S.A.L.T.'s SHENANIGANS

WILL YOU MAKE IT TO HEAVEN?

2011-09-04T19:13:00.000-07:00

“You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have reallylived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.” Henry Drummond

I wonder if everyone, when they were a child, imagined whatHeaven looked like and where it existed? I did, and I still hope, it isn’t just a child’s imagination. I imagined that above the Earth beyond theclouds there is this mystical, beautiful space called Heaven with a pearly gatethat stretches and surrounds it. Thosewho are pure of heart could look up and see tiny twinkling angels peekingthrough the clouds watching “us” earthlings. Since I could never see these transcendentangels, it was/is obvious, that I am not “pure” of heart. Even when the stratosphere is full of fiercestorms such as volcanoes, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, etc.; this sereneworld would remain the same, never changing, except for the amount of angelsthat entered this heavenly place. I believed, and still believe, that Earth isPurgatory. How we live our lives on Earth will determine how God will relate toSt. Peter on His decision; will you, or will you not enter “The Heavenly Gate!”

“When angels visit us, we do nothear the rustle of wings, nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove;but we know their presence by the love they create in our hearts.” Emily Dickinson/Billy Joel

Since God is a merciful God, “Hell” is represented by theground upon where we are buried. Hell is not necessarily this fiery place; itcould be damp, wet, ashy, or watery. Simply, if your spirit/soul does notrise, you would remain dormant within the Earth. Upon dying, if you have been a “worthy” person on thisEarth, your spirit would float up a stairway that leads to those pearly gates whereSt. Peter, with the help of God, has three choices.

The first choice….Youwould be sent into Heaven as an Archangel to sit on the right hand of God. Your life on Earth would have been describedas a person full of love for God and your fellow man. You would have been devoted to sharing this“love” with your surrounding family and friends. You would have been honest and giving of yourheart and of your time. You would have beenkind, patient, understanding, a good listener, nonjudgmental, non-prejudice, encouraging,good natured, and full of hope for a better world. These Angels would work directly with God. They would give input into ways those onPurgatory Earth could practice to change their behavior, in order to live inharmony and peace within themselves and with each other. Although God makes the final judgment, Heconsiders His Archangel's ideas, and pray that those on Earth will listen.

The second choice ...You would enter heaven as a “Working Angel”. These angels would possess the same qualities of the Archangels, but theymay have a few unacceptable personality behaviors that need improvement. The“Working Angels” would move between Heaven and Earth as "Spirits” to help those whoneed guidance. These Working Angels, whopossess their own undesirable personality flaw, would be sent to guide those who possessthe same weakness; God is hoping in doing so, they would help each other. If a person has more than one adverse personality characteristic that needs modifying, a team of angels may be needed. If successful in his assigned missions, the“Working Angels” would become Archangels. Some of these same (work/knowledgeable angels)would also assist in flickering extra bits of awareness and education into areasof science, math, medicine, farming, engineering, computers, and other fieldsof endeavor; therefore, improve mankind’s ability to survive in the everchanging world they have placed themselves .

"We are each ofus angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another."~Luciano de Crescenzo

The third choice...You would be sent to “Purgatory Heaven” which lies just outside the “Pearly Gate.” Hereyou are called “wingless” angels. Although you possess a majority of thecharacteristics of a working or an Archangel, God would feel you have several character weaknesses needing more attention. On some missions, God may possibly send, both,an Archangels and a Working Angel to Purgatory Heaven to help an individual earnhis wings. These divine angels may want to obtain the assistance from another"wingless" angel to help them; this helps both "wingless" angels earn their wings.Upon earning your wings in Purgatory Heaven you would enter Heaven as a “WorkAngel.”

“There is only one path to Heaven. On Earth, we call it Love." Anonymous

In conclusion, I wonder how my family would be judged uponreaching those Pearly Gates. I “imagine”Saint Peter would immediately make Peggy and Jimmy "Archangels". Peg and Jim would help God in the guidance ofearthly behavior and positive attitude/thinking. Peg could help Dad with hisHistorian duties. She'll twitter between Heaven and Earth helping other historian’srecord chronological events for future generations. God would place Jim, Clara, and John in chargeof all areas of crafting and small designer projects needed to keep Heaven unworldly. He may even use Jim to teach angels how toglide through the Earth’s atmosphere when they leave Heaven and head for Earth.Clara and Jim, along with Work Angels, would help Earthlings withpatience, acceptance, and open-mindedness.

St. Peterwould let Mary Gay into heaven as a “Work Angel;” with the help of Peggy (an Archangel), Gay would assist in the area of English.Gay would teach the proper use of English and correct spelling; St. Peter will remind herthat she needs to work on judgmental issues while earning her Archangel Wings.She is reminded that only God has the right to judge others. (Mom will become an Archangel, once sheaddresses these same issues.) Mom, along with Dad, would beassigned the duty of teaching angels the appreciation of reading and would, also, teach those who cannot read.

Strawn would become a Work Angel, only because she would be needed to helpother teachers on Earth in the area of organizing, neatness, teaching, andplanning. There would be a need for her to work on her confidentiality issues.

Jay,Lacy, Colin, Paige, Fred, Wes, Claire, and all cousins would all make it intoHeaven as either Archangels or Work Angels; only if, they continue on the path theyare presently headed.

Gary would make it through the Pearly Gate; but, he wouldhave to work on showing more understanding and tolerance towards others. He would be placed incharge of the divine mystic gardens that bear fruit and flowers surrounding thegate of Heaven. He would, also, be in charge of recreation; teaching angels theimportance of spreading their wings on a daily basis. Gary, with Jim’s help,would instruct the wingless angels how to maneuver themselves as "spirits" between Earthand Purgatory Heaven without the use of wings.

"If you go to Heaven without being naturally qualified forit you will not enjoy yourself there." George Bernard Shaw

As for me…..St. Peter would look at me, shake his head, and say, ”Sue, you need to join Cecil and Clay in PurgatoryHeaven.”

“Rats!," I would say.“St. Peter, does this mean I have to hangout with those guys since they are in the sameplace as me?”

St. Peter would look at meand say, “Now you know the reason why you are being sent to Purgatory Heaven... ATTITUDE!”

“If I ever reach heaven I expect to find three wonders there: first, to meet some I had not thought to see there; second, to miss some I had expected to see there; and third, the greatest wonder of all, to find myself there.” Unknown

STRAWN GENEALOGY PICTURES LOST

2011-08-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

My sister Strawn is selling her condo and moving to Florida. Some of the Strawn Family legacy will be lost. My sister is looking for a place to live close to St. Augustine, Florida. She will not have a place to hang these portraits that she inherited from my Dad. She had two huge gold framed pictures of our great, great or is it our 3rd/ 4th generation great grandparents. They came to our end of the Strawn/Livingston Family after my Aunt Estelle Strawn Middlemas, sister to my Grandmother Francis Strawn Livingston, passed away. The Middlemas Family used to reside in Jacksonville, Florida. She died in Asheville, NC.. Evidently, the family did not have a place to hang these paintings and sent them to Dad, Theodore Burroughs Livingston. He hung them in our living room/office at the King Cotton Motel and later at their Santee Lake house in Summeron, SC. (Now owned by Gay Buddin) Unfortunately we have lost contact with the Strawn Family. We did not know if any of the family would have been interested in these portraits, nor did we know how to contact them. They are large portraits, and I have no idea how Strawn could have preserved, much less kept them.

I do know that my sister Strawn would have gladly GIVEN these pictures to a museum or family member, but unfortunately she sold them to an antique dealer recently in St. Augustine. Unfortunately I was unaware of this until today. I wrote this initial post differently. I have rewritten it frustrated that I was too late to save these pictures."One my memories of these portraits still gives me chills. When I was in the same room with these pictures, I did not want to do anything to bug my whatever great grandfather for it seemed that wherever I moved he seemed to follow me."

If the Perrys, Strawns, Middlemas', Livingstons, Parrs, Sheards see this blog you may be interested in this little bit of history.

My grandmother, Frances Strawn Livingston was born in Ottawa, Illinois. She had three sisters: Estelle Strawn Middlemas, Del Gracia Strawn Sheard, Isabelle Strawn Perry and an older brother by twenty years, Lester Herbert Strawn. (Lester Strawn’s only son was Taylor Strawn.)

