulbs, not LED like we have today), and then ducked out to leave the rest of the decorating to Mom and us kids.  One of the first things Mom always did was to cut the top out of the tree.  It became a big joke as years went by, but there was a method to her seeming madness.  These days, I understand why… the star (or angel or whatever) that was on top wouldn’t stand up straight on the flimsy top of those trees, so the only thing a body could do was snip - snip and get down to a small branch that was sturdier. 

My daughter's Name Ornament on my tree

Mom would spend all day, and sometimes into the next, completing the decorations all around the house… every shelf, every outer door, every windowsill, even the mailbox… the house was transformed into a magical land of dreams come true.    We always had an ornament that had our name on it (written with the “snow” that Mom made for the tree… a tradition that I carried on to my kids when they were small (though the names were written with glitter fabric paint instead of snow), and still put them on my tree each year.  One of my favorite things to do, after Mom finished decorating, was to turn off the lights in the room where the Christmas Tree was and lay on the floor and look up at the tree.  If you squint your eyes just right, the whole room is filled with streams of colored light, twinkling like magic.  My favorite lights we put on the tree were what we always called Bubble Lights.  They were in the shape of a candle with a bulbous “stand”.  The “candle” part was glass and filled with some sort of colored liquid that would bubble when the light heated it up.  Years ago, I found a remake of those types of lights and was as thrilled as a kid on Christmas morning to add that to my Christmas decorations that year. 

Believe!

Everything that happened during this time of the year just added to the overall excitement that us kids experienced each and every year.  Every day built on the excitement of the day before, and when Christmas Day finally arrived, we were nearly giddy….  But that part of the story will have to wait for another day. 

Make memories, hold to family traditions… for it is on those memories that the bonds of family and friends are woven.  Wishing each of you a Christmas full of blessings, joy, and the love of those most dear to you.

~ Merry Christmas ~

Persimmon Puddin' 'n' Turkey Laigs

Artist's rendition of The First Thanksgiving

We’ve all heard the First Thanksgiving story.... “The English colonists we call Pilgrims celebrated days of thanksgiving as part of their religion. But these were days of prayer, not days of feasting.  Our national holiday really stems from the feast held in the autumn of 1621 by the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag to celebrate the colony's first successful harvest.”  (Scholastic.com)

We continue that annual tradition even today, celebrating not only harvest, but taking time to realize just how much we DO have to be thankful for.  This year, more than any year I can remember, we need to pause, spend time with family, and count our many many blessings... because we DO have them.  There is always always ALWAYS something to be thankful for. 

When I was growing up, this was one of those family gatherings at Grandmother’s house that I’ve mentioned in past posts.  The men folk (Dad, Granddaddy, and Mom’s brothers) would always gather early in the morning, and as Mom and Grandmother were putting the turkey in the oven to start the preparations for a feast to end all feasts, they went out in the woods and went hunting.  I can’t remember what they were hunting for... squirrels and rabbits, most likely.  It was rare to see a deer or wild turkey in those woods back in those days.  They’d stay out there until on toward noon, and come back in.  After all, it wasn’t going to be long before the football games started.  Us kids, of course, were situated in front of the TV to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. 

Many traditions have sprung up around a typical Thanksgiving Day around here, not least of all a feast to end all feasts, complete with all the favorite family recipes.  This was when I could always expect to get a piece of Grandmother’s persimmon puddin’... made from this year’s crop of persimmons.  There would always be Grandmother’s potato salad, and her cranberry salad.  One of my Aunts always brought her “Pink Stuff”, which was a salad with lots of fruit mixed in a whipped cream base... we just always called it “Pink Stuff”.  Everyone brought something to go with the turkey and dressing and yeast rolls that Grandmother was cooking. 

The tables were set with the “fancy china” and we had to be sure to use the “correct way to lay a table” (fork here, knife/spoon there, glass here, etc.) Food was served buffet style, and after we filled our plates, the adults would go to “The Big Table” and we would go to “The Kid’s Table”.  We always wanted to get big enough to finally be invited to “The Big Table”, but looking back on it, “The Kid’s Table” was where the fun was... laughing and giggling about something or other all the time.

