My Sisters!

I've written a few posts about some of my favorite people--some of my friends, my brother, my mother-in-law, various other family members.  But I haven't written about two very important people in my life--my sisters.

They each deserve pages and pages written about them; they are so wonderful.  But I couldn't decide which one to start with.  Therefore, I am writing today about both of them.  They are truly here for me all the time.

I know not everyone is as lucky as I am to have such wonderful friends who are also supportive sisters.  If I could give anyone the best gift they could ever imagine, it would be to have sisters as superb as I have.  I actually feel bad for those people who don't have a good relationship with their sisters or if they don't have a sister at all.   I am lucky.  I am blessed.

I think God knew I needed these two special people--these two sisters.  He knew I needed them from the get-go.  You see, I was the last of four kids.  So I was lucky enough to have them and my brother from day one.  And I am still lucky to have them.

They all have influenced me so much.   Most of my childhood memories include my siblings especially Lana.  She is the sister who is the other part of "the little girls' (the way we were collectively referred to growing up).  She is only 19 months older than I am.  So really, I pushed her out of the baby bed and baby position in the family.  I was the baby then (and forever more--Baby Sue!)

Oh, but what a wonderful companion I had growing up.  Sure, we fought a bunch.  But we also played a lot--a built in playmate until she had to go to school, for heavens sake.  That left me playing alone--so I took up playing with the wooden spools Mom would give me when they were emptied from her sewing machine.  They were fun, but I missed my sister/playmate.

As typical girls, we played a lot with dolls.  We had Toni dolls.  We didn't have Barbies though.  But the Toni dolls were wonderful--complete with dresses and some accessories.  Not quite like the American Girl Dolls which my girls had.  Of course, my girls only had one doll each, the book that went with the doll, and the outfit that came with her.  Now I think you can spend a small fortune on those dolls and their accessories.

But we loved playing with our Toni dolls as well as our baby dolls.  Oh, the hours we played together.  We played so well with each other--until we didn't.  Then one of us would holler, "Mama, she did ....."  I'm not sure how Mama settled all those fights but she did and we would forgive, forget, and play again.  When things were good, we would willingly share our dolls and toys; when things went foul, we became selfish and possessive--like I said, we were typical kids.

But sharing was basically mandatory for us--sharing clothes, sharing a bedroom, sharing the double bed, sharing the back seat on trips.  Once again, when it was good, it was very good.  And then not so much.  Imaginary lines were drawn separating our spaces in the bed and the car.   And not so imaginary complaints were made to the chief referee, Mom, and if she weren't readily available, we took our grievances to Lynda.

Nevertheless, we grew out of the daily fights and into a close grown-up relationship.  I admire her so much.  She not only is smart, kind, and giving, she is also a picture of stylish perfection. She is always impeccably dressed from head to toe.  And here is the astonishing part--her toes even have pedicures in the WINTER!

Yes, she is absolutely the epitome of style.  Classic and beautiful.  But that's not all--it goes inward as well. 

Plus, she still shares--she shares her advice, her make-up tips, her clothing tips.  But most importantly she shares her support of me.  She is there when I'm upset, discouraged, overwhelmed, lonesome, or happy.  She is always there for me.  Man, she is wonderful.

And so is my other sister, Lynda.  I am doubly blessed and I know it. 

Lynda wasn't my playmate, but she was my idol.  As I was growing up, she was far enough ahead of me that I knew her in a different way from Lana.  When I was entering first grade, she was entering 9th grade.  Interest levels at that time were a little different to say the least.

But I was so in awe of her (and I still am).  She was and is so kind, loving, and supportive even during those teen-age years (hers and mine!)  Actually, she helped raise me.  She apologetically says she was bossy.  I disagree--she was helpful and loving.

She helped me with growing up which was more than just "helping raise" me;  I could ask her questions and she would kindly answer.  She continues to help me grow as I continue to ask her questions.  She has always been so wise in her counsel to me and surely I have bent her ear for hours yet she continues to be attentive and caring.  She weighs her words carefully and so beautifully encourages me as I need it.  She sees the best in me and makes me want to believe her belief in me.  Does that make sense? 

She makes life sensible--the aches, the pains, the happy times.  It's almost like I can throw to her a bunch of numbers and she can make the formula.  She can sort it out.  I love the way she can interpret things--whether it is my issues, or political, religious, or social issues.  She can think it out and put it into logical sentences.  She is brilliant. 