Their Father was Henry Clinton Strawn who married Mary Elizabeth Powell. Her grandfather was Jeremiah Strawn and he married Hannah Boucher. I believe the Strawn’s came to Pennsylvania around 1690 and migrated to Ottawa, Illinois. Jeremiah Strawn, at that time, was a wealthy farmer. My grandmother Frances was born in Ottawa, Illinois.

My grandmother’s maternal grandfather was Thomas Powell from Abergavenny. Wales.

He married Elizabeth Day. He was a Baptist preacher who founded 400 Baptist churches in Illinois during the pioneers’ days.

“D’OU VENONS-NOUS? QUE SOMMES-NOUS?
OU ALLONS-NOUS?"

Frances Strawn Livingston

In a single thread we cannot see
The rich design of a tapestry.
A passing life is a thread of the whole,
The timeless one, the evolving soul.
Whence do we come?--Where do we go?

Are we drawn to earth again and again,
Or from planet to planet, plane to plane?
Have we hailed from darkness, from Pluto’s shore,
Carriers of hate and global war?
Whence do we come?--Where do we go?

Does affinity shape our course to the stars?
Are happy warriors drawn to Mars?
Do bitter curmudgeons toil toward Saturn,
Their experience curdled to a sour pattern?
Whence do we come?--Where do we go?

Do the winged feet in the mind’s domain,
Flash away to the speed of Mercury’s plane?
Is the moon a magnet for those who feel
The spell of dreams, to mystics, the real?
Whence do we come?--Where do we go?

Is the rapture felt a dim reflection
Of Venus, abode of love’s perfection?
For Jupiter’s sons, does the violet ray,
A dazzling radiance, light their way?
Whence do we come?---Where do we go?

When death hails the dawn of recurring lives
Of the ethos, the essence that lives and survives,
Is the Sun the farthest goal in the flight,
The glory, the source of being and light?
Whence do we come?--Where do we go?

In a single thread we cannot see
The rich design of a tapestry,
A passing life is a thread of the whole,
The timeless one, the evolving soul.

Author’s note: The title is taken from a painting by Gauguin, in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Published by American Poetry Magazine, Official Organ of American Literary Association, Inc. 83rd. Street.-Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. March April 1947

Evidently, talent ran in the Powell and Strawn families. One of my grandmother’s sisters painted beautiful plates and dessert dishes. I inherited four from my grandmother along with copies of the poems my grandmother Frances wrote during her life time. (Each of my grandchildren will inherit a plate.) Earlier, in one of my posts, I published one of Grandmother France’s poems and I will add another one here.

Elsie Strawn Armstrong used to write lyrics as well. Elsie Strawn Armstrong has a book written about her “The Life of a Woman Pioneer” by her grandson James Elder Armstrong. Elsie Strawn was the daughter of Isaiah Strawn who was eighth in a family of twelve. His grandfather was Jacob Strawn who came from England as an orphan and settled in Pa. I am not sure if Jacob, Isaiah, and Elsie Strawn were my ancestors, but the book was a great read. She sure looks like one of my ancestors and the book was part of my Grandmother’s and Father’s library.

“Let’s Walk Together”---1787 and 1944
Frances Strawn Livingston

The portrait, called “Lady With a Nosegay,”
was a Copley, lovely Dolly in a violet gown.
She was a reigning beauty, in her day
the favorite toast of Philadelphia town.

Her diary recorded, in a delicate hand,
the troubled times that followed the Revolution.
Her quality of mind could understand
the vision and new concepts of the Constitution.

Her friends said change must bring catastrophe:
nonsense to say that unity may expand:
unsound to attempt to join, yet keep states free,
But here it worked! Why not in many a land?

The people doubted if men (whom all might see
were like themselves) could be great enough to plan
a united government with pliancy,
and strength, and liberty for every man.

“Impossible! Utopian dreams,” they cry,
harping on worn-out phrases of negation,
and heaping scorn on seers, they will deny
the increasing urge for a world-wide federation.

Contagious thought will spring from mind to mind:
and Dolly shared a dream with the strong who dare
to heal the wounds of war, and in unity to bind
free peoples, states, and nations everywhere.”

Author note: This poem was written after reading “U.S.W.” by Clement Wood." Let’s Walk Together" received the Volker award, shared with Clement Wood.
Published by Kansas City Poetry Magazine, P.O. Box 14, Kansas City--10 Missouri July 1944

I have vague memories of meeting Lester and Taylor Strawn as a child at the Martin Sherwin Motel and the King Cotton Motel that my Father owned and operated. I remember trips to Asheville to see Grandmother’s sisters. To know that there are many cousins of Strawn, Middlemas, Sheard, Parr, and Perry families that are" kin" and unknown to each of us is sad….Genealogy is one way to bring names together, but not the faces.

Addendum: I personally would have cut those "rascals"
out of the frame. When Strawn sold the frames, they had tried to remove the pictures from the frame. You must remember that each of "the four sisters" are different, seeing things from a different view point. My husband reminded me that I had my window of opportunity to save these pictures when they were in my storage locker. Upon emptying my storage locker, I returned her pictures not realizing she would act so fast on selling them.

BLACK SHEEP GETS BLACK BALLED/LISTED

2011-08-20T12:40:00.000-07:00

Before I continue, I must identify what I meant by “black sheep,” “black balled and “black list.” The typical meaning of “black sheep” means a worthless member of a decent family. Since, I do not think I am worthless, the typical definition does not apply to me, nor do I think it applies always to other black sheep . The use of “black sheep” in some cases is used too literally/harshly or used incorrectly unless explained. An example of this would be our great, great, great uncle James Burroughs that served in the Cival War. He became a hermit living in the woods in SC across the river from Savannah, Ga. (His family lived in Savannah, but some member migrated to St. Augustine during and after the War.) His vivid memories of the killing in the War of his friends, family and fellow comrades left him riddled with guilt and he suffered back flashes. Dad says, as a very young boy, he remembered visiting with his uncle several times in his encampment in the woods. He described him as a good man who seemed very sad and lost. He could not cope with society, but many in the family associated him as being a " black Sheep."

                                                              "There is a black sheep in every flock"....Proverbs

In my case “black sheep” refers to…” one that is very different from the norm in comparison to my other three sisters. I am the “bad” sister that was the troublemaker, the mouthy/bossy one, who had to have the last word. I was the opinionated one, who did not necessarily judge, but felt she needed to relate how she saw things from her point of view. Of course, that point of view was not always appreciated or viewed in the same manner, especially if it hit a negative vibe. Sometimes the "manner" upon which that opinion was delivered wasn’t exactly acceptable either. (Anger, sarcasm, under your breath, written???) I sometimes cannot let go of what bothers me or forgive too easily, especially if I have been “dealt a card from the bottom of the deck.” Thank goodness, for the most part, I forgive/forget pretty fast these days. To put it mildly, my youngest sister, from the time she was a child until her adult years, found my antics/views extremely annoying or hard to swallow. She especially disliked it when I shared these view with everyone. This leads to the next definitions….”Black Balled/Black List.”

     "Be who you are and say what you feel becausethose who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind”...Santiz

“Black list” is a list of persons who are believed to deserve punishment. “Black Balled” is defined as ostracized. In my case…removed from existence from an e-mail account, therefore placed on a “black list”. Since, this is exactly what happened, I will go with the dictionary's version of both words. If said “sister” knew about this blog, it would be ostracized and maybe me as well. Then too, a lack of interest in computers, internet, blogs, facebook, etc. may keep me safe for a while. The rest of my family does not realize I have returned to my blog. Consequently , I do not have to worry about them ostracizing me yet. It is only a matter of time time before they become aware of my transgressions, for I always get caught. As you can see, I can be a very naughty girl. Eventually, I feel sure that someone I know will end up reading this and will think I have lost it. In actuality, I figure in later years it might serve as an entertaining read. I can hear it now, “I can’t believe she is actually writing all this crap” etc.

Now, as mentioned above, I have been put on my own sister’s black list. I guess I should be upset that I created this sisterly blowup, but instead, I find myself laughing. I will not go into detail about what transpired to begin this “black ball” situation. Technically I did not start the process; I simply reported the facts. It is not every day you get black listed by your own sister. When I think back on what happened that Thanksgiving Day, I would have reacted in the same way now as I did then. Part of the humor was that I really wasn’t extremely upset. I was just reporting what her husband told me to do when he loudly went out my back door. He raised his voice and said "Now make sure you talk about me when I leave" or words very similar in nature. I responded that he could be sure that I would. I always do what I say I am going to do. Am I regretting this…NO…but I have been put in the position that for the sake of family, I will need to back off from a few mixed family events, for the importance of peace. Although, ALL my sisters and their kids are welcomed in my home.

