JUDGE AND BE JUDGED?

This post is one of two that was started before my trip to Ann Arbor. I had a hard time trying to express myself so it was put aside in what I call “my maybe file”. I have been so busy doing other projects I have not had time to write a post on my fantastic trip to Ann Arbor and Chicago. I have now decided to write that trip into two posts.

In the mean time I need to keep my few readers entertained! After my conversation with my daughter upon which I mentioned that her Dad had married a high-maintenance individual. I decided why not “rock the boat” and finish this post.

Along with some of the shenanigans that I do (planned or unplanned) I also have a tendency to “bungle” good times by what I say. I manage to get myself into a lot of trouble sometimes, since I am an out-spoken, emotional, very inquisitive, opinionated, and a blunt person that has the tendency of speaking without thinking. I also found that negative behavior gets in the way of positive behavior in the eyes of the beholder. I have found it very hard to travel and visit friends and family for extended periods of time. It is exhausting trying to hold your tongue or to think before you speak. When I do this I feel like I am someone else walking/talking in a stranger’s shoes and not being myself. Therefore, if I am around anyone for long periods of time, I will eventually end up loosening up my tongue and become too chatty or irritating. Sometimes it is hard to live in a world that judges you for whatever others think are unacceptable characteristics or behavior. I am my own worst enemy and I would rather sit at home with a good book or my computer staying out of disaster’s way. This is a great way to keep others happy and to keep myself out of trouble. To be honest, at this point in my life, I like who I am and my “forked” tongue is part of who I am. Therefore, I have developed the attitude, accept it, or move on. LOL, this includes my occasional curse words that I like to use.

Have you ever wished you could be judged in the world of a child? I do, for my grandkids see me in an entirely different light. They look at the positive and accept ME. They listen to what you have to say/share. LOL, Sometimes they listen too carefully. Unfortunately this will not last long for as children grow up, overhear adults talk, mature, they begin to see you through another’s eye and not their own and they become judges too. I have found that people tend to dwell on the negative and rarely see the positive aspects of a person.

I do try not to judge people. Unfortunately, it is very hard and without realizing it, I quite often fail; especially, when it comes to defending or protecting those that you love. I too have judgmental characteristics I find irritating in others. Behaviors that in another person’s eye may be acceptable, but to me these behaviors drive me nuts and sometimes to bouts of anger. (Back stabbers, whiners, making excuses for negative behavior, blaming others for their own transgressions, make believe friendliness, selfishness, pouting, cheating, lying, snobbery, acting like someone you are not, insincerity, hypocrites, acting one way towards a person one day, but in front of others acting differently… are just a few). Sometimes good manners “suck”, especially when you have to be nice to someone publicly who you really do not particularly like. (Typically I will ignore or “TRY” to move away from this person to keep myself from saying or doing something I might regret.) When I “suck it up and try to be nice” I feel like I am being dishonest with myself and I do not like this person I have become. Actually, it is a NO win situation for if you ignore someone you have bad manners, but if you are nice when you really do not mean it you then become a hypocrite. I have learned through the years that I personally rather someone simply not be friendly toward me when they really do not mean it.

My husband is very much a “low maintenance person” and fortunately/or unfortunately I am just the opposite. I have discovered it is usually easier for me, as well as others, to accept the “low maintenance” person. They are easier to get along with for they are kinder, low-keyed emotionally, not overly opinionated, less excitable, less temperamental, easy going, more accepting to others feelings and have less material needs and desires.

I have found that as a “high-maintenance” individual people expect them to be something that they are not. They expect them to change their ways to meet the expectations that are acceptable in the eyes of the beholder. I have often wondered if those who do the judging have ever seriously looked at themselves and see their own flaws. With a “high-maintenance” person, people tend not to take the energy to really listen when they express themselves. No one realizes unless they too are "high-maintenance" how totally frustrating this can be. It is like wasted time and energy. Solution: Quit talking and just write. I have found this to be especially true after I began this blog. People tend to read and find issue “good or bad” on what it is you have written. They can continue to read or they can with a click of a mouse on the “X” flip you off if they are too pissed to read what you have written, unknown to the person doing the writing. Taking “issue” means that they have paid attention to the written word. Maybe they will understand that issue or person a little better after it has been read.

When people are listening or partially listening they tend to be too busy at the time to really pay attention for they either have an agenda of their own, they are bored or whatever other excuses that may be present at that time. It is easier to tune out and half-hear what is being said. I am bad about doing this and if everyone had the guts to admit it, we all do this to some extent. Maybe that is why I like to read so much for I can, through the written word, agree or disagree with what is written on my own schedule or comfort level without interruption. I guarantee I have gotten your attention for a short period of time. Why! You read what was written. Whether you like or comprehend what you have read is not significant. What is significant is whether you understood or cared about what was written.