I'm not sure how she came to the decision to go to Ouachita for college, but because of her brilliance and high respect in our family, she unknowingly set the standard for all of us.  And I must say that her standard was high, thankfully.  She majored in French and English; she was a beauty queen; she taught school; she married a most wonderful man; she continued her studies and earned a doctorate degree in French no less and she became a college professor.  What an example.  She did all this while being a wonderful mother and pastor's wife.

I followed her lead and went to Ouachita; I majored in English and took a lot of French; I taught school; and I married a wonderful man.  Well, that's as far as I got.  I wasn't a beauty queen and I didn't earn an advanced degree.  But I have always been so proud of her accomplishments which she got through hard work and persistence.   She was never one who shirked hard work. 

What we might have lacked in actual closeness while I was a small child, we have more than made up for it now.  We have grown so close as adults.  We are best of friends and what a gift it has been for me.    Her husband has referred to us as "bookends."  My husband has often referred to us and some of our similar behaviors as "genetics."  We talk and talk.  We laugh and laugh.  It doesn't take too long in any conversation--either in person or on the phone--to hear the hearty sound of infectious laughter coming from our direction.  It makes me smile just thinking about it.

She makes me smile thinking about her any time.  Tomorrow is her birthday--that really makes me smile and it really makes me thank God for her tomorrow and everyday!  She is a jewel.


See what I mean?  I am indeed lucky to have these two as my best friends and sisters. 

Lucky and blessed.

Thinking on My Feet with Kids

This morning was my Music and Movement Time with the three and four year olds at the Dayschool.  I had a CD that I burned with a couple of Greg and Steve's songs on them.   For those of you who aren't up on the preschool music these days, Greg and Steve are a couple of guys who have made quite a living singing and playing the guitars for children. 

I am sure when these musicians were teens or even young adults that they envisioned making it big in the music industry.  I am sure they hoped to make and sell enough of their music to support themselves and perhaps a family.  What I doubt is that they planned on making it big with the littlest of listeners.  But they have.

They have over 20 CDs; they've been nominated for a Grammy award; and they have received "Parent Choice" awards.  So I guess you can say that they are doing okay.

Nevertheless, I had a very energetic time with these preschoolers stretching, bending, and dancing to their music this morning.  The musician (Greg or Steve, not sure which) would tell us how to move while they were playing their guitars.  You had to listen to know what to do.  I had started with the oldest two classes which was good because they did pretty well on listening.  I knew after experiencing this with them what might happen when I got to the three year olds.  

Those three's were into the moving part for sure.  Uh, now, the listening part was a little off for a some of them.  But we made it through the first song and then came the "thinking of my feet" part.  I knew that the second part that I had done with the older ones would not go to well with these guys.  So I went for the "freeze dance"--you know dance and move until the music stops and then freeze.  

The song was "Shoe Fly" so the children (and me) tiptoed, swam, and jumped to the music.  They got on (pretty much) to the freeze part and enjoyed all the motions.  When it came to the crawling, I dropped to my knees and began crawling.  Yes, I crawled.  All the kids loved it and started crawling too.  I figured they would just crawl around on the carpet, but when I looked around they were following me!  After a bit, I crawled to the CD player to turn it off so they could "freeze." I turned it off and at the same time I glanced over my shoulder. 

It was the funniest sight.  It looked like a bunch of ants circling a piece of candy and I was the candy!  All of those cuties were bunched up on their hands and knee inches behind me.  Too funny.

But that's the way it is when working with kids.  You gotta enjoy the moment and think fast when the moment goes awry.   And if all else fails, get down on your hands and knees and crawl!

Growing Old with Jane

She doesn’t know me.  I don’t really know her, but here I am growing old with her.  Jane Fonda appeared on the Today Show this morning buzzing about her new book, Being a Teen.  Of course, she looked gorgeous and young.  During the interview there was a reference to her last book about growing older called Prime Time.  So I looked it up on Amazon, being more interested in this part of life than the teen-aged years.

The reviews for Prime Time were good so I put it in my Amazon cart, but I haven’t bought it (yet).  I must tell you that I still have the Jane Fonda workout book--you know the one with her in her leotard and leggings.  It’s the huge coffee table version, too.  (No, I don’t have it on the coffee table any more.)  I also had at least one of the videos of her workout sessions.  It was a video, so you know it’s an old one.  And I did that video many times with Jane.