Since I, Susan Livingston Thompson, have written this on my blog, I guess it is an example of my not completely letting go...I AM WORKING ON IT.

THE MOLDING OF SUE: PART ONE

2011-08-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

When I look back on my childhood I wondered what events molded me into what I am today and why. I can remember tales of mischief told to me by my grandmother, MaPa, Shep (A very dear friend of the Livingston family who moved with us to SC many years ago.), Aunt Alta, Cousin Gay, Unk, Dad, Mom and Aunt Emmy. Some of those memories I vaguely remembered doing, some I don’t. Some memories I remembered in a different perspective than their version. This is part one of a three part series that I will present periodically throughout my blog.

Shep loved to tell me the story of my diaper years when he helped Mom clean-up the most ungodly scent and mess he had ever witnessed. He said what made the reeking event even worse was my mischievous face. He swears that I knew exactly what I had done by the spark in my eyes and the cocky smile that was displayed on my very smelly, dirty face. He said that when they entered the room, I was standing in my crib smearing brownish/green mucky “number 2” in an artful manner all over the wall. It was literally in slow motion; the way I looked at Mom and him, dug into my diaper, came up with a handful... I smiled, looked them in the eye, threw it on the wall, and started squiggling “dunk” everywhere . He said the worst part was Mom yelling for Ted, my Dad, who entered and after seeing the mess started laughing which in turn started Shep laughing too. Shep indicated that Mom was livid at the two of them for she knew I would get sick or poisoned by the gunk that was hanging from my mouth, face, and body. They were, also, encouraging “said” behavior by their laughter. Needless to say, it took the three of them hours to clean-up. I joyously giggled and played without a care in the world while they grumbled and gagged. Maybe Mom was right, this possibly may have been the beginning of my shenanigans that tempered the Livingston family of my presence.

While Earl Sheppard is on my mind; he, Dad and Mom would drink "highballs" while listening to all types of music from opera, operettas, to classical music. On occasion, they would take Peggy and me to Charleston and Columbia to hear, as well as see the performance of many of these operas. I thank my parents and Shep many times for instilling in me a love for ALL types of music. I bless Shep for getting me through the 1st grade that I failed due to persistent discipline problems with the Nuns. “When I was in the 1st grade I went to the Catholic school in Fredricksburg, Va. The nuns used to send notes home to my parents that I was NOT supposed to wear pants to school. I would hide these notes. I left home in a skirt and changed on the bus to pants that was hidden in my satchel. One day a particularly mean Nun, that I did not like, grabbed me real hard; and she demanded that I change my attire. I broke loose and started running from her. I looked ahead and saw this huge mud puddle. When I got to it, I stopped in the middle of it and started laughing. I quickly dodged as she grabbed for me. She slipped, and fell face first into the puddle. I was looking at this very muddy-faced Nun with her long black habit dripping in gunk. You can imagine my surprise and delight; and I doubled over laughing. Needless to say, when my parents found out about what I had done, they were furious. I got double punishment, a spanking and “sent to bed.” That was one of those times being sent to bed did not bother me. I laid in my bed and smiled as I relived that entertaining moment in time. Every day after this my satchel was checked. Thank goodness after the 2ND year, we moved to SC." I have to admit, I also failed because of my lack of patience with the learning process. Shep had to tutor me the whole summer so I could move with my class to the 2ND grade. Between Daddy, Mom, and Shep, I not only learned to enjoy reading; I also learned to appreciate all types of subject matter and reading material. Until I got my Kindle, I was NEVER without a book in my purse/pocketbook. I never got bored if stranded for I had my book for entertainment. I am a lucky person in that I can read while riding in a moving vehicle.

MaPa was always telling me the story of her placing me in the “NO” Chair.” Evidently, spanking did not seem to bother me so Mom and Dad came up with the idea of defining a particular chair that I had to sit in without moving for certain periods of time depending on my offense. MaPa unknowingly placed me in this chair to change my clothes and all “hell” broke loose for I started hollering and yelling MaPa “I good, I good” over and over again; and banging my hands and head against the chair rattling it back and forth. Dad and Mom had a terrible time trying to explain to me that my MaPa did not know it was the “bad” chair. Ma Pa used to say that my temper tantrums were so bad that I would start biting the side of my hand in anger. For years into my adulthood I would bite the side of my hand to keep from losing my cool. I guess by punishing myself I managed to calm down.

The worse thing my Mom and Dad could do to me, discipline wise, was to limit my activities by sending me to bed, denying me the use of my bike, not hanging out on my swing, etc. There is no one on this earth I adored more than my Aunt Janet. I named my daughter after her. "She had this parakeet named Whiskers, I think. My Mom would dread when a customer came into our motel office if Aunt Janet's room door was open. Whiskers would bellow out “King Cotton, no damn good!” The bird was most realistic sounding and had a very good vocabulary." Anyway, Aunt Janet liked to remind me of my bike that Dad would hang up a tree outside her bedroom window. It tickled her that she was the first one to know whether I got to ride my bike on a given week. He used a pulley rope to move my bike into an upward position in the tree when my grades or behavior were not the best; and he would return it to the ground as a reward for improvement. Again limiting my favorite thing to do, riding my bike. I am NOT complaining for these were inventive ways of managing their very stubborn daughter who was NOT particularly crazy about school. These methods I would have used on my own kids, but I was fortunate NOT to have too many discipline problems with my son or my daughter. Maybe, biting my hand scared them "shitless". Yep, I am laughing at myself…sorry!

I could not wait for Aunt Emmie to come visit. (Aunt Em was Theodore Burroughs Livingston's, my grandfather, sister. Aunt Em had a fixation when it came to our Chinese Chest that was in our living room at the King Cotton Motel. She would spend hours searching in every conceivable place for the secret drawer that she knew lay hidden in its structure. Although quite elderly, you never knew when she would be lying on the floor under or behind that chest pushing, pulling. or gliding her finger across the chest looking in frustration for the secret compartment that she knew held a treasure. (All four of the Livingston Sisters would look, but we never found that drawer. I have always wondered, and keep forgetting to ask Gay, if she and her family ever take the time to look. (Maybe we should have taken all the drawers out and look behind them.)

Also, I was the lucky one, if they needed a fourth at Bridge, Hearts and Canasta. Aunt Em would come from St. Augustine with Aunt Alta, Aunt Gertrude and Unk, or Cousin Gay. Not only was I the oldest, but I loved playing cards with them. Not to brag, but I was also very good at cards and caught on quickly. For some reason when I sat down to play cards I clammed up, kept a straight face, and focused on the game; three traits that I normally do not possess. It bugs me to this day when too much talking occurs while we play games or cards. My big problem was I did not like to lose. My Mom did not play Canasta and Bridge; therefore, she would get real upset when I showed signs of impatience or made “sour or negative” comments between game sets, etc. Dad would shake his head with his finger to his lips for silence, and informed me that it was just a game. He would remind “Margaret” that she was not playing and he would handle it. He would proceed to shake his head in a negative manner, again, and l would lip read; “Now Sue, please behave yourself.” My aunts would smirk and Mom would throw up her hands in frustration. I hate to say this yawl, but I learned from the best.

Thus, I have come to the end of my 1st Edition to the Molding of Sue. I will simply say some learn, while others do not, from events that took place in the past.

I AM BACK TO ENTERTAIN MYSELF

2011-07-02T16:05:00.000-07:00

I have returned. After many months not writing, I realized that I missed expressing myself. My approach to this continued blog will basically be the same. Except, along with memories of the past(good or bad) I will also do a journal of my thoughts, observations and feelings. Since I have been away for so long, I doubt very seriously if anyone will be reading what I write. In fact, I doubt if anyone will remember the name of my blog. Nor am I going to inform anyone that I have continued this blog. Before they felt obliged to read it; because I am a friend, parent, relative etc. I will critique my writing and either pat myself on the back or point a finger at myself, shake my head, and say “shame, shame, shame on you for being so bad”. This is GOOD for now I can write what I like and not worry about offending anyone. (Nope! That is impossible for I do this on a regular basis without even trying.)