(Exception: Of course the written word has to be read first before opinions or knowledge can be formulated or evaluated. Look at all one misses by not reading or listening.)

Respectfully submitted, Sue

THE IMPORTANCE OF FAMILY REUNIONS

As I begin this I am on the interstate headed to our annual family reunion. (Isn’t technology awesome?) This year we are headed to Helen/Sautee, Georgia. Supposedly we will have approximately 40 people at this year’s reunion. I am especially excited because all the immediate James Thompson family will be there. Lacy and Jay, who are expecting their first baby in January, are coming from Michigan. Paige, Fred, Claire and Wes are headed down from the Charlotte area. It will be a grand homecoming for us all. My sister, Strawn will be joining us again this year. All the Thompson brothers (Charles, Harper and Jim) are going to be there as well. When I joined the Thompson family there were six sisters and one brother (Ellene, Vivian, Frances, Bette, Wilma and John). Today only Wilma and Bette are alive and kicking. They too will be there. “We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together.”-- Erma Bombeck

I am especially excited to see Sandra. She was my best friend from high school and the only one besides my sisters that was in my wedding. She and her husband, Joe, live close to Helen. She is headed up to our high school reunion on Thursday, so I will not get to see her but a very short period of time. I am grateful for this time together for I love her dearly and if the family voting goes like I hope it will, I will see her again next year.

I will never forget my first reunion. I was a brave soul back then and went to this reunion with my fiancé’s family, WITHOUT my fiancé. (NOTE: I do realize this was NOT the picture taken in 1968. I am unable to located that particular picture.) I was treated like a queen. Jim’s dad shocked everyone in the car bound for the reunion by stopping several times at road side stands so I could buy boiled peanuts, fresh plums, and peaches. I was warned that Daddy T never stopped on his way to Florida and to do so for me was a complete shock. (After that first trip, Mama T would whisper to me to ask Daddy T to stop for boiled peanuts, etc: for she knew he would stop if I asked. So I would smile, ask excitedly, and sure enough he would pull over). I only know of FIVE men in my life that I completely loved. (My husband, my son, my Dad, Gay Livingston and John Thompson) Daddy T treated me like a lady. He was a quiet spoken man who loved and was devoted to his wife Clara. It was obvious how much he loved his three boys and his sisters. He was always teasing me and challenging me to complete task I would tend to put off or not do. I still miss him. It’s as simple as that. “Family life is full of major and minor crises -- the ups and downs of health, success and failure in career, marriage, and divorce -- and all kinds of characters. It is tied to places and events and histories. With all of these felt details, life etches itself into memory and personality. It's difficult to imagine anything more nourishing to the soul.”-- Thomas Moore

Anyway, again I have gotten on one of those “a long way around the barn tangents”. I have never been to a family reunion and did not know what to expect. Other than my four sisters and their children and kids, Cousin Alec, and a cousin we do not know in Alabama, we are it in my family. The 1st reunion was called the Rowe-Barber reunion. The Thompson end of the reunion got so big that we started having our own yearly reunion which included only the Thompson branch. The majority of the family was either from Florida or South Carolina so we alternated between the two states. Our first reunion was at the Fish Camp in Florida. The last two years we traveled to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. (Two relatives, Bo Kirkland and John H. Thompson now reside in Tennessee.) You might say we have a traveling reunion and surprisingly quite a large portion of the family come every year. A lot of us use the family reunion not only as a time to get reacquainted with each other, but to take a vacation at the same time.

On day two as I sit here drinking from my new coffee cup that Sandra gave me (acting like the QUEEN) listening to all these relatives all over this very large house talking and laughing together, playing cards/Scattergories, smelling good ole fashion home cooking, children yelling/crying/running up and down the stairs gives me a warm feeling of belonging. It is certainly a blessing to be a part of this Thompson family.

This year was special for Pat and Charles for they celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary. (Oh, how lucky you two are, wow!) Claire, our Granddaughter, and Debra B. both celebrated their birthdays, as well.

As I sit here, I wished my visit with Sandra wasn’t so short and I hadn't been so tired. We did not get to share our usual gossip and secrets. She and Joe live in this impressive old home with an absolutely beautiful view. What really makes me upset is that I did not take any pictures of her home or Sandra. DA, I am the camera bug! To make matters worse, we discussed and looked at pictures and I still did not bring out the camera. Watch out next year Sandra, my camera will not stop clicking. She fixed us lunch that was delightful. She had a pasta salad that was her own recipe and it was delicious. I really need to call her for the recipe. (Surprise, surprise…my husband actually ate pickled beets and liked them.)