Like I said, Jane and I are together--mind and body.  Of course, my body in reality is not the body in my mind and it certainly isn’t a Jane body.  But it is relatively healthy.  For that I am extremely grateful. 

Recently, though, I have been reflecting and saying that I wish I had my old body back.  I’d take the one I had in my 40’s or even the one in my 50’s.  Something has happened in the last 7-8 years and it’s not pretty.  And it’s not Jane-like. 

I remember years ago my sister made this comment, “I yam what I yam” quoting none other than “Popeye.”  So every once in awhile when I get discouraged about not having the body of my youth, I think of what she said way back then and justify my present day body by saying that.  Now, I must tell you that this same sister still has her college days figure. 

Then I also hooked into the segment that the Today Show had on last week called, “Love Your Selfie.”  I love my body, I love my body, I love my body.  I love my body.  I heard if you say something often enough, then it’s true.  Oh yes, my body could be a lot worse. I am not obese.  I am tall and have skinny legs and a skinny behind.  I can hide that thick tummy a little.  So there.  I love my selfie. 

Who cares if Jane’s body looks the same as it did in that leotard--I guess it does--she didn’t have one on today.  She is a movie star for heaven’s sake.  She has to look good, right?  Therefore, how can she possibly understand the rest of us.

Well, although Jane looks fabulous, she addresses more than looks in that book of hers that I plan on buying.  The subtitle  is “Love, health, sex, fitness, friendship, spirit; Making the most of all of your life.”  Ok, Jane, I’m with you again.   There is more to getting older than the way I look.  I’m into refocusing on all those other things.

On Amazon, there is a letter from Jane in the Editorial Review of her book.  I'm sure she is just writing to me, but you can read it.  Evidently it is from an out of print or unavailable edition.  

In this letter she makes an interesting metaphor about growing older.  She explains how the familiar comparison of life is to that of an arch (I see the St. Louis Arch) starting with birth, then growing up as children; the top of the arch depicts us peaking as middle-aged adults, and then the down-hill part of the arch is the last years of our lives.  I think of that last leg of the arch as a fast slide, don’t you? 

However, Jane's metaphor was more appealing to me.  It was of an image of a staircase, continuing upward until the end.  I like that image;  I like that I don’t see the end of the staircase.  And I like that I don't see that I have peaked and now going down hill.  I know the end of the staircase exists--it's there but not right here, you know what I mean?  I was a late-bloomer growing up, so I like to think I am still blooming and the end of the staircase is a ways away.

I like this upwards image though; it presents the idea to me that we can still grow as we live--it's not over.  She calls it “an upward ascension until the end.”  I certainly don't feel like my life is over.  I'm as busy now as ever just not on one single job.  I like being busy.

And I don't mind the getting older thing.  Despite a few more aches and pains, not seeing or hearing quite as well, and taking a little longer to get up off the floor, I don't feel like I'm old.  I even think I don't look that old--until I look in the mirror.  Let me tell you, that's no Jane Fonda looking back at me.  But it's okay.  It's me and "I yam what I yam."

Now I do appreciate the fact that there are ways to make the most of my life past 60.  That’s where I think I can learn some from Jane's book.  Probably most of the things in her book are things that I already know, but reading and focusing on these things should help me regroup.

Ok.  I’m in, Jane.  I’m buying the book.  I gonna read that book.  I'm gonna do all of that good stuff and make the most of my life.  But right now, I gonna go to bed.  I'm tired.

Later, Jane.

Cobwebs

Have you ever looked up to see a cobweb hanging out in your house?  It mostly happens to me when company is here.  How do those spiders make that happen?  You would think I would see it when I dusted.

Oh, yeah, I don't dust--at least not as often as I should obviously.  But these cobwebs are never where you usually dust--on furniture or mirrors or pictures.  I am certain that they take pride in hiding until the company arrives and everyone is sitting at the dinner table.  Then for some reason they demand your attention to be turned upwards and there it is.  A delicate and kinda pretty piece of art hanging gingerly on the chandelier.  Usually the spider has sense enough not to remain there and get caught. 

I can never keep my mouth shut when I see such an "art piece"--thinking that everyone has probably noticed it already.  So I bring it to every one's attention and laugh.

Well, this weekend some cobwebs in my head have been dusted off.