My blog will be like an open diary on how I feel. I will treat and indulge myself in what I call “self-help therapy”. What do I mean by this? Simply, I can read and listen to myself talk since no one really listens to what I have to say. Maybe I should say they half-listen or they simply do not have the time to listen. I will be my own best friend. This is good for there are some, my sister Mary Gay for one, who would find fault or make negative judgments no matter what I write or how I write it; maybe, because of the possibility of the whole world reading it. (I wonder how many in the World read and took issue on that statement.) Thank goodness, I do not have to worry about her or any of her family/friends reading this anyway. None of them are computer literate to the extent of finding this blog. If they did find my blog, it would be by accident or someone "tattled." To my sister it would be of little interest, silly, or possibly shocking. Now the rest of the family does have above average computer skills, especially Lacy, who has her own Blog. She may remotely, out of curiosity, decide in the future to check-out my blog; and she may pass along my indiscretions to others in the family. Not to worry, I have myself well covered……”Age, along with strong sleeping pills grabbed hold of me during the night without my knowledge and made me write this junk.” I always tell Peggy everything, but this time she will not know either. A few stories to follow this introduction will be “Good Sister, Bad Sister”, “Dad: A Wise Man of Many Talents”, “Four Sisters: How Can They be so Different?”, “Fighting Your Own Battles Without the Support of Family” and address the topic on how you can become the “underdog” for the following statement: He said, “make sure you talk about me when I leave….I said I would," I did, and still paying the price for doing so. I am curious to see how I will approach this topic and not step on more toes... NADA!...I feel them breaking now...OUCH!

I have now triggered my own imagination with surly remarks and interest filled topics. I will take a break until after the 4TH of July. Sue… have a great 4TH with Claire, Laura, Nancy and Paige. Poor Jim has to work, but he loves burgers and that will be his dinner. With a hacking cough and no sleep, I am about to embark on a week with my granddaughter and her best friend...HELP!

JUDGE AND BE JUDGED?

2009-09-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

This post is one of two that I 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 at a later date.

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 lots of trouble sometimes; since I am an out-spoken, emotional, very inquisitive, opinionated, and blunt person who has the tendency of speaking without thinking. I also found that negative behavior will get 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, therefore, not being myself. 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 on what "others"considered unacceptable characteristics or behavior. I am my own worst enemy. 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. Unfortunately, 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 grand kids 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. As children grow-up, overhear adults talk, and mature they begin to see you through another’s eye; not necessarily 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. 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 possess judgmental characteristics I find irritating in others. Behaviors that in another person’s eye may be acceptable, yet 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; hoping I will stop 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 manner; 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 towards 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: 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 a person 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 this unless they are "high-maintenance" themselves, how totally frustrating this can be. It is like you have wasted your 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 with a click of a mouse on the “X, " flip you off if they are too pissed to read what you have written; therefore, unknown to the person doing the writing. Taking “issue” means that they have paid attention to the written word. Maybe they will understand the issue or the 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. Most people have an agenda of their own, they are bored, or whatever other excuses that may be present at that time; so it is easier to tune-out and half-hear to what is being said. I am bad about doing this, especially if I am reading. We all do this to some extent. Maybe that is why I enjoy reading so much. I am listening/reading the written word, agreeing or disagreeing, with what is written within my own 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: 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, Susan Livingston Thompson

THE IMPORTANCE OF FAMILY REUNIONS

2009-08-21T12:48:00.000-07:00

As I begin this post, I am on the interstate headed to our annual family reunion. (Isn’t technology awesome?) This year (2009) 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, will be 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, especially will be excited about seeing Sandra. She was my best friend from high school and the only one, except for my sisters, who was in my wedding. She and her husband Joe live close to Helen. She is headed to our high school reunion in Summerton, SC on Thursday; so I will not get to see her for a very short period of time. I will be grateful for the time we'll have together for I love her dearly; and if the family voting goes like I am hoping 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 by stopping several times at roadside 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, ask Daddy "T" to stop for boiled peanuts.) 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 Thompson 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

Again I have gotten on one of those “a long ways around the barn tangents.” Anyway, I had never been to a family reunion and did not know what to expect. Other than my four sisters, their children and kids, Cousin Alec, and a cousin we do not know in Alabama; we are all that exist on my side of the family.

The 1st reunion was called the Rowe-Barber reunion. The Thompson branch of the reunion got so big that we started having our own yearly reunion. The majority of the family was either from Florida or South Carolina, so we alternated between the two states. Our first Thompson reunion was at the Fish Camp in Florida. These last two years we traveled to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. (Two relatives, Bo Kirkland and John H. Thompson now reside in Tennessee.) You might want to say that 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.

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

This year was special for Pat and Charles. 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 hadn’t been 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 Sandra or her home. 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. The lunch was pasta, one of her Mom's (Grace) yummy recipes. She also had a pasta salad which was one of her own recipes. I really need to call her for the recipe. (I already have Grace's 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 share a 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, I look forward to seeing fresh eyes looking at the family from a younger perspective.

Sandra Pricher, our president, was the organizer. She sent out reminders, determined who was coming, kept account of who would be responsible for meals, and ordered 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 she still 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 laughed 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 time 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, 2010. (Look out, Sandra, I am headed your way. Maybe the Summerton High School reunion will not be at the same time.) Our reunion will be Thursday –Sunday next year. We may 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 Kay reading to 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 (I called her the family Historian) and what we 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? (I never knew when her pinch was headed my way.) She always made me feel a part of the family. I totally enjoyed every minute I spent with her. 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

ADDENDUM: We just had our 2011 reunion, Debbie was an absolutely great President. She was very organized and precise, friendly and a "fun" president. The scrapbook, organized by Kim Sullivan, was super. As you can see, it has been two years since I first wrote this post. I had intended to come back and correct my many error. I hope I found most of them. If not, please call and I will attempt to correct all errors in a timely matter.

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

2009-08-01T20:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-13T18:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-04T14:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-23T18:47:00.000-07:00

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.

PROM SHENANIGANS

2009-05-15T19:21:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in my first post, this lady (SUE) stayed in trouble when she was younger. This continued through motherhood and trouble still materializes to a lesser degree now. It was not always planned, but more spontaneous. It was no use to lie or try to get away with anything for I always got caught. I had and still have a habit of speaking out or taking action without thinking it through. My Dad always said, my mouth took action before my brain, therefore; it was the reason for my speaking, spelling, and quick reaction mistakes. I was/am too impatient. I wanted to get it said or done with at that moment in time which invariably led/leads to trouble. He could be right about this. I do know he accepted me for the way I was which included my antics (for lack of a better word). My poor Mom was the culprit of the majority of these shenanigans much to her embarrassment. Unfortunately I could never figure out why I embarrassed her so much for I was rarely embarrassed. I guess I was not seeing the situations I got myself into in the same light that she would see them. I can’t tell you how many times my Mother was apologizing for something I said or did. After I got married I can remember her apologizing to her best friends, Mac and Booger, before I did anything wrong.

Well anyway after reading Lacy’s Blog, Lacy Lately, I looked everywhere for prom pictures and found only one. I do remembered going to both proms. (The pictures must be in my storage unit) I cannot remember my proms clearly. To be honest I do not remember having a particularly good time. We did not do “the going out to eat” and then going to the prom like they do in present time. We did not take pictures at the prom or if we did I do not remember it. The food was buffet catered. All I can remember about the music was that it was Rock’n-Roll.