Somewhere around Thanksgiving was when I remember Dad always going to at least one Turkey Shoot.  I knew it was some sort of shooting contest because Dad always spent a lot of time cleaning his guns before they began... and I knew someone was supposed to have always won a turkey, but I don’t remember Dad ever bringing one home.  It wasn’t until later that I found out it wasn’t a “real live” turkey that was to the prize, but a frozen one that someone had bought from the grocery store.

Thanksgiving in the South usually means that the weather is still pretty good some days, and while the nights are starting to get chilly sometimes, the days are usually in the 60’s and 70’s, so that meant that us kids would get shoo’d outside to play, so we’d be out from under foot for all the cooking that was going on. 

It wasn’t until later in life, when my oldest son mentioned it actually, that I realized that Thanksgiving was actually better than Christmas, in a way.  There were no gifts to worry about, no tons of decorations to get placed just so, just lots of family and friends and food.  These days, family is all over the country, having moved away over the years, but they still try to make time to come in for Thanksgiving.  Christmas is often too busy with church and family obligations to travel very far, but Thanksgiving is another thing altogether.  We get extra time off work since it’s a national holiday, so what could be better than a long weekend road trip and come home for a family gathering. 

Thanksgiving is actually a pretty unusual day, if you think about it.  It’s a day set aside to be thankful for the many blessings we’ve had over the past year... a time to reflect on what’s gone on over the past year, and take a moment to realize just how very blessed we have truly been.  In this age of hurry-hurry and instant gratification, in an age of uncertainty and change.... in this age of feeling that the world is spinning too fast and you just want to get off...  It’s good, no – it’s important and necessary, to stop...  take a deep breath, and look at all you DO have... look at your family, your friends, your loved ones (2-legged and 4-legged).  Those precious things are your blessings.  They make your life better.  They are the priceless treasures that you hold dear to your heart. 

So on this Thanksgiving Day...  take a few moments...  As the song says, “Count your many blessings, name them one by one...” !!!  YOU will be on my list.  I am grateful for each of you that read these memories.  Thank YOU!  And have a wonderful, wonder-filled Thanksgiving!!!!!!!!!  

Fresh Brewed Coffee ‘n’ a New Box of Crayons

When you think of things that smell good, I’ll bet you think of things like the smell of a meal cooking, or fresh baked cookies... or maybe even the smell of a little puppy.  No?  Maybe it’s a fresh box of crayons, or a new tub of PlayDoh, or bread fresh out of the oven?  Or, oh yeah, I’ve got it... it’s the smell of coffee brewing first thing in the morning!!  Even if you’re not a coffee drinker, that smell tells us it’s morning, and time to get moving.  We all have those special scents that affect us in some sort of way.  Coffee brewing is one of those scents for me... In fact, all the things I mentioned are among those smells that either makes me think of some “thing”, some “one”, or some “place in time”.  Growing up in the South, and being such an outdoors kid, there were smells that were part of my life, year ‘round.

In the Spring, it was the smell of flowers blooming, like hyacinths with their towering stem of pastel colored flowers, or lilacs as their drooping pastel blooms gently wave in the breeze.  The smell of fresh turned dirt told me that Dad was getting things ready in the garden for planting the tomatoes, beans, corn, cabbage, and other vegetables.  When Dad mowed the grass (or when we did, when we got older), it was both the smell of the cut grass, and the smell of the onions.... there were always wild onions in our yard.  In the evenings, I’d help Mom get the laundry off the clotheslines, and that smell... the smell of those clothes and sheets and towels... that was one of those smells that told me where I was, “when” I was, and was always a favorite... especially when you’d slip into bed at night between sheets that had just been dried on the line.  That smell!!!

In the Summer, there was the scent of honeysuckles that wound around the fences, and up posts and over bushes, wafting its scent on the summer breezes.  That’s when we knew it was time to taste the tiny drop of honeydew that could be found at the base of each flower when the bloom had just opened.  There was some finesse involved to get it though.  We had to pinch the stem end of the blossom off without breaking the stamen that went up the middle of the flower.  Then carefully, oh so carefully, slowly pull out the stamen out of the bottom.  On it, glistening in the sun like a jewel, would be a tiny drop of sweetness.  Touch the tip of your tongue to that, and it was such a sweet treat. 

When the weather changes on a Spring or Summer day, you can smell the storms coming.... something changes about the air.  The air itself, blowing in before the storm on the sudden gusts, smells different, like a mixture of dust and clean air.  The smell after a rain is “pure clean”, like the Earth and all that’s in it had been washed clean.  Even the air was clean... cleaned of all the pollen and dust and other smells from around the yard.