Here is how it happened.  After the birthday dinner for Nanny, aka Mom and Bobbie, my sister-in-law brought out a DVD full of home movies from the fifties.  Oh, but you may say, "Borrring," but absolutely not--at least to most of us.  Poor Ritchie, Meredith's cute husband, got a good nap during the showing.

But this was not your typical home movie from the archives of your in-laws.  This was also MY documentation from those same archives.  The Jones's and the Strother's have been great family friends since 1956 so many of the events filmed included our family.

Some of the images still lingering in my head are of Keith--one of him with a bright red beret jauntily placed on his head.  He has always sported caps quite well. 

There were movies of our beautiful sisters wearing formals for the GA Coronation ceremony.  I'm sure Mom had made those frilly dresses for Lynda, Lana, and me.  I, too, was in the ceremony having completed the "Maiden" level.  Now stunning auburn-haired Janice was "Queen Regent" with cape, scepter, and crown.  Wow!  I am still impressed with that.

Reaching each step in GA's was quite a feat.  In the 50s, GA's was a big deal.  Completing your "steps" was most important and very time-consuming.  There were many, many scriptures to memorize, many officers in the Baptist Convention to memorize, many missionaries to be familiar with and what countries they lived and worked in.  Learning all that was one thing, but then there was a oral test given by the leaders of the GA's.  Talking about intimidating.  But all of us girls reached at least Queen or Queen with Scepter.  Janice reached the top!


So the coronation was filmed with all of us reverently participating, even Keith--I think he was the crown bearer or something.  But he was dressed to the nines as well in his little white sports coat and curly hair barely tamed.

There were birthdays filmed.  Janice's and my daddy's birthday were just one day apart, so I think they celebrated together once--at least once was caught on camera.   Dad was such a handsome young man lighting the candles on his cake--I mean movie star handsome--just like his namesake grandson, Lynn, is.

Nevertheless, there were lots of those special events filmed but also many of the everyday lives of the two families.  There were the going-off-to-school movies on the first day of school of Janice and Keith. There was a segment of the Levy Dads' Club from Levy Elementary School painting the flagpole and doing some maintenance on the rocky, grass-free playground with the steep metal slide, the monkey bars, a few swings and a baseball diamond of sorts.  In the background were the iconic cars of the fifties.   Back then they were just are cars.  Now?  Wow! 

Then we saw that Raymond had filmed our first grade classroom with Keith holding the flag with great purpose and seriousness.  I was filmed reading aloud to the class.  I'm sure I was quaking in my party shoes doing this because I was quite shy back then, but I looked good doing it.  I had on my pearls (obviously, accessories were important to me even then), a cute little white bolero and my curly hair was coiffed perfectly.  I'm sure my mother saw to that.


We even recognized through the cobwebs in our heads some familiar faces--some we could recall their names like Becky Page, Larry Robertson, and Lonna.  Some we almost could!  You know what I mean.

We saw our most favorite teacher ever, Mrs. Butts.  She looked so young in that movie; I had always thought of her as an old but terribly sweet lady; she was probably in her thirties. 

We saw Keith playing in his red firetruck.  We saw Lane handsomely looking on as his younger siblings played with those Jones' kids.  We saw Lana, so pretty and out-going, and me hamming it up--or shall I say "the little girls" which was how we were referred to back then.   We saw cute little Lisa, the baby to us all, toddling around dressed in her pretty bonnet and short fancy dress. We admired Lynda so grown-up and eloquent.  We saw Lynda's and Lana's ponytails.  (Why didn't I ever have a ponytail?  So jealous!)

We saw our mothers, so young and beautiful, being mothers.

We saw the trips to Bald Knob and Searcy in which they would visit their beloved relatives.


We saw on one such trip Bobbie with a pistol in her hand taking target practice.  Now, that was something I never knew about her.  She looked pretty comfortable there too.  Hmmmm.  But what a  steady arm and beautiful face!  Wow!

I wish you could see all the movies.  No doubt you may have the same reaction as Ritchie.  But I must say they are life in the 50s.  They are our memories of a simpler time.

Oh, how great the memories.  Bobbie said it all when she said, "Those were the good old days."  Surely they were.  There was such an innocence and freedom seen in those movies.  There was such camaraderie and love between those families.  Little did we know that the threads being woven during that era would be there for generations.  Those delicate but strong threads have surely spun a loving and long-lasting web.