I do remember two events that stood out in my memory simultaneously in slow motion. The night of my Junior Prom, I remember my poor Mom nearly keeled over in shock and my Dad shaking with laughter hoping Mom would not see him. This was not a planned shenanigan, but it was a last minute shenanigan that I am sure Mom never forgot. I had this real short haircut that I wore in a “Pixie”. Mom decided for a formal prom I needed to get it doodle-up and she got Helen, her beautician, to give me a curl/wave. When I got home I was upset for I thought it looked awful and so not “me.” Mom was not exactly happy with my attitude and lack of appreciation. I can't blame her for back then money was scarce. When my date arrived I was beside myself and did not want to go. First, I did not exactly like my date. Secondly, I was embarrassed with my tight-wavy look. I rushed into the bathroom in my blue evening dress, kneeled down by the bath tub, turned on the warm water and proceeded to wash my hair. Peggy is having a multi-reaction fit…..dying of shock and whispering that I was going to be in big trouble. At the same time she was laughing and shaking her head; “I cannot believe you are doing this”. Carefully I lift my head, I managed to get a towel and I rubbed my hair as dry as time allowed. I “pixied” my hair in this exaggerated spike fashion, touched up my lipstick, put on my fashionable long gloves and walked out into the living room. Two reactions registered at the same time: My Dad eyes got big and round, he rolled his eyes while he shook his head in one of those NOT AGAIN, SUE gestures and he headed for the kitchen. (He was laughing and trying to get out of harm’s way.) My Mom’s face, had a look of impatience because I was rude and she was left entertaining my date, changed into red dismay. Her mouth was hanging open, followed by a gasp and a slow-measured movement towards a chair. She was speechless. With stiff, straight, wet hair I moved quickly towards the front door smiling at my date and trying not to look at anyone. At the moment it was important I vacate my house fast. My dad yells WAIT. As I turned slowly, my Dad with this hidden mischievous half-smile pointed to the Chinese Chest and he quickly took a few pictures. My Mother has yet to utter a word and I dare not look at her. I do not remember what happened after that except I was surprised that no one said anything to me then or on my return, if they did it does not stick in my mind.

Lastly, I do remember that after my senior prom, a group of us went swimming in our clothes at the Windsor Motel pool. We evidently made too much noise. We were sneaking around at two o’clock AM. The manager was so upset that he called the police. We all got the no trespassing and disturbing the peace lecture and were told literally to disappear or our moms and dads would be called. I had on a new Madras outfit that faded out even more after my chlorinated dip in the pool. My Dad owned the King Cotton Motel competition to the Windsor Motel so I certainly did not need to get in trouble. I was out of there as quickly as time allowed, but it did not matter. Unknown to me, the manager recognized me and called my Dad. Upon sneaking into the house I saw my Dad sitting in his favorite chair half-asleep, twiddling his fingers on his chest, and nodding his head back and forth. Sue, I sure hope you enjoyed yourself tonight and that you are home to stay for I really need to get some sleep. I do not want anymore strange phone calls, nor do I want your Mom waking up. After all, it was four o’clock in the morning.

PART II: ST. AUGUSTINE TRIP

2009-05-11T20:22:00.000-07:00

I did not want to leave my post on St. Augustine without sharing a few pictures of the area. I had a short visit therefore; I did not get to see the old Burroughs homestead I visited when I was a kid.

I did get to see the old homestead of my Aunt Em and Aunt Esabella. Both lived together in Mandarin, Florida. When Aunt Em came to visit us she would search literally hours looking for the secret drawer that was supposedly hidden in the Chinese chest that my dad’s dad brought back to the US when he was in the Merchant Marines. (Pictures: Aunt Em's house and my sister, Strawn in front of Chinese chest & Chest itself .) She also introduced me to Canasta, Bridge and my love for board games.

Unk and Gertrude, another aunt and uncle, lived there as well. When I was a kid we use to get bushel baskets of home grown oranges, tangerines, grapefruit and kumquats from Unk’s home by the St. John’s River. Our family was never without fresh fruit from Mandarin. I would sneak into the living room behind Unk’s chair to listen to adult conversation and eat the yummy fruit from the Old Fashion drinks he made and secretly passed to me while I hid. I would give almost anything to have the recipe for those Old Fashions. I still believe he loaded those drinks with extra fruit so I could share the fruit while he enjoyed his drink. I still have the old shaker he used to make those drinks.

In those days visiting the Alligator Farm, the old fort (The Castillo de San Marcos took twenty-three years to build and was never conquered), the oldest wooden school house and the oldest jailhouse were among a few big things to do. I did not get to revisit these old memories, but I did get to see the newly renovated lighthouse. It was so cool to see the difference of St. Augustine lighthouse versus the Tybee Island and Hunting Island lighthouses. After living on Hunting Island State Park and helping with the research information on this lighthouse, I have visited quite a few lighthouses. Ray, who was the manager of Hunting Island State Park at one time, was devoted to preserving the historical aspect of the lighthouse and the park. He has done an unbelievably fantastic job. At night you can see a light rotating at the top of the lighthouse. (It is not the true Fresnel light used back in 1875, nor is it an active light today) it does reflect the era when the lighthouse served as a guide to those out at sea. He was also responsible in forming “The Friends of Hunting Island” an organization that helped him in this endeavor. Those of you who like camping, especially on the beach, need to make sure you add this park to your list of camping must, along with Edisto State Park.

Hunting Island Lighthouse St. Augustine Lighthouse Tybee Island Lighthouse

St. Augustine at Easter is a great place to visit. They had an Easter Parade befitting the historical aspect of the area with people dressed in historical attire marching or riding buggies representing its history between 1513 and 1900. They had many different shops in the old Historical area of the city along with an unreal selection of restaurants. You are able to enjoy the historical architecture, dinning, and shopping all in one walking area. It was a very unique experience. My favorite purchase was Minorcan Datil Peppers. My dad when I was growing up use to keep a supply of these hot peppers in his cupboard at all times. The secret ingredient of many of his recipes was Datil Pepper. Between his St. Augustine and Mandarin relatives, he kept his supply up to date. These peppers are only grown in St. Augustine. Back then these peppers were hotter than they are now. I think the uniqueness of the pepper is the unexplainable/memorable flavor along with the heat of the pepper. Although the peppers you buy today are really good, for some reason they do not seem quite the same. Dad said that many areas of Florida and the US have tried growing these peppers but they never tasted as good or as hot as those grown in St. Augustine. (In my cupboard I have Datil relish, sauce, mustard, peppers and pepper vinegar...time never changes only the variety of the product.)

My sister, Strawn, and I decided to take the long way home to South Carolina. We left Crescent Beach, Florida and took highway A1A to Jacksonville Beach. This was the only way to go in the old days. I can remember when my Husband and I took this road on several occasions on the way to/from Daytona Beach. It is sometimes called the ocean highway for it follows the Atlantic Ocean. If you are not in a hurry it is fun to stop at some of the beach accesses. Each area seems to be a little different and have its own unique beauty or ambience. The highway scenery is definitely a photographer’s paradise and I wish we could have had more time, but we both were tired and rain was beginning to take over our weekend of sunshine. I must go back in the next few years and have a photographing holiday and capture more memories.

CLAIRE: GIRL ON THE RUN

2009-04-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

This past weekend Jimmy and I went to see our daughter, Paige and her family. They live four hours from us and we try to see them when Jim is off on weekends. Unfortunately, weekends come approximately once every two months. This particular weekend we had to leave real early on Sunday for we wanted to see our granddaughter, Claire participate in the 5k “Girls on the Run” for fun. As quoted on their website, “Girls on the Run® is a non-profit prevention program that encourages preteen girls to develop self-respect and healthy lifestyles through running.” Last December she ran the 5k (3-miles) and we did not get to watch her participate. She completed this race full of excitement and big smiles. Her Nana and Papa were extremely proud of her. We wanted to make sure that we were there this time. Her run was scheduled for two in the afternoon, so we arrived early morning to boost her spirits. http://www.girlsontherun.org. The founder has a blog spot called:http://mollyontherun.blogspot.com/

Upon arrival Claire’s spirit was down and we thought it was because she was anxious about running. I took her over to registration. She got her entry sign, fancy crochet purple bracelet and three rainbow Band-Aids placed in the middle of her forehead, knee and arm. She had this real cool t-shirt with the run inscribed on the outside front and a list of sponsors on the back. Claire by the way is in the 3rd grade and is 8-years old. I, the camera junkie that I am, got busy taking pictures of everyone and everything.

Her team/group was from her elementary school, Riverview. The race began with over 500 participants. It was an enthusiastic group of runners (anyone could participate) all hoping to complete the 5k run. I waited anxiously for her to appear after her first mile to get a picture. My granddaughter did not make her whole 3-miles (5k). What we thought was anxiety for running turned out to be a 102-degree temperature along with a hot afternoon. She did not want to disappoint herself or us; therefore, not telling her mom she was not feeling well she decided to run anyway.