Day three, I have noticed that I keep leaning away from my topic. Each of us shares some part of ourselves in bringing the reunion together. Our end of the family had Friday’s breakfast. I was also responsible for the scrapbook. (Four Years) Thank goodness next year will be Nicci’s turn. After four years I am running out of ideas, therefore, look forward to seeing fresh eyes looking at the family from a younger perspective.

Sandra Pricher, our president, was the organizer so to speak. She sent out reminders, determined who was coming and who would be responsible for meals at the reunion, bought t-shirts, etc: She did a great job bringing all of us together before and during the reunion. Considering that she had a major fall, stitches, and a black-eye on the way to the reunion and managed to still keep everything running smoothly is a major accomplishment within itself. I am in awe on how well she managed. “Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible -- the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family.”-- Virginia Satir

To me the whole reunion should really be centered towards the young adults and kids. They will be the future that will keep the Thompson clan together. Awhile ago I saw and heard a very promising sight. As mention previously, Lacy is pregnant and they were entertaining Lacy with tales of past experiences and advice. Their laughter rocked the house. It brought back memories of my kids when they were young and my students when they got into these in-depth discussions and would laugh at whatever struck their fancy. Just watching and listening to them made me feel young at heart and optimistic of many Thompson reunions in the future. “Family faces are magic mirrors looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future”. -- Gail Lumet Buckley

Well, it has taken me three weeks to get back to this post. I wrote another post and decided it might be a good idea to finish this one. The last night before going home we had a big family gathering. It was decided that we would again have the reunion in Helen around the end of July. (Look out Sandra; I am headed your way again. Maybe the high school reunion will not be at the same time.) It will be Thursday –Sunday next year.

Jerry will be president next year. We will be leasing two houses, since the reunion has grown so big. Each family unit will be responsible for meals again next year.

The most beautiful/potent/sad part of our reunion was when Kay read us a “Remembrance of Frances Woodward”, who passed away in January. To me, Frances was a delightful straight-forward lady who was always interested in family and what they were doing. You never knew what she would say next. I could easily identify with her and on occasion…so would my shoulder or arm. She always made me feel a part of the family. I totally enjoyed every minute I spent with her and I have been blessed with her presence in my life. Kay did a simply beautiful heart-warming remembrance of Frances. It was evident that she spent a tremendous amount of time writing it and I truly feel Frances would have been proud of how it was written and presented. “You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them.”-- Desmond Tutu

Family and life continue to evolve. What will next year bring?
In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair. Auguste Napier

SOME WIVES ARE LUCKY...I AM ONE OF THEM

Have you ever read something and cannot forget what you read out of your head? Well I made the mistake of NOT taking my book of choice into the eye doctor’s office recently and picked up a magazine to keep me busy. I am not one of those that read many magazines except for cooking, computer or photo oriented ones. I use to read a lot of National Geographic, Life, Time, Discovery and other science magazines, but since I retired I do not gravitate toward them anymore. So I randomly picked up a magazine. I just know it was one I normally do not read and started reading an article about type of husbands you do/do not want to marry. Before I even started the article I thought to myself, yeah, I bet women would apply to these same characteristic as well. How would you know what type of husband you will be getting in the first place for you have not married him yet. A bad habit of mine is finding the negative before I even begin to read. Number one on the list was the “abusive” husband. Pointing out that physical abuse was not only appalling but so was being a victim to psychological and mental abuse as well. I shudder when I think about these women who have to suffer because of men like this. Thank God, I am one of those lucky women that were blessed with a husband like Jimmy.

Number two on the list was the “gigolo.” I think this one is the reason I cannot put the article aside and out of mind for as I read the article I thought about my friend, Jeri, who was a classmate of mine at Brenau University. She got fooled by such a guy. In fact he had all of us fooled. (Handsome, polite, full of neat interesting tales, entertaining, neat dresser, smart, sense of humor) She was one those extremely nice people, a friend and my Bridge Partner. (We won the majority of the time) Jeri was one of many of my classmates that came from a very affluent family and what made her unique was her photogenic memory. She would actually isolate herself in her room for about two weeks and read her text books like they were a novel, go to class and for the rest of the semester she found other things to do. She was an all “A” student. She was brilliant along with being very attractive. She was fun to be around and was well liked. Anyway, she ended up married to him and very soon afterwards they were divorced. After he got the divorce, he even admitted to Jeri and her friends (I being one of them) that the reason he married her was for her money. He was not only a jerk, but an asshole. He took her/parents for a bundle and along with that her self-esteem. We lost contact and through the years, I have periodically thought about her. She use to live in Atlanta. I have tried to find her on the internet, Classmates and Facebook, so far to no avail. I know she became a Doctor of some sort and I have always wondered if she found a “soul mate” that made her happy.