As the garden started coming in, with it came its own smells... the smell of tomato plants as we’d pick the ripe tomatoes off and carefully place them in a bucket or basket.  The smell of corn... as we’d cut it off the cob so we could freeze it for the winter.   The smell of fresh picked berries (strawberries and blackberries) meant that cobblers were soon to follow.  There were other smells as well... the smell of the bean vines after they’d finished bearing and were beginning to die... the smell of the dirt itself, after Dad has run the tiller or tractor through the rows to help keep the weeds at bay.  So many scents assaulted us during the summer.  It was (and is) a time of growth, blooming, and fruiting, and everything carried its scents on the wind.

A trip down to the pond brought different smells to the nose... smells of the silt and mud that covers the bottom of the pond.... the smell of the pine trees growing on the bank, and the water grasses and cattails growing at the edge.  The smell of fish, when caught, added to the smells that, even if your eyes were closed, told you that you were at the pond.   

In the Fall, there was the smell of dried leaves, gently falling in a slow cascade from the trees in the woods, or in a waterfall of leaves when the winds blew in the next storm.  There’s the smell of a garden, nearly done for the year, as plants that once grew there finally end their growing cycle.  Even the air starts to smell different as summer moves into fall, changing from flowery light smells, to something more earthy.  The smell of pumpkin pie starts to appear, as harvest begins and pumpkins ripen.  Apples and cinnamon are scents often wafting from the kitchen, as apples are harvested and either cooked, baked, dried, or frozen.  Citrus smells begin to be a part of the home, as those fruits begin appearing in grocery stores, having made their way from the orange and tangerine groves of the deep south.  These are all smells that tell us that Winter is on its way.... that it’s time to finish the harvest, prepare the ground for next Spring, and finish all the preparations for a long winter.

Winter brings the crisp smells of ice and snow... the mouth-watering smells of a Thanksgiving Feast... and the evergreen smells of Christmas.  Cinnamon, nutmeg, chocolate, vanilla, and other spices seem to permeate the house, as pies, cakes, and cookies are baked for the various celebrations.  Fires are laid in the fireplaces, the aroma of wood burning adding to the soothing, cozy smells of winter. 

It wasn’t just the seasons that brought the smells of place and time.  On a Sunday mornings, scents were everywhere, from the men and their after shaves, to the women and their perfumes, and the flowers on the altar.  Farms have their own smells, be it chickens or cows or pigs.  Wild animals often bring their smells into the nearby woods at night, and the smell of certain perfumes in a store can bring memories to mind.

Smells add to our memories of time, and place, and person.  They tell us where we are, when we are, and who we are.  We adorn ourselves with scents that we find most pleasing.  We surround ourselves with scents that remind us of “who”, or “when”, or “where”.  When we think of memories, old and new, we often think of sight and sound... but we tend to forget smell.  Yet, walk into a candle shop, and right away you’ll smell something that reminds you of something.  Smells create powerful memories.  

Lewis Thomas said, "The act of smelling something, anything, is remarkably like the act of thinking.  Immediately at the moment of perception, you can feel the mind going to work, sending the odor around from place to place, setting off complex repertories through the brain, polling one center after another for signs of recognition, for old memories and old connections."

Whatever your favorite smells are, they are guaranteed to come with some sort of memory or other.  It's through our memories that we tie together our path through Life.... the people, the places, the times.

        

Country Roads... They Take Me Home...

Red clay is the kind of dirt we have around here in a great many places.  There are some sandy areas, and grey clay dirt, but most of the area I grew up in was red clay.  It brings its own set of challenges.... when it's wet; it's like potter's clay that's almost soupy wet.  When it's dry, it can cause a cloud of dust behind a car that will swallow a tall tree.  The dust gets on everything, from the trees and yards on the side of the road, to the cars that drive up and down it. 