She completed one-mile of that race and we were very proud of her. Although she should have told her mom/dad how she felt for it could have had serious consequences, she was still motivated to at least try to do her best. In my estimate she did just that…….Her Nana and Papa are very impressed at her stamina and courage to want to at least try.

ZAPPERS REALLY WORK

2009-04-25T15:43:00.000-07:00

Do you have mosquitoes? Do you have big time mosquitoes? Well I am here to tell you I have trillions of them. I live in the Low Country of South Carolina and they multiply at a blink of an eye. Of those trillions I have at least fifty or more in my house depending on how many times or how many people come in and out our house at a given time. When I enter my house I will literally pop in and slam the door letting in at least 5 to 10 mosquitoes. Then there is Jim who lets in at least twenty at a time because he is slow moving and sometimes forgets that we do not live in a barn. Unfortunately, it does not matter who you may be. If you do not get in quick enough to suit me I start fussing. Sometimes when you look up you see dots of black all over my yellowish walls by the tons. It is definitely not a pretty sight.

One day a year or two ago friends of ours, Dalia and Richard, gave us a zapper. I started laughing thinking they were joking because I was always swatting at mosquitoes even climbing furniture trying to kill these beasts of prey. (Humans, dogs, cats, etc.) Anyway, the advertisement claimed it would kill mosquitoes. The one they gave us looked like a yellow tennis racket and it had a place on the handle for batteries. It even had this safety feature where you had to hold in two buttons at the same time for it to work, therefore children could not zap themselves or others by mistake. (I have two grandchildren so this feature was most appreciated. Claire, grand daughter backs off every time she sees me coming with my assassinator.) It was awkward to use at first, but after working with positioning it at different angles I started lunging at these biting pest. Zap! It not only decimated the little rascals it fried them. Little sparks of light flashed on my zapper, then there was this exhilarating snapping sound and bang the mosquito was a goner. It totally took me by surprise. I was flabbergasted and kept searching, zapping, and killing any bug I could find. I kept waiting for the CSI Mosquito/Bug Patrol to coming looking for me. It was like an answer to my prayers.

Unfortunately the place they bought this zapper was about to go out of business so I immediately headed to Hilton Head (a hours drive away) just to get another one for the car. The novelty store only had about four left, so I purchased all of them. The thin crossing wires responsible for the “bug shocking” were tightly meshed together, but if one came loose it would no longer bump-off my bugs. (This demolishing machine not only slaughtered mosquitoes, but flies, spiders and any other small bug.) I wanted to make sure I had all areas of my bug life covered. I made Jim keep one by his chair, I had one by my chair and I put one in the car. Am I phobic? Yes, I am. (I even have these two cobwebs I will not remove from two rooms in my house for they serve as traps for the annoying mosquitoes.)

(1) cobweb full of mosquitoes (2)Swatting mosquitoes

We had a summer night party at our house on the state park where Jim worked. When the party came to an end I had mosquitoes lined up all over my ceiling too high for me to reach. Ray and Jeff are two real tall state rangers/administrators. They would not believe me when I told them about my miracle killer machine. I gave each of them a zapper and within minutes they had killed all the mosquitoes and even wanted me to open my door so they could kill more. The blasted thing was like an addiction to these two men. (Two grown men giggling/smiling/zapping and cheering with each kill they made)

A few months later tragedy struck. One of my zappers broke and I was devastated. I went searching the internet and actually found that all kinds of zappers existed out there in cyber land. I proceeded to buy two different types. Tonight when I arrived home from town I opened and quickly closed the door for mosquitoes were swarming around the outside of my door by the thousands. They were everywhere, the worse I have ever seen. Jim had the late shift and could not help me with my whacking spree, or should I say “SLAYING SPREE.” Imagine a 65-year old, plump short woman with a zapper in her hand zipping around like a yoyo around the house bouncing from floor to chairs to ladder removing these tiny nipping blood sucking pest from existence. By the time Jim arrived home (He let in at least fifteen more stinging beast.), I had not only zapped most of the bugs, but I had zapped myself in the process. I forgot it would give you a shock if you mistakenly touched it. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck tingle along with the jolt on my leg where the mosquito sparkled after zapping it with my paddle. DA, Sue, proceeded to touch the wiring with her finger to see why it shocked her and got a double whammy. I survived to tell this story…….on to another post

St. Augustine Part I—Memories Past and Present

2009-04-23T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have always felt and still think that St. Augustine is one of the most unique cities in the United States. I was excited just to go back to the past and see bits and pieces of it again. When I was quite small we use to go to Vilano Beach for two to three weeks. Back then, unfortunately, the Loggerhead Turtles were not protected and it was a treat to have cake made with the eggs the turtles laid. The cake was a rich moist succulent treasure to eat. Dad would search for the eggs in the early morning or very late at night. He gave them to Cousin Rebecca who made a one-layered rich cake from scratch. (Remember this is a child’s memory, so my facts may be a little off.) Sadly, when I look back, I think about those eggs and the fact that if people back then had been more environmentally conscious we would not have endangered or extinct animal/plants like we do today. I can remember people picking the sea oats and using them in dry flower arrangements. Sometimes I wish we could turn back time and undue all the havoc we unknowingly caused. (Oh, speaking of Cousin Rebecca…..she gave me Fannie Farmer Cookbook when I got married. I still use this book today along with Duncan Hines Cookbook that my dad gave me. Both are the two most precious treasures I possess.)

As I mentioned before, we were in St. Augustine/Mandarin, Fla. for a solemn celebration of Gay, but we were also there to re-acquaint ourselves with Alec and Sharon. Alec is just like his dad and a very gracious host. You could tell he was raised with manners and love. (I can see Gay now in his low-toned, calm, yet serious, no nonsense voice saying, “Now, Alec, I really think we need to rethink this…”) Anyway, three of the four sisters were in Florida on Friday of last week. Alec was not only entertaining but he made an effort to make sure all of us got equal attention. He brought along with him the best treasures of all, pictures to share of Uncle (Cousin) Gay. My youngest sister Gay (named after Big Uncle Gay) was only there for the day, whereas Strawn and I stayed for 4 nights. Bless him for he devoted the whole day to making her feel welcome. We had a great New Orleans meal on the banks of the St. John’s River. Beautiful weather followed us the whole trip and that day was especially gorgeous. Time passed too quickly. It seems as if (sister) Gay and her husband Cecil had just arrived and “bang” they were off again back to South Carolina.
Pictures: (1) Alec with Sue, Gay, Strawn, Sharon (2) Sharon, Sue, Gay, Strawn

The condo was located on the front beach. Only a dune with a wide trough separated us from the ocean. Between the dunes was a walkway that carried us to the beach and upon looking down you saw turtles sunning themselves. Rabbits and other wildlife have homes in this trough as well. I actually walked two miles one morning. Of course my walking was looking for shells in a leisurely manner while Alec, Strawn, and Sharon briskly took off. I knew the odds of keeping up were slim so I let them do their “thing” while I had a good excuse “old and decrepit” (I am definitely not either, but it annoys my kids when I say it.) I really enjoy shelling. Again the temperature was perfect and with a little wind. I got sun/wind burned from lack of awareness on how long we sat and how sunny it actually was against the reflection of the ocean. I live in a beach community and know better so I really have no excuse. Alec had some success at fishing. He caught enough for Sharon’s and his supper next week. We ate at this neat restaurant on the marsh called Cowboys. Let me tell you folks, that food was to die for, especially the Key Lime pie. I want a tart mouth sequencing attack on my palette when I eat a key lime or lemon pie. Rarely do I find it prepared this way at a restaurant. I always have to make my own. All of us nearly died in ecstasy.
Pictures: (1) Cypress knob/knees and dock (2) One of many Turtles living in trough

Geese! This is too long. I need to stop and figure out how to shorten what I say. I keep reminiscing. Park II of this saga will come later.

Picture: (1,2) Restaurant out in the Marsh (3) Inside: A little humor!