Thirdly, there was the “Out of Towner,” the guy with wife and kids at home and a mistress in another port. I guess if we are from South Carolina, we can identify with this one. This news hit the papers after I read the article. LOL Unfortunately this has happened to a few of my acquaintances in my life time which is really sad and disgusting. While the teacher was teaching, husband was out getting his “jollies.” Again, I am one lucky lady.

Then there is Macho Man…marries and has kids. He then paints the town with his presence and is rarely at home. He likes to party and have a good time and then will go home to his little wife that will wait on him hand and foot. One of the guys in the article, Billy, actually said he was “The Man” and it was up to his wife to provide him with what he needed when he was so inclined to need it. A woman should wait on a man after all he was the major bread earner in the family. It didn’t matter if she contributed to the household or not. Gee, I thought that way of thinking went out in the 60’s. I never realized how “female rights” oriented I was until I read that one. Here again, I am pretty independent when I want to be. Nothing bothers me more than for someone to tell me what to do. I tend to go in the opposite direction. This is one of my bad qualities for I can be too head-strong at times.

Let us not forget the “Couch-Potato.” Why couch-potato, why not recliner-potato or bed-potato? To be more difficult, why ruin the good name of the potato which is one of my favorite foods? The only potato I am not a fan of is the French-fry potato, but I will eat them on occasion, especially if they are spicy. Why do most people refer to men when they talk about a “couch potato” for I know many women that would fall in that category too? Anyway, the article refers to the lazy home guy. He goes to work, comes home, and heads for a reclining position. He thinks it’s the wife’s responsibility whether she works or not to take care of the household (dusting, moping, laundry, vacuuming, picking up the clothes he dropped, dishes, and kids). He makes excuses for not helping such as a bad day at work, tired, doesn’t feel well, doesn’t know how to do this or that and never had to learn. Some husbands are so extreme that they will walk over an item on the floor and never pick it up, will not put trash in the trash container even if it is at his fingertips or will put dirty dishes in the sink or on the counter without bothering to rinse them or placing them in a drainer or dish washer, if available. He will occasionally help with the kids. It does not matter if the wife is sick, tired, or she too had a bad day at work. The husband simply thinks the household chores can be put off until SHE feels better. Household cleanliness and safety is not an issue. I cannot begin to name the amount of husband and wives that that I know and have known that fall in this category. Many husbands today actually believe that it is unmanly to help with housework. This too is an attitude that went out with the 60’s. They think they are “king of the hill”. This particular statement caught my attention, “Thank goodness jerks are not born that way, but for whatever reason became to be that way.” Again I fall into “boy was I lucky.” I am a jerk on occasion, but my husband…NEVER!

Jim and I were both teachers and coaches. Occasionally, we both held two jobs. When Jim and I got married we had an understanding that we would share in household duties. We did not have a spotless house, but we did have a tidy home. I was always scared of tripping over stuff, especially at night, so anything on the floor was picked up before bed time and our dishes washed. Safety was a big issue with me. Weekends or when company was on the way WE made an extra effort to dust and mop. Early in our marriage it was discovered that Sue was not to do the laundry, especially after Paige and Jay entered our lives. They did not appreciate purple/pink underwear, etc; so Jim became the major laundry man. Now, retired I will occasionally do laundry and Jim prays he doesn’t end up with pink, blue or green T-shirts. (I do NOT do his park ranger uniforms) Thank goodness for toilet brushes for I do NOT like to do toilets or clean bathrooms. Jim many times did this for me too. (Believe me, he is very much appreciated) We now have he/she bathrooms so we are responsible for our own. I can remember many times Jim would pull down the ironing board and iron my son or daughter’s clothes. I will have to say my Mom kept a very clean orderly house/home and it passed on to the four sisters. My Dad did the cooking, bathrooms, and outside work. The sisters had to keep their rooms clean and periodically would help fold laundry. If there was a clean freak in the family it would be Strawn, followed closely by Peggy. Although as a kid, Peg was not that way by any means.