I can remember when Dad or Granddad would drive us somewhere; they would always go a certain speed so as to outrun the thick cloud of red dust behind us.  There was no avoiding it, but you could outrun it in a car... but you never wanted to be the car behind that car.  The problem was, the faster you went, the more dust you threw up behind the car.  Our front yard was small compared to our backyard, and it always stayed dusty from cars going up and down the road, but the house blocked it from reaching the back yard.  So after a long dry spell, even the house started having a red tinge to it on the front.  Cars were always dusty and dirty, but you didn’t let Daddy catch you “writing on the car with your finger”, or you’d end up having to wash the car.  Washing the car, when you live on a dusty dirt road, is a futile thing, and we kids were aware of the fact that our hard labor was really for nothing...  it stays clean until the very next time you'd take it anywhere.  No one had garages back then, so all the dust always settled on everything, cars in the driveway included.

Red clay is a special kind of awful when it's wet.  Gummy sorta, like wet soupy potter's clay, and a kind of red that stains anything that's anywhere close to white.  Socks were always to be sorted between those allowed to be worn when you were gonna be outside, and those to be saved for times when you wanted to look your best... like school or church.  Mom went to great pains to try and get the red dirt and mud out of white things, but it never completely worked.  All Moms were intimate with the challenges, and often shared any secrets they came up with that would rid the clothes of that red tinge.

This was the way the roads were when I was growing up.  Only the main roads into town were paved, everything else was gravel and dirt.  Today, it’s rare to find a dirt road, though there are still a few shooting off the road that goes by Mom’s house.  Some of the dirt roads that were around when Mom was growing up have long since ceased to be used, and trees and brush have swallowed them up now.  Other road beds have changed to straighten out some of the curves, or more accurately follow property lines when the old dirt roads became state property, and maintained by the state. 

The dirt roads around here were especially difficult to deal with when it rained.  The bus that took us to school came by our house from the direction that caused its door (in the mornings) to be on the other side of the road.  This meant that if it had been raining, we had to tiptoe/hop across the muck and mire of red clay, trying desperately not to get our shoes too muddy while getting on the bus.  In the afternoons, the door was on the same side of the road as the driveway, so easy-peasy to give it a quick jump and then we were safe from the mud onto the gravels of the driveway. 

Sometimes when I ride the roads around here, I imagine what it was like back before everything was paved.  Some of that I can remember for myself, but pretty much, all the roads were established by the time I came along.  Mom tells me that there was a section of the local roads near Snow Camp, NC that was called "The Old Plank Road".  It was named that for obvious reasons... there were literally planks on the road in an attempt to make it sturdier than the red clay muddy roads that are all around these parts.  But did you ever stop to think how it was that the roads got there to start with. 

I have added an appendix page to this blog for sharing some of my favorite poems and quotes, and the like.  Take a moment and go read the poem I added today called "The Crooked Path" (linked here).  The poem talks about how a calf left a trail... which was followed by wagons and horses, until one day that same crooked switchback trail was a road.  I think of this poem sometimes as I'm riding the roads around here.  It's not that far-fetched a tale to think that some of these country roads started as game trails, which were followed by the Native Americans stalking the game, and later by wagons as the area was settled by the pioneers.  It is extremely common to find out that they were mere wagon tracks for many many years before becoming a road of any sort.  The more houses that a wagon track road ran near, the more “traffic” the road saw.... and as years passed, the road became a main road used by anyone in the area.  In fact, the church that I grew up in currently faces away from the paved road that goes by it because the road, back in the 1800s, that went by the church was on the other side of the church.  When the church was first built, the church faced the road, as most churches and houses do.  Today it stands with its back to the road. 

There are two main roads into the little country village I live near.  One is fairly flat, gentle turns through lush farmland, the ground rising and falling over small hills as it winds its way through the countryside.  The other is steep hills, dipping down to cross branches and creeks with a bumpity bump then up the next steep hill, around some winding curves, and dipping down again to cross another creek.  One road seems typical of how the road crews sculpt the roadways nowadays... the other seems to be a throwback to days of yore.  I can only imagine teams of horses and oxen pulling hard to make it up those hills before it was paved, and farmers having to lay hard on the brake to make it down the next hill.  Wooden one lane bridges would have crossed those creeks... creaking and rattling as the wagon wheels slowly thump-thump-thumped their way across.  Going the few miles that we travel today in a few minutes would have been an all day trip.  But as I travel that hilly, windy road, I can almost hear the squeaking wagon wheels, the huffing of the horses and the clop-clop of their big hooves as they pulled their loads there and back again.  Life was slower back then, and dirt roads were something people were grateful for because they were better than the ruts of a wagon road.