Part I—Memories Past and Present of Florida

2009-04-22T18:13:00.000-07:00

I have always felt and still think that St. Augustine is one of the most unique cities in the United States. I was excited just to go back to the past and see bits and pieces of it again. When I was quite small we use to go to Vilano Beach for two to three weeks. Back then, unfortunately, the Loggerhead Turtles were not protected and it was a treat to have cake made with the eggs the turtles laid. The cake was a rick moist succulent treasure to eat. Dad would search for the eggs in the early morning or very late at night. He gave them to Cousin Rebecca who made an one-layered cake from scratch. (Remember this is a child’s memory, so my facts may be a little off.) Sadly, when I look back, I think about those eggs and the fact that if people back then had been more environmentally conscious we would not have endangered or extinct animal/plants like we do today. I can remember people picking the sea oaks and using them in dry flower arrangements. Sometimes I wish we could turn back time and undue all the havoc we unknowingly caused. (Oh, speaking of Cousin Rebecca…..she gave me a Fannie Farmer Cookbook when I got married. I still use this book today along with a Duncan Hines Cookbook that my dad gave me. Both are the two most precious treasures I possess.)

As I mentioned before, we were in St. Augustine/Mandarin, Fla. for a solemn celebration of Gay, but we were also there to re-acquaint ourselves with Alec and Sharon. Alec is just like his dad and a very gracious host. You could tell he was raised with manners and love. (I can see Gay now in his low-toned, calm, yet serious, no nonsense voice saying, “Now, Alec, I really think we need to rethink this…”) Anyway, three of the four sisters were in Florida on Friday of last week. Alec was not only entertaining but he made an effort to make sure all of us got equal attention. He brought along with him the best treasures of all, pictures to share of Uncle (Cousin) Gay. My youngest sister Gay (named after Big Uncle Gay) was only there for the day, whereas Strawn and I stayed for 4 nights. Bless him for he devoted the whole day to making her feel welcome. We had a great New Orleans meal on the banks of the St. John’s River. Beautiful weather followed us the whole trip and that day was especially gorgeous. Time past too quickly. It seems as if (sister) Gay and her husband Cecil had just arrived and “bang” they were off again back to South Carolina.

The condo was located on the front beach. Only a dune with a wide trough separated us from the ocean. Between the dunes was a walkway that carried us to the beach and upon looking down you saw turtles sunning themselves. Rabbits and other wildlife have homes in this troth as well. I actually walked two miles one morning. Of course my walking was looking for shells in a leisurely manner while Alec, Strawn, and Sharon briskly took off. I knew the odds of keeping up were slim to I let them do their “thing” while I had a good excuse “old and decrepit” (I am definitely not either, but it annoys my kids when I say it.) I really enjoy shelling. Again the temperature was perfect and with a little wind. I got sun/wind burned from lack of awareness on how long we sat and how sunny it actually was against the reflection of the ocean. I live in a beach community and know better so I really have no excuse. Alec had some success at fishing. He caught enough for Sharon’s and his supper next week. We ate at this neat restaurant on the marsh. Let me tell you folks that food was to die for, especially the Key Lime pie. I want a tart mouth sequencing attack on my palette when I eat a key lime or lemon pie. Rarely do I find it prepared this way at a restaurant. I always have to make my own. All of us nearly died in ecstasy.

Geese! This is too long. I need to stop and figure out how to shorten what I say. I keep reminiscing. Park II of this saga will come later.

St. Augustine Part I—Memories Past and Present

2009-04-22T17:49:00.000-07:00

I have always felt and still think that St. Augustine is one of the most unique cities in the United States. I was excited just to go back to the past and see bits and pieces of it again. When I was quite small we use to go to Vilano Beach for two to three weeks. Back then, unfortunately, the Loggerhead Turtles were not protected and it was a treat to have cake made with the eggs the turtles laid. The cake was a rick moist succulent treasure to eat. Dad would search for the eggs in the early morning or very late at night. He gave them to Cousin Rebecca who made an one-layered cake from scratch. (Remember this is a child’s memory, so my fact may be a little off.) Sadly, when I look back, I think about those eggs and the fact that if people back then had been more environmentally conscious we would not have endangered or extinct animal/plants like we do today. I can remember people picking the sea oaks and using them in dry flower arrangements. Sometimes I wish we could turn back time and undue all the havoc we unknowingly caused. (Oh, speaking of Cousin Rebecca…..she gave me a Fannie Farmer Cookbook when I got married. I still use this book today along with a Duncan Hines Cookbook that my dad gave me. Both are the two most precious treasures I possess.)

As I mentioned before, we were in St. Augustine/Mandarin, Fla. for a solemn celebration of Gay, but we were also there to re-acquaint ourselves with Alec and Sharon. Alec is just like his dad and a very gracious host. You could tell he was raised with manners and love. (I can see Gay now in his low-toned, calm, yet serious, no nonsense voice saying, “Now, Alec, I really think we need to rethink this…”) Anyway, three of the four sisters were in Florida on Friday of last week. Alec was not only entertaining but he made an effort to make sure all of us got equal attention. He brought along with him the best treasures of all, pictures to share of Uncle (Cousin) Gay. My youngest sister Gay (named after Big Uncle Gay) was only there for the day, whereas Strawn and I stayed for 4 nights. Bless him for he devoted the whole day to making her feel welcome. We had a great New Orleans meal on the banks of the St. John’s River. Beautiful weather followed us the whole trip and that day was especially gorgeous. Time past too quickly. It seems as if (sister) Gay and her husband Cecil had just arrived and “bang” they were off again back to South Carolina.

The condo was located on the front beach. Only a dune with a wide trough separated us from the ocean. Between the dunes was a walkway that carried us to the beach and upon looking down you saw turtles sunning themselves. Rabbits and other wildlife have homes in this troth as well. I actually walked two miles one morning. Of course my walking was looking for shells in a leisurely manner while Alec, Strawn, and Sharon briskly took off. I knew the odds of keeping up were slim to I let them do their “thing” while I had a good excuse “old and decrepit” (I am definitely not either, but it annoys my kids when I say it.) I really enjoy shelling. Again the temperature was perfect and with a little wind. I got sun/wind burned from lack of awareness on how long we sat and how sunny it actually was against the reflection of the ocean. I live in a beach community and know better so I really have no excuse. Alec had some success at fishing. He caught enough for Sharon’s and his supper next week. We ate at this neat restaurant on the marsh. Let me tell you folks that food was to die for, especially the Key Lime pie. I want a tart mouth sequencing attack on my palette when I eat a key lime or lemon pie. Rarely do I find it prepared this way at a restaurant. I always have to make my own. All of us nearly died in ecstasy.
Geese! This is too long. I need to stop and figure out how to shorten what I say. I keep reminiscing. Park II of this saga will come later.

GAY: The True Gentleman

2009-04-21T16:57:00.000-07:00

After 90 years Uncle Gay passed away. Cousin Alec had his ashes in limbo for about a year. He did this so we could be there when he sprayed Gay’s ashes into the St. John’s River near St. Augustine. We had a simple ceremony just like Uncle Gay wished. He will be missed.
As I mentioned before Uncle Gay was a gentleman and so is his son Alec. Gay and my dad were childhood playmates and shared many life experiences up until my dad passed in 1985. I can remember many a story those two would tell us about their experiences on the St. John’s river, life with family in St. Augustine and Jacksonville. It was through Uncle Gay that I developed an interest in genealogy. To this day I will never forget losing a book that Gay entrusted me with on our family. It was lost in the mail and all he got upon arrival was an empty envelope with the book gone. He was needless to say upset for it was the only copy we had, but in his gentle manner he made me feel as if it wasn’t my fault. To make matters worse the author of the book had died. The envelope was not strong enough to handle the heavy book, therefore the fault laid in my hands. I put out a mail search to no avail. I then headed for the internet trying to find the book or someone in our lost family that may have the book. In the process I found a long lost 2nd cousin who had not only done his own genealogy that he shared with me, but knew a relative that had copies of this book. I managed to get two copies. Needless to say Gay was extremely happy and my guilt lessened some.
He had a fantastic dry sense of humor that got him in trouble at times. He would tell people, “my name is Gay and I have been Gay all my Life.” Well needless to say if he said this to someone who did not know him, which was often, it would have some people walking in a wide circle away from him. Not understanding he was talking about his name, not a characteristic. He use to spend hours swinging my sisters and me by our feet and arms in a big arch or up and down making us feel like we were flying. I can remember how excited I would get when I knew Uncle Gay was coming and I would go racing around the house yelling at the top of my lungs (I had and have a very loud carrying voice) that I was going flying with the birds. He swung me around until I was at least ten years old. As we grew older we got separated by time, circumstances, etc: I was not the greatest letter writer in the world. (Bad handwriting and laziness) but he would write beautiful letters to my parents that they would share. He could bake great cakes and bread from scratch. He was a yard man like my dad. One of my last memories of him was at his home in Florida stuffing me with figs (one of my favorite fruit along with kumquats) from his yard.