Lord, I sure got off on a tangent again. I will NOT go back and erase since I went to the trouble of typing it. Another type of husband that caught my interest was the X-husband. The one who believes it was solely the wife’s fault for all that went wrong in their marriage. The theory that it takes two to tango, two to make love and argue, and two to work on making a marriage work was beyond his comprehension. It was okay that he kept losing his job and did not contribute to the household; it was her fault he gambled, it was her fault he got caught with another woman, it was her fault they did not communicate with each other, it was her fault he was drunk all the time or used drugs, it was her fault he was abusive, it was her fault the kids were scared of him, etc. I honestly cannot remember one of my friends who have gotten a divorce during the last 41-years of being married to Jim that both in some small way must have contributed to why their marriage did not last. Jim and I did not have a perfect marriage, but we did work at it and did not give up on each other. Lack of communication in my opinion is the number one reason marriages do not last.

I did not get a chance to read the rest of the article about the loud-obnoxious husband, the know-it-all husband, king of the household husband, the athletic husband, the butt-lazy husband, the clean freak husband, etc. (I can’t remember them all.) I went back a week later when I had to see the eye-doctor again and could not find that magazine. I was totally frustrated for I hate to read something and not finish it. For the life of me I could not remember for sure which magazine/or issue it might have been. I know if anyone was watching the way I going from table to table flipping through those magazines must have thought I was nuts. Believe it or not, except for the abusive husband, the article was humorously written in a sarcastic sort of way that made it a good, interesting read.

I do know my hubby did not fall in any of those categories. If any of you remember reading this article by all means tell me where to find it or make a copy of it and send it to me. In the mean time, I will appreciate what a great husband I have got and thanks, Jim…James...Jimmy…Coach…husband…Dad... for 41 super years. Happy Anniversary!

Addendum: This morning upon awakening and going to the kitchen I found this awaiting me. My husband does little things like this for me all the time. How lucky can a gal get than to have such a thoughtful husband? Thanks “James” I Love YOU.

IT TOOK THREE

In my earlier blog I mentioned that I occasionally babysit my sister’s cat, Pepper. Well last week happened to be one of those times, along with taking care of my granddaughter, Claire. Yep, I got a double whammy. I will say on the most part all went well. Pepper is not too fond of being picked-up and carried, but seemed to hang in there for the most part, especially when Claire wanted to use Pepper for imaginative play. He actually started winding his way among Claire’s toys. (Claire loves Pet Shop pets and pet furniture and it looked as though Pepper did too.)

Last week I had a follow-up appointment with the eye doctor and called Strawn who was vacationing in Puerto Rico. She was headed home early and begged me to bring Pepper. Very reluctantly, I agreed. My last experience of traveling with Pepper was not the greatest. My sister Peggy and I not only had a hard time catching the cat, but the trip was filled with a volatile aroma beyond mentioning on this blog. I will simply say that for over two hours we both held one of those baby-wipe Kleenex tissues up at our nose and periodical would take a whiff into the tissue.

Anyway back to the story, Strawn had specifically said not to let Pepper see his travel carrier and all would be fine. So per her instructions we left the carrier outside the door. Claire and I gathered our stuff throughout the day and placed it either in the car or by the door. When Jim came home we preceded to finish packing the car. Lastly it was time for Pepper, per Strawn’s instructions, which was going to ride in the front seat. (I WAS THRILLED!) Evidently the cat is smarter than we all thought for we had an all-out search party of three trying to find him. Claire finally checked under my king-size bed and found him in the middle area to the very back and unreachable.

Treats, urgent and soft calling/pleading etc. simply did not work. So I undertook plan two…long-handled objects to push him out into Claire/Jimmy territory, where they could GRAB him. Finally, I had to go for more desperate measures. I got my long-handled, battery broom vacuum and turned it on to add sound to the process. (I am here to tell you that the underside of my king-size bed is very clean.) Via Claire’s directional instructions (How blessed it must to be young and able to get down on your belly and look under the bed.) I was able to place blockades on each side of the bed. Along with Claire and Jim at each post, I maneuvered the broom back and forth under the bed. The only way out was at the foot of the bed. In the meantime we shut all doors to all areas of the house, but “DA” did not close the bedroom door. It worked…BUT! Pepper came out and immediately headed under the dresser.

At this point I need to stop and inform you that all three of us were reluctant to put our hands under that dresser. Pepper is known to bite and none of us wanted his feline teeth getting a piece of us. Before any of us could come up with a plan that cat managed to run past the three of us and he headed towards the dining room. He found refuge under the dining room table. (Note! Three of us…four sided table.) Again, he got away and headed for the living room and under another table…..thank goodness this table was against the wall and limited his running space. Still reluctant, I knew I was going to have to be the brave one of the group. Reaching towards him on my end of the table, Pepper lunges towards Jim ,who with quick reflexes, pushes his hand down and over the top of Pepper’ head/shoulders and pins him to the floor, while Claire runs to get his carrier. Gritting my teeth and taking a deep breath I picked him up and I quickly placed Pepper in Jim’s hands, which in turn quickly places him into the carrier. By the way, Pepper weighs a ton and is extremely heavy for a cat.