Oddly, there’s a part of me that misses the old dirt roads.  They were not pleasant to deal with at the time, but they were a sign of a slower life... of peacefulness, when everything seemed right, and life wasn’t nearly as confusing.  The roads today even sound different... today it’s just the hum of tires on pavement... but the old country roads had gravels and the gravel on the road crunched as you drove over it.  My daughter still misses the sound of gravel crunching. 

The next time you drive through the country, turn off on some of the side roads... find an old dirt road... slow down, roll your windows down, listen to the gravel crunch.... Stop your car for a minute... Close your eyes, and breathe deep.  You just might hear the squeaking wagon wheels and the clop-clop of horses' hooves... 

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This forest path becomes a lane,

That bent, and turned, and turned again;

This crooked lane became a road,

Where many a poor horse with his load

Toiled on beneath the burning sun,

And traveled some three miles in one.

- Excerpt from "The Crooked Path, by Sam Walter Foss -

Made From the Same Flavor of Crazy!!

Our family, for as long as I can remember, has always used humor as a personal pressure valve.  When things get tough, we always find something to laugh about.. not necessarily the situation itself, but something going on around us, or remembering something funny from the past.  It's our way of releasing a little steam over the situation at hand, and then readdressing the problem and figuring out the solution.  I like to refer to it as "our own special flavor of crazy"!  :)

It's odd how, going through life, we are drawn to people sometimes... people that we meet at work or at church or in casual situations.  It's sometimes like we've always known them... a kindred spirit of sorts.  The kind of people I seem to be drawn to seem to be in this same "flavor of crazy", with their wit and humor that pervades every conversation.  We always find something to laugh about, joke around about, or funny things to share with each other... creating a flow of happiness and laughter between us.  As the saying goes, "Life is too short to be taken seriously."

When someone new enters our "inner circle" of family and friends, it's always somewhat of a culture shock to them.... people marrying into the family, for example.  We're not your typical lot of folks.  Love and laughter (at ourselves and at each other) is the current that runs in, out, among, and between every word of every conversation.  Some people are rather taken aback by all this, and don't quite know what to do with it, much less how to act among it.  It takes some getting used to, that much I know... but eventually they become comfortable enough with themselves and others around them to where they join right in...  and are, in the end, our "flavor of crazy" right along with us.  

It's like this, really..... Life is serious stuff.  Every day we have to make hard decisions, worry about important things, and deal with hard-to-solve problems.  When we get together, be it two or twenty of us, we like to balance out all those troublesome things with lighthearted humor.  Some would say it's living in denial, but nothing could be further from the truth.  Balance is one of the most important things in Life.  Balancing the good with the bad is critical to a healthy outlook on Life.  Our humor, poking fun, and generally cutting up to make the other person laugh is that balance.  Life gives us plenty of serious and troublesome stuff all by itself.  It's family and friends that give us that which balances all that out.  

So if you're having a bad day.... if things aren't quite going just as you'd like them to for some reason... if you're worried and troubled about some one or some thing... stop by and join in our "Circle of Crazy".  We're likely to poke fun at ourselves, offer you some sort of sweet snack and something to drink, and sit around telling tall tales that no one is likely to believe, but which are apt to make you at least giggle a time or two.  Yea, your troubles will still be there, problems that need solving, but somehow it won't be as big a burden... sometimes it even helps you to see the way through easier.  When you leave, you'll realize that you were probably worrying far too much about whatever it was that was on your mind.... that Life is always serious, just different kinds at different times.... that we all try our hardest, but none of us always get it right all the time.... and that sometimes, just sometimes, it's alright to be "our flavor of crazy", even for just a little while.  

You Can't Go Home Again...

Mom's House

I’ve been spending a great deal of time at my Mom’s house lately; helping her convalesce from a health event she had a couple of weeks ago. Time spent there is always a walk down Memory Lane, remembering old times, family gatherings, and just the day to day life that I spent there. As I looked out across the gardens and well-kept lawn, the giant shade trees and the orchards, a thought came to mind. There are so many places that exists only in my mind’s eye... familiar places... places near and dear to my heart, and which I visit often as I write these stories about growing up in Southern Alamance County, North Carolina... about how things used to be and how that’s different from how things are now. 