During his last years he lived in Maine. The four sisters went to see him. (This is another story. Think four sisters, four different personalities, four different interests, and four different ages traveling together.) Anyway, Gay was as sharp as ever and he, Alec and Sharon made us feel so welcome. It was the last time we saw him. I am so thankful we made that trip together and the memories of our visit were such good ones.

ST. AUGUSTINE "Better Late Than Never"

2009-04-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

Learning how to do a blog and the timing in writing versus posting the blog is a slow process for me. I wrote this blog post before I left for St. Augustine and forgot to post it. In order not to waste this I decided to post it “after the fact” and will do a follow up in a few days.

I am headed to St. Augustine, Florida tomorrow. I am looking forward to this trip for I enjoy my cousin Alec and his wife Sharon. They are real nice down-folk people. Last year they visited my sister and me in South Carolina and we so enjoyed their visit. We managed to sightsee quite a bit in the Savannah/Beaufort/Charleston area. I love photography and I managed to take some really great pictures. (One of these pictures I framed for them). I hope to do the same in St. Augustine, especially since a portion of our family’s genealogy is from that area. I am hoping one of the old homestead houses will still be there. We also have to scatter Uncle Gay’s ashes into the St. John’s River. My dad and Uncle Gay (I always called him uncle) were best pals growing up and I absolutely adored him. I will share memories of Uncle Gay in another blog report. Gay died last year and this will be a celebration of his life at his request. He is and will be missed by all of us. He was a true gentleman as is his son Alec. He lived into his nineties. He was one of those that aged well and was a handsome man until the day he died

The only negative part about this whole trip is making the decision on what to take to wear. Here it is April and we are having 50 degree weather. Two days ago it was 75 degrees. Florida is further south than us so I am assuming it will be warmer. It would just be my luck I pack clothes for warm weather and it turns out to be cold. Thank goodness I am not flying for I would be limited not only on weather clothes, but suitcase weight. (In August I head to Michigan….Lord help me on trying to decide what to take for I am flying on this trip.) The only thing I dislike about traveling is making decisions on wearing apparel. I usually start packing a good two to three days ahead of time. I am constantly putting clothes in and taking them out. I worry about forgetting something so I put the “stuff” I need beside the suitcase hoping I will not need it before I leave and if I do I hope to remember to put it back. I even half-dream about what I am taking or might be leaving and I mentally do a check list instead of getting a good night’s sleep. Well anyway after all of that ranting I am packed and pray I have not forgotten my toothpaste and u-pants.

I am a "CHICKEN"

2009-04-15T13:48:00.000-07:00

After all these years I am still a "chicken" when it comes to shots. I just visited Lacy's Blog and I saw her giving herself a shot. (Legal, for fertility reasons) I was so in awe of the fact that she could actually do that to herself. I have a friend that has diabetes and she does this as well. I feel so ashamed that I actually look away and cringe when she gives herself a shot. At least I do not pass out when I see a needle like I did when I was small. When I was little I broke my nose while catching a baseball. The bat swung around and I guess my nose swung with it. I vividly remember that while in the hospital the nurse would wake me up to give me a penicillin shot. The needle was huge in my eyes and it hurt like heck. (1947) My dad had to go with me to Dr. Bozard's office even when I was a young adult. He had to remind the nurses and my doctor to approach me without showing me the needle. I cannot believe I am still such a "wuss". Needles today are so thin you can hardly feel them. I guess it is the thought of them that send the chills up my spine. Most needles are for the good of the individual, or they are supposed to be. I try to remember this when my finger is pricked or when a flu shot is stuck in my arm, etc: I guess this is one reason of many that I am not a drug addict. How theses addicts do what they do I will never know. Not only would giving myself the needle send me into orbit, but not knowing what I am doing at all times would be as frightening as hell. I like to be in control of my life at all times. I do not believe in drugs anyway and hate taking the ones that I do need to correct my "AFIB" condition. Thank goodness I do not have to take my "meds" by needle for I really would be "up the creek without a paddle".

Scuttlebutt About Me

2009-04-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

This blog is not about me personally, but about memories, emotions, “pet peeves”, very short stories with a lesson to learn, people that have crossed my life (good or bad), and my family. Whatever pops up in my thoughts, dreams, etc: My daughter-in-law, whom I absolutely love, has a blog. Through her blog I have gotten to appreciate and understand her better. Her blog is so entertaining and sometimes very emotional. It is a wonderful way to keep abreast of what is happening in their lives since they live in Michigan and I in South Carolina.

I doubt if anyone will respond much less read this blog. For that matter I am not telling anyone I am doing this until I feel more familar with what I am doing. If they happen upon this blog, then I pray I have not been offensive. Fred, my son-in-law, is on the police detective and believes it is not safe to have a blog, therefore I am trying to keep it on a “as safe as I can” basis. He is very protective of his family. My life is full of mistakes and my grammatical errors will most probably be plentiful so please ignore them if possible, that is if you decide to read this stuff I write. I love to forget to add ed, ing, s, to my words and typographical errors will appear regularly. Please if someone out there realizes who this is, please whatever you do…..DO NOT TELL MY YOUNGEST SISTER.

Unknown to him, my son came up with the “shenanigans” part of my blog title. Most appropriate I might add, because you never knew what was going to come out of my mouth or what trouble I would brew from one second to the next. Sorry, one and all, I am still this way. The “scuttlebutt” comes from my beloved departed dad that would say “that’s a bunch of scuttlebutt” every time someone said something he disagreed with that was beyond farfetched. He also used the term “highway robbery” in reference to anything that was priced ridiculously, etc. The S.A.L.T. is my initial that actually spells a word, just like SALT, SAL and SAT. I was always told that if initials spelt a word then you would have wealth. Well I am here to tell you I am almost as poor as a church mouse when it comes to money, BUT if the saying refers to family then I am the wealthiest lady alive.
As a matter of introduction, my friends call me Sue. I am the oldest of four sisters, whom I adore beyond words. Although, it is debatable on how they each feel about me. (My poor Dad was outnumbered by women and seemed to enjoy and love us without going up the wall with female chatter.) I am part Yankee and part southerner. (Dad was from North Carolina/Florida and Mom was a New Yorker). I am originally from Virginia, but was raised in South Carolina in a small town in the middle/lower part of the state. For most of my life I have lived in the “low” country. The last ten years I have lived at the beach.

I am 66 years old. I am bored out of my mind so I thought I would try my hand at a blog. I have two children and two grandchildren that are the “highlight” of my life next to my husband Jim. I have always felt appreciated and loved. I am not always understood, but I am loved. I am one of those lucky individuals who have one of those husbands that believed when two parents worked we should share in the responsibility of the home. This included taking care of the kids along with shared responsibilities of taking care of the different chores that keep the home clean and safe. This has been going on for forty plus years.

I am an ex-school teacher of thirty years and most of those thirty years were the greatest years of my life. I was not a great teacher by any means, nor was I the worse. I was above mediocre and I was involved in many of the school’s activities. I was a Varsity Cheerleader sponsor for 14 years, a head girls basketball and volleyball coach, headed-up my school’s evaluation committee for the Southern Association of High Schools and Colleges for four different evaluations, chairperson for several science fairs, editor of the Parent Link Newsletter, and involved in our school’s Science area of the Academic Challenge, just to name a few. So my retired life is not very active and it is hard making an adjustment even after all these retired years.
My husband, a retired school teacher has found a life after teaching. He is one of the Assistant Managers of one of our bigger state parks here in South Carolina. He started as a night ranger when he was teaching school and has worked up to this position. He is 68-years old and has gotten his last two promotions after retiring as a school teacher. So you can understand how proud I am of his accomplishments.

I have two children. I love them without reservation. (This picture was taken when I was in my thirty's)I was one of those lucky parents whose children decided NOT to give Jim and me a hard time during their teenage years. They basically behaved, made good grades went to college, have a good career, and both are married to great partners. My daughter has given me two awesome sometimes mischievous grandchildren and my son and his wife are trying mighty hard to do the same. So pray it will be soon for they want children, like “right now”. So if anyone has a prayer list, please put them on it. Thanks