Furthermore, Strawn could not understand why we had so much trouble catching HER cat for she has no problems whatsoever. Well, HELLO, who does he belong to…? LOL

Surprisingly, Pepper behaved well on the trip home. Of course, Claire and I kept a running conversation going to each other and anyone on the phone who would talk/listen to us as we traveled to Pepper’s home. (Two hours steady of chit chat) We would pretend we were talking to Pepper and, periodically, I would unzip the top of the carrier and cautiously give him a rub or a scratch on his head or behind his ear. (Pepper likes to be scratched, not petted).

Although not a cat lover, I will admit that I do/can tolerate Pepper. He is a handsome cat, although moody and unpredicable. He can be quite entertaining. He loves to play with his toys and Tulula (A lively, white fluffy dog which belongs to Karen, a friend of Strawn's). He's a bird watcher. He also likes to sniff the computer, loves the sound of a printer, and chews on cat nip, etc. Pepper will actually stand up to Buddy, Jay and Lacy's dog. I really do not mind occasionally taking care of him, but unfortunately he does not exactly care for me. I guess cats really do have a great sense of…

PART II--A DIFFERENCE OF NIGHT AND DAY

Note: I placed a few extra pictures on MAPA’S Post.


My Dad's Mom was totally different than MaPa. Her family was the Strawn Family, from Ottawa, Illinois. She, like MAPA, had only one child. (This is one reason Mom and Dad had four children. They both wanted sisters and brothers when they were young.) Both our grandparent’s husbands had also died young. Notice the title of my post is ‘GRANDMOTHER’. We four sisters were told in no uncertain terms that we MUST call Dad’s Mom, Grandmother. Grandmother Frances was a very smart, talented, formal, stern, petite, strait-laced type person. She loved traveling abroad and was constantly on the go. I do not think after granddaddy died that she had her own “house” so to speak. She either stayed with relatives in Jacksonville/Mandarin/St. Augustine, Ottawa, her sisters in Asheville, or Daddy in Virginia/South Carolina. I know that she stayed in Asheville most of the time after traveling. I do know a lot of her poetry was sent from Asheville. Whether she had her own house and or apartment between traveling, I am unsure. When she stopped traveling she had her own apartment or set of rooms in Camden, and later in Summerville, SC. The very last years of her life she lived with us at the King Cotton Motel.








Grandmother was a poet. A very good poet and many of her poems were published in many different literary magazines of her time. She wrote these poems up until the last few years of her life. She even wrote one to me when I was born.


SONG FOR SUSAN

If I could sing the song of summer slumber,
A song with silken swish of scented pine,
Or hum with bees in drowsy, droning number,
The soothing song of nature’s anodyne:
Or sing the song of palms in rippling rhythm
And roll the drum beats of the waves on sand,
You’d dream, caressed by pine and palm and wavelets,
Drowned in the scented warmth of lotus land.

Author Note: To my Grand-daughter, Susan Anne Livingston
Published in Versecraft Emory University, Atlanta, Ga.
Published in National Anthology for 1946,
pub. by Artcraft Publications, San Francisco, Calif. Nov. 1943

The second poem at the end of this blog post was intended to be for all four sisters. Although she rarely displayed this side of her personality, she did have a sense of humor that appeared in many of her poems. Many of her poems revealed characteristics about Grandmother that we did not see.

One of my first memories of Grandmother was my Dad informing me that at all cost I was to keep my feline away from her. Well, that was the wrong thing to say for my curiosity got the best of me. I needed to see what would happen if a cat got within her territory or sight. I hid outside her window and carefully lifted the cat so it could be seen outside her window. Well, I am here to tell you, my Grandmother let out a blood-curdling yell that I never have forgotten as she came bounding out of her motel room. Not expecting such a reaction, I could not get away soon enough and got caught. Not only did she hate cats, she was scared of them as well. My Dad was one angry man. A spanking was the order of the day. It was also the end of a trustful relationship with Grandmother. If a cat appeared at any time when she visited or lived with us, I was blamed for its presence. (In many cases, I hate to admit, she was right. RIGHT, STRAWN?) To be honest I am NOT the cat lover in my family. I tolerate them so I guess I was like her in that sense. My sister Strawn is the cat lover and on limited occasions I will babysit Pepper, who I might add doesn’t particularly like me. (Here are several pictures of Pepper)