I think I shall forevermore have a greater respect for those cobwebs supervising any of our dinner parties.  I shall know that they represent the cobwebs in our minds and with luck we can dust them away and find more treasured memories.  Oh...I so hope!

Not Just an Old House

There's a special old house in North Little Rock that I've been going to for almost 60 years.  I never lived in it but it is part of my history.  I'm not really sure when it was actually built but I thought it was old when I first visited it many years ago.  Nevertheless, it was always comfortable and inviting and I liked it.

It was different from our house--the ceilings were really tall;  there were french doors separating two living areas;  there was a swinging wooden door to the kitchen.  The kitchen was big--big enough for a large table that served many a meal to many friends and family members.  There were just two bedrooms, but they were big.  There was a floor furnace in the hall and a gas heater in the wall of the only bathroom.    As was typical of the times, there was an attic fan that brought in the most wonderful spring breezes as well as the most humid sticky air from those awful hot days in Arkansas.

The attic fan, floor furnace, and bathroom heater are no longer there.   I still think there is no better way to warm up on a very cold day than to stand over a floor furnace for awhile.  It doesn't take long to take the chill off, for sure.

Through the years, the house underwent some upgrades and certainly had its share of upkeep, but the atmosphere of love and joy remained unchanged.  Company was always welcomed and still is whether it was adult friends (like my parents) or the three kids' pals.  The house has always been filled with stories and laughter, food and "practice parties."

One funny story that I remember so vividly was probably concocted at this house.  My mother and the mother of the family living in this house decided to dress up for Halloween to play a trick on another of their close friends.  Who knows what led to this, but they decided to make full-length flannel baby gowns and lacy bonnets for themselves to go Trick or Treating in.  They dressed in these long baby gowns and bonnets; and with baby bottles in hand, these two fun-loving friends headed to another crazy friend's house that dark and chilly Halloween.   I wasn't there to hear the laughter but I can imagine it even now.  Having fun and laughing were priorities around that house.

It still is.  My mother-in-law is good at having fun.  Yes, this house is where my sweet husband grew up with his wonderful sisters and genuinely loving, highly intelligent, and fun parents.  The humor from the family genes are alive and well in my husband--in fact, in his sisters and mother, too.

This is the house that I spent time in as I was growing up.  This is the house where I had to play with that "mean" little boy who I went to school and Sunday School with.  "Playing" with him generally resulted in fights, scratches, kicks, and tears.  But he was kinda cute.

Then there is the front porch.  This porch has been the picture-taking spot for years.  It used to be just their family of 5 on the porch.  Then it became the photo "booth" for every special occasion--a birthday, the prom date, the day of departure to college--you name it.  The porch saw it.   Even though the family grew and the faces on the porch sometimes changed, that porch was still able to handle everyone who was there on any day.

It became a ritual--all those "dreadful" family pictures.  Even now, we all act like we hate the proclamation made by someone:  "We're all together; let's take a picture" but it is the tradition.  The clan would slowly gather and the picture would finally be taken.  And second one, too, just for good measure.  These get-togethers at this house have been well documented to say the least. 

For sure, this house has seen and heard a lot and is treasured by us all--in laws, outlaws, children, grandchildren, and the greats.  It needs work, of course.  It needs a good cleaning-out of old treasures, but whose house doesn't.  The back shed that Papaw built is falling down.  It has to be dealt with immediately for insurance purposes;  it will probably be torn down.  We have accepted that fact.  It is hard for my sweet mother-in-law to accept it, though.  That building too has its memories.

I'm sure each piece of paper or flower, or drawing or card stuffed in a closet or drawer in the house and each wooden shelf or tool now full of cobwebs and dirt in the shed bring back treasured memories.  She will be 89 soon and likely a lot of the things stuck away in the closets have been around many, many years.  So I say, if she wants our help to get rid of things, great.  If she doesn't want to get rid of anything, that's okay too.  I respect her years.  I respect that she and her beloved husband raised three wonderful children in that house and it can be just as it is for awhile longer if she wants it that way.

It's a house full of love and joy.  It's her house and it's our history.  I respect that.  She is the spirit of the house that she managed and grew a family in.  She guided the paths of her children in that house; she provided joy, laughter, and hospitality in that house.  I respect that.  Like that house, she is grand and full of love and full of stories.   I respect her.  I am thankful for her.  I love that house.  I love her.