Mom’s house has changed as the deck and sunroom were added on... the surrounding landscape changed as trees grew, flower gardens were planted, and new houses sprang up within sight. Even the nearby towns have changed so much that when I moved back here four years ago, it was like moving to somewhere I’d never lived before... new road networks to learn, new stores to memorize the location to, things/places that no longer existed (or that had changed so much that they might as well have been something brand new). Time moves on, and with it change comes. That’s just the nature of things, and places, and people. And most of all, we change... a little bit every day.

Oh, the Times I've Walked This Driveway...

I’ve heard it said that “You can’t go home again!”, and I know what that means now. It’s not that you can’t go to the same location, the same town, even the same house... it’s that things change over the course of time. People come and go... businesses change locations or just disappear altogether... even the “old home place” changes as saplings grow to huge shade trees, or a garage is added where once only lawn was. We’re happy for the progress at the time, but how often do we stop and realize what we’re losing in the process?

I remember looking out across the field that’s always been beside Mom’s house and seeing my grandparents’ house, with the old wooden garage out back, and a huge (to me at the time) barn out back of that. The garage and house are still there,

Looking Across the Field at Grandma's House

though no one lives in the house anymore, but the barn has long since been torn down. Yet I can still see it as clearly as if it were still there, and I was about to climb up the rickety wooden ladder that lead to the hayloft. I can walk around the yards at my grandparents’ house and point out to you where Granddaddy had his fishing worm “bin” that he made, or where the old apple trees once stood (and when the apples were likely to be ripe)... I can show you where Grandmother’s clothes line used to be, and the hole under the side of the house that the barn cats always used to climb into to have their kittens. I can show you where the fig bush was, and still taste the sweetness of a fully ripened fig, and feel the stickiness of the sap where I pulled it off the bush to eat it. The details of that place, forever preserved in my mind’s eye, are astounding... all I have to do is just go for a walk down that particular Memory Lane to see it all.

I can remember finally being released from chores in the house, racing out the back door (slamming the screen door and being told not to slam it again), bouncing down the porch steps and out into the yard where adventure waited to be found. I remember every detail of that back yard... how small the trees were, where the sandpile beckoned at the edge of the woods, and where the swing set was. I can remember laying on my bed at night and hearing the whip-o-wills (where have they all gone?) and crickets and frogs as I drifted off to sleep each night. So many details come to mind... of a place that once was, of a time that will never exist again, and a childhood that was full of adventure just waiting around the next tree, bush, or corner.

A Creek in the Woods
(not ours, but similar)

Not long after I moved back here, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, a few of us went walking in the woods out back of the house. As we wandered past the old back field that Dad once planted with corn (or something else), I noticed how trees and meadow grasses had started to reclaim that area again, and a part of me sighed inside at the change. We made our way to the creek at the bottom of the hill, and I noticed how that had changed, though not as much in some places... the water was still icy cold... the banks were still steep... and it was still too wide to jump across in most places. We made our way to the place where Dad would always take the family for a picnic. Nothing about it looked the same, but my sister assured me that it was the same place. I remembered a soft layer of grass beside a creek where the bank dipped down to the edge of the water. I remembered a shoal of sand where we could step from creek bank to sand and straight into the water. I remembered a giant tree nearby. Some of that was still there, but the bed of soft grasses was gone, and the undergrowth had grown to such a degree that the place seemed new somehow. It wasn’t the same picnic place... the location was the same, perhaps, but the place itself (its surroundings) were all different.

The Saplings of "Yesterday"

The places we remember are like a patchwork quilt of treasured memories, eternally etched in the Annals of Time... our time. These precious places and people are part of our stories... our journal of a life well lived. My Mom remembers her childhood and all the years since, as if they were yesterday, visiting them often with laughter and fond memories. My daughter, still in her 20’s, remembers her childhood, her brothers, and the places we’ve lived, with far more vivid details than my memories are fading into. It’s our sanctuary that we all go to now and then... full of memories, joy, and yes - sorrow, that make each of us into the person we become. It’s the very fabric on which our life’s story is woven.

Hold fast to those memories. Visit often those treasured places. It’s within those places, learned by heart, that we find our roots. It’s outward from those self-same places that we see the crooked path that lead to where each of us are today.

There are places that exist only in my mind’s eye... but once upon a time, not so very long ago, they were real... they were loved... and they are part of who I am today.

Some memories are unforgettable, 

remaining ever vivid and heartwarming.

~ Joseph B. Wirthlin ~