My Grandmother suffered from a painful version of arthritis. She was a little/short woman who always wore, later in life, a long black dress. She used a black, sharp-looking cane. I was always terrified she would haul off and whack me. She loved to stomp it loudly on the floor to get our attention. Up until she was at least sixty-years of age she could stand on her head. She could also touch the floor with the palm of her hands while she stood flat-footed. (No, I will not tell everyone on this post/blog what she would do to my sister Gay when she tapped her cane twice before passing her going from her room to the dining room.) Of the four sisters, Peggy was the only one who really got along with Grandmother. They would spend long periods of time talking to each other. I must admit she was a very interesting lady and on occasion, when I took the time to listen, she would tell me stories of her travels. I must admit I regret now that I didn’t take more time with my Grandmother Frances.

As dignified and strait-laced as Grandmother was she loved boxing and I can remember many times she would join Dad to watch boxing matches. I would join them not to see the boxing but to gape at her when she got excited and started punching air. It was pure entertainment.

She loved to listen to Louis Armstrong. I loved listening to him myself and I even have a stuffed frog that plays a piece of one of his songs, “What a Wonderful World”. My grandson loves to punch the frog's foot to listen as well. When I kick the bucket, I want to be cremated (if you want you can save a tablespoon or two to bury with Coach), my ashes scattered out into the ocean and that song sung.

WHERE PRAIRIES BOAST OF THE RIPENING CORN

Mellowing brick in a sun-drenched wall
Sheltered a garden where children ran free
To play make-believe through rapturous hours
That flowed like music before the fall.
Over three little girls, a busy brood,
A grandmother apple tree spread a wing
Like a floating parasol, pink in spring
And green in a fluttery mid-summer mood.

No heed was paid to the dusty street:
Within the gate bright flowers blew,
With grassy paths for flying feet
‘Cause raspberry time might soon be due.
Around a table set in the shade
Dolls sat stiffly to stare at their plates.
Impeccable manners the poppets displayed;
Their abject submission made perfect playmates.

When cherry time came up in June
A child roamed wild as a drifting balloon:
Like tropical birds they chirped and fed,
In gay checked gingham or Turkey red,
Perched on the sloping chicken house roof.
Cherries ripe forecast sultry days
Across vast fields of prophecy
Were prairies sleep in a ripening haze.

Under the arbor, ‘let the old cat die,’
As the swing sank low or the swing sailed high.
The leafy vines would try to hide
Hard, green grapes from the Argus-eyed,
Till clusters drooped in luscious hues
Of purple, pink or frosted blues.

The tang of autumn wove a spell:
The maples blazed; glossy apples fell.
‘Twas thought good apples must be free
For any child to pick from a tree.

When blizzards swirled great gusts of snow
Against the window’s crusted frost
With moist, warm breath and eager fist
They polished peep-holes through the mist.
They watched tall elms, in stately row,
Shiver and sway. Then high flew the swing
Like a tipsy pendulum off a fling.

* * * * *
Now they are old…little ladies face
The crumbling walls of drifting space.
The supreme adventure, in gardens unknown
Beckons and calls—to each her own.

This was written on February 14, l955, and dedicated to Susan, Peggy, Strawn and Gay Livingston.
I believe it was in memory of Grandmother and her sisters who lived in Asheville, NC.

PART I--A DIFFERENCE OF NIGHT AND DAY

My two grandmothers had entirely different personalities and lives. My Mother’s Mother was originally from Canada and upon receiving citizenship moved to New York City. She also had a summer house in Sea Girt, New Jersey. I knew neither of my grandfathers, but I did know and remember slightly my step grandfather “Billy Graham”.
As the story goes, told to me by my mother and Dad: my Grandmother and Granddaddy were coming to see me and I was suppose to call them Ma and Pa. I was just learning to talk and they had me all pumped up to meet both my grandparents. We went to Washington, DC to meet the train. I had never seen a train and I was all excited about this new adventure as well. Upon arrival of the train, and evidently confused when my Grandmother got off alone, I called her “MaPa.” My mom said that from the time I met ‘MaPa’ until she left to go back home we had a tight inseparable bond. I kept hugging her and patting her face and arms calling her ‘MaPa’ no matter how much my parents tried to explain she was Ma and Pa had not come. Later she put me in the NONO chair, not realizing the chair’s significance. I had not done anything wrong and Mom said I yelled like crazy as I clung to her in a bear-like hug, “No, MaPa …I good girl, I good girl.” After this my grandmother was so delighted she wanted to be called “MaPa.”