 .

Another New Year

This post was started on New Year's Eve with plans on posting immediately; now it covers a period of 3 days.  Well,  I hope I get it posted within that time.

2014--it's here folks.  We will wake in the morning and a whole new year will be upon us.  Right now I'm waiting for my New Year's Eve Festivities to begin.  It's 8:00 and the party hasn't started yet.

I remember those days that the plans for New Year's Eve were a bigger than big deal.  My thoughts would be like, "We gotta do something.  What can we do?  Where are we going?  Who is going with us?  What shall I wear?"

Now mind you, even though I wished for it, I didn't always have fantastic plans for New Year's Eve.  I longed to have them as a single girl in my late teens and early twenty-something years, but more times than not I didn't have any plans at all.  Poor me, right?   Don't feel too bad for me...I made up for the lack of parties after I married.  Fun for sure.  But I think the fun tonight will surpass any of those parties.  We will see.  I know for sure it will be one that I have never experienced before.

And I'm game, so here's the game plan:

The must-have New Year's Eve hats, necklaces, neon lights and whistles have been dutifully purchased from the Dollar Tree.  (We go all out for our decorations!)  Dinner has been eaten and dishes cleaned up.  The house straightened for the party.  The grandson is due to arrive soon for our New Year's Eve affair.  We are prepared to be at his beck and call.  (Nothing unusual there!)

Some appropriate TV shows have been recorded, just in case.  New books available.  Of course, there are plenty of real toys in his room plus all his imaginative items and friends that can talk i.e. "Cat in the Hat can talk" which means that you must talk for Cat in the Hat.  Rabbit can talk, etc., etc.

I'm sure we will have no problem in the play portion of the evening.  However, we have been forewarned that our guest for the evening woke up from a 3-hour nap at 6:00 p.m.  So, we may be in for some really wild times tonight.  He is known to come alive at night. 

But now as I am waiting for the arrival of our guest of honor (and only guest), I begin to wonder about this new year that is upon us.  Hmmm.  I'll be 64 this year.  Wow!  How can that be?  What are the words to that Beatles' song, "When I'm 64?"  Wait--I'll google it.  (Never could remember words to songs...)

Ah yes,  "...Will you still need me, will you still feed me
               When I'm sixty-four?"

Man, becoming 64 sounded like it would take forever to be that old when those words were first heard on the radio in the late sixties.  I was just a teen and being OLD--like 64 years old--was quite beyond my teen-aged comprehension.  I mean old people were those that were turning 40 or, for heavens' sake, maybe 30.  Did I know anyone at that ripe old age of 64?  My parents weren't even that old!  Maybe those little ladies with the blue hair and ugly sensible black shoes on--maybe they were that old!

But the thought of someone loving me when I was 64--that was appealing even then.  Honestly though, being a late-bloomer, I guess I really thought having someone "love" me at 17 would have been preferable.  However, I must admit, love at 64 (minus 2 months) is good, very good.

And having a party with the grandson is good as well.  I'll wait to post this until after the sleep-over and the new year actually arrives.

January 1, 2014--


Happy New Year!  We made it through the night and was entertained by not only the great little entertainer but also, surprisingly enough, a lovely five man brass band.  Quite  unexpected.

That little fellow made it until midnight, but sadly, YaYa did not--after all, I am almost 64 and I didn't have any nap, much less a 3-hour nap.  When the clock struck 12 midnight, I am told, he was ready to come to bed.  I did wake up enough to read him a story before we both fell fast asleep.

Oh, how nice it was to wake up with such a wonderful little guy next to me even if he, by that time, left me with only one foot of the bed.  But he was snuggled right next to me.  I watched him a little bit and when he woke up, he looked at me.  I smiled at that sweet face and the first thing he said to me was, "Put your glasses on, YaYa."  I guess his waking up next to a 64 year old was not quite as wonderful for him--at least not until I got my glasses on. 

Then the play began again.  Horsey-back ride through the house, outside to the club house, inside to some jumping on the bed.  Then during a break in the bed-jumping he hollered, "Grambo, come here."  When no answer came, this cute little guy turned to me and added, "Grambo is not listening to me."

His parents came and joined us for the black-eyed peas and cornbread traditional lunch.  Then home they went with a tired little boy in tow.  A nap was sure to come--for him and for Grambo and YaYa.

Well, it's now 3:00 in the afternoon.  The first day of 2014 is here and practically gone.  Boy, the days do pass fast, don't they?  But, thankfully, the joys and memories last.   I know I'll enjoy the wonderful stories and fun memories from this New Year's Eve all year. What a fun way to begin a new year.

So here's a toast to 2014--May the year be filled with lots of wonderful days and nights with the ones we love--with or without a five man brass band.  Oh, yes, did I mention to you that the band was on "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood?"  I must admit that is something else that I have NEVER done before on New Year's Eve.

"It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

Won't you be my neighbor?"

Don't worry--I had to google that ditty too!

 

Laughter at the Breakfast Table

The grandson who is almost 3 has learned to tell jokes--well, at least the art of delivering them.  One day this week, the family gathered around the breakfast table and was entertained for quite awhile listening to his jokes.  Question:  "Hey, buddy, do you know a joke?"  Response:  "Wickely, wickely, wickely."  Quick pause, then with open mouth and head thrown back, the little emcee would burst into an enchanting fake laughter which would totally create genuine belly laughs from the rest of the table.

Repeat this scenario over and over again and you can imagine our breakfast that day.  While we were engaged in this routine, I was reminded of how much laughter has been shared through five generations at this very table.

In fact, my earliest memories of going to my grandparents involve this table and laughter.  No matter what time of day or night that we arrived at their farm, the grown-ups would circle around the table in their ladder back chairs and the hours would tick off as would the stories and laughter.  Many times I can remember falling asleep or waking up to the comforting sounds of indistinguishable words followed by the most infectious laughter you could ever imagine--just like the laughter following the "wickely, wickely, wickely" mumbled by the newest generation around that table.

My Grandma and Granddad made this table for their household and raised their 4 boys around it.  I was lucky enough to be able to take ownership of it when it was no longer needed for them.  It has been the breakfast table for my family for the last 30 or so years.  Hence, the laughter and memories continue.

Magic must have been waxed into the grain of this old oak table.  It was a plain farmhouse table--not fancy but solid and practical--important traits for furniture as well as men and women during those pre-Depression days on the flat plains of windy southwest Oklahoma.  It was just a round table with three or four leaves readily available to add with the sound of a knock on the door or the sight of dust stirred up in the drive.

Those leaves magically stretched that old round table to a size capable of handling the whole Strother clan, plus a friend or two who may have popped in, certainly the mail man making his rounds two or three days a week through the dusty country roads delivering not just the mail but the latest news of friends and neighbors.

The table magically became a unifying web around a family who no longer lived and worked in the area, who maybe even didn't share the same views politically or religiously anymore.  It magically reconnected the family; it provided the boys a place to relive their history, to confirm their relationships, to put their own personal spin on growing up and on events that happened while growing up.  It was an animate object embracing an inanimate emotion--love.  There was definitely lots of love around that table.

I can still see and hear those conversations, that love, especially those with the handsome Strother boys and their dad, my Granddad, telling stories and jokes.  There was probably a lot of re-telling the same stories over and over, but the laughter was as new and spontaneous as it was after "wickely, wickely, wickely."

As I picture the table from years and years ago, I can even feel the love through those sweet memories--the men would be sitting there, elbows on the table with each man leaning in eager to catch every word.  There would definitely be a cup of strong, black coffee before each man and ashtrays scattered around.  The smoke was as abundant as the laughter.  Each one of the four brothers' delivery was right on; the pitch, the timing, all precise.  Perhaps because of the frequency of the telling or perhaps because they were all natural born story tellers.

Nevertheless, the punchline would be delivered and the belly laughs would ring out as the rickety-looking wooden farmhouse chairs holding those men would tilt back on just two legs of the chairs.    I remember wondering how could they lean so far back without the chair falling over, breaking, or without Grandma scolding them for leaning back in their chairs.   It was like they were extending the enjoyment, the merriment, the love as far as possible--proving, at least for the moment, that nothing bad could happen or stop this feeling, this closeness, this love.

Two of those Strother brothers, the younger crop as Grandma would call them, are still around--not around that old Strother table, but thankfully, around; and I'm sure they still are telling some wonderful stories with that same great style that their brothers and others leaned far in to hear.

Now at that same Strother farmhouse table, I'm leaning in--hoping once again to catch the punch line and the laughter of those days.  I think I hear it--"wickely, wickely, wickely."