I do not know what I called my step-granddad, but I do remember him and his patience with me. He was always lifting me up to talk to me, instead of leaning down. MaPa was a serene, smiling, loving Grandmother. She always talked in this quiet, matter of fact manner. She never raised her voice even when Margie’s daughter Marguerite decided to let Peggy and I take a drag off the cigarette she had stolen from my Mother when we visited MaPa in Sea Girt. She always took Peggy’s and my side over Mom and Dad’s. She always managed to explain away our mischievousness or should I say my mischief behavior. Peggy was always good; she is a lot like MaPa.

When she died of a heart attack, (I think), Peg and I had gone to school after Dad told us about MaPa’s death. We were both upset, especially when he told us that Mom had gone to NY to send her to heaven. On that same day, I remember my teacher reprimanding me for being late for school and I was to take a seat in the back of the classroom instead of my usual seat. I started crying calling her a “mean ole ugly lady” and hysterically yelling that my ‘MaPa’ had died and she was on her way to heaven. I stumped my feet telling her I would sit where I wanted to sit and proceeded to sit in my desk up front. My outburst created havoc with some of the students for they gasped in shock and excitement on my public display, while others started crying along with me. Needless, to say…Dad had a mess of hurt feelings to clean-up after my reported outburst. Reluctantly, I did apologize later to the teacher and the class. (This was part of my discipline. To be honest, I very much did NOT want to apologize). She was one of my favorite teachers even after the commotion that I had created.

I have always regretted that my sisters, Strawn and Gay, did not get to know ‘MaPa’ for she was such a beautiful soul. This is my real granddad William "Guy" and this necklace was made by Peggy. Note the jewels of today are like those worn by MaPa back in 1943.

A VERY SOPHISICATED BEAUTY CONTESTANT

Hey, anyone who reads my post, scroll down to my Part II, St. Augustine post and my prom post to see added pictures of my Aunt Esabella, Aunt Em, and Unk (with a drink in his hand.) I even found one more prom picture and pictures of the four sisters at the old Fort in St. Augustine.

As mentioned below, I could not find any more of my senior prom pictures. I did find a picture of me in my prom dress. During this two year time period in my life I do remember an unplanned shenanigan, if you want to call it that, which occurred my senior year. Back in those days we did not think twice about wearing the same evening dress twice. (Speaking of evening dresses, I bought both my dresses with the tips I made in my parent’s small restaurant open for guest of our motel only.) This particular year I had let my hair grow longer. Much to my disgust, Mom decided that I should be in the Summerton High Beauty Contest.

On the night in question the contestants all lined up for our entry onto the stage. Our instructions were clear, if our numbers were not called as a finalist we were to quietly join the audience and see the rest of the contest. I was number “10” of lord knows how many girls. I do not think there were over twenty girls in the contest. I think they eliminated all but eight and from those eight they selected the queen and two finalists. You need to understand, I knew I wasn’t ugly but I definitely wasn’t any beauty nor was I the most graceful soul on that stage. I think Mom felt it was a good way to build self-esteem; poise and whatever else a pageant was suppose to do for young ladies. I entered the stage that first introductory part of the beauty contest strutting my stuff. Upon calling out the eight finalists and not hearing my number I headed for the audience. The curtain opens for the 2nd half of the pageant and they started calling out the finalist, suddenly I heard number 10 called, they called it again and I could not understand where and who the contestant was, suddenly I heard myself say out loud, Oh, my gosh, that’s me. Reacting in my normal unsophisticated manner, I jumped up, crawled over four or five people to get to the aisle. My dress up in the air and swinging back and forth, I ran down the aisle to the back of the gym and down this outside area to get to the back of the stage where I entered the stage after a long delay with a red face; huffing and puffing loudly trying to get my breath. I do know I plastered a smile on my face trying not to laugh at myself and strolled with as much dignity that I could muster. As you might have come to realize the audience was extremely entertained. I learned later that Mom’s face of delight at I being one of the finalist soon changed to mouth open shock, whereby she started sliding down in her seat as Dad took her elbow and pushed upward. From what I was told she was speechless, but to this day I do not remember what was said to me after that contest was over. It’s like I took this part of my memory and locked it out. Maybe Peggy remembers the rest of this story.

My sister, Peggy, has a better memory than I do. I have decided that I will invite her as a guest to write on my blog. It would be fun for her to share some of her memories, or to do an addendum to what I have written.

As an afterthought, in my thirties I was a Valentine Queen for Beta Sigma Phi twice, a women’s sorority in Beaufort. The sorority use to put on the Talent Contest for the Water Festival. It is a national sorority and each chapter took on a community function and sponsored a meal for a family in need at Christmas. We also did a chartable money raiser. I guess in a round about way, you could say that Mom got her wish fifteen years too late even if it was for only two night.