She's Always Here...

 It's hard to let Gracie's blog just sit here.  I come back sometimes and read old entries.  I miss her so much.  I've met so many great friends here, through this blog.  Pets have died.  Friends have passed on.  I find it sad to visit this blog sometimes, thinking about what a great time we all had here, sharing our furry friends, friendships, thoughts, feelings, and love.  And now, so many are gone.  

Yes, I come back here and revisit this past chapter of my life, and I mostly smile.  Because it was a great time.  And I am thankful.

If Gracie were here, she would say - 

Dear Diary,

The nag Mom is gushing about thoughts, feelings, and memories today.  I wish she'd just get off that soapbox and focus more on what she'll be giving me for supper.  She needs to be more in tune to my needs.  After all, I own her, right?  

Gracie.

***Dreaming***

 We got some snow last night.  

The above photo is the wallhanging that served as a background for my Christmas Village.  Our reality is below.  

Much like life, reality is a whole lot harder of a pill to swallow than the beautiful world of dreams and make-believe.   I find the further back in time I allow my memory to soar, the gentler and kinder I find life to have been.  

Dreaming of warmer, calmer, more magical days!

  

Brother Jim, Sister Rita, Sister Angie and Me

MOMENTS and MEMORIES

As a child, every other Sunday, I accompanied my mom and pappy to a place called Sylvan Retreat. First we would stop at The 7-Day Market picking up a hoagie and an ice cold bottle of Tab for Mom and a Pepsi and pint of Sealtest chocolate ice cream for my mom's mother. Mom called her Mother. I called her my mom's mom. I was always excited to see Pappy and Mom's mom on those bi-weekly visits. First Dad would go to Midlothian to pick up Pappy and bring him to our house. Mom dreaded those Sundays when she'd feel obligated to drive to Cumberland to visit with her Mom and I remember her complaining a lot on that day. But she was faithful in her visits and I'm sure that meant a lot to my grandma AKA Mom's mom, even tho 'Gram' didn't quite understand what was going on around her.
We would sit in the car and visit. Mom and Pappy in the front seat and Mom's mom and me in the back. Excited, I could not wait to open the special gift that Mom's mom had for me, a bobby-pin and a piece of gum or maybe a simple piece of colored paper, folded snuggly inside a thick beige stocking and tied tightly with a piece of string.

Feelings of sadness yet intrigue oozed from my every pore as I watched the delicate, frail, gray haired woman spooning the creamy melting chocolate from the cardboard container and rambling on about nothing. She was a simple soul, carrying a lifetime of sorrow within her wrinkled exterior.

I'm not sure if her belly would be full or if she just liked saving the last of the ice cream for me, but to my delight, I would always be given her leftovers. Then Mom, Pappy and her would chat about nothing for a while and I would ask Mom if I could go for a walk.

My walk took me just down over the hill from our parked car and to a field where beyond the fence lived a herd of cows I referred to then as my friends. My imagination allowed for deep conversation with these black and white cows and I could tell by those trusting eyes staring back at me that these cows got me! "I'll be back in 2 weeks," I would say upon my departure... and they understood.

Our drive home was one of relief for Mom I'm sure, for she had put in her time and had done what was right putting aside her weariness of working full time and taking care of 7 kids.
Sacrifice is a showing of true love. It's easy to do something when you want to do it. But it can seem an imposition when it is something that pierces your daily routine and takes you from your comfort zone of peace.

Mom's sacrifice on those visits to her mentally ill mother back then taught me a lot. There was so much giving! Pappy would come armed with little black licorice sugar coated babies to hand out to us kids. Mom would give her mom ice cream and pepsi and even more importantly - her time! Mom's mom would give me a gift and then she'd save the last of her ice cream for me. Those cows gave me a friend and a listening ear. And now that I am an adult, my hope is that those role models from yesterday have impacted me to where I too, can be a role model for those around me.

Never underestimate the power of a moment.

For in that moment, you just may see God working in a life, or two or three.

Time Capsule Kind Of Day

Well, we did not make it to the cemetery today for the Memorial Day service *Insert a sad face here* So I had to reminisce....
Another expert of Growing Old With Gracie...

MEMORIAL DAY

REWIND

Memorial Day means that cars will line Cemetery Road.  It’s a beautiful, clear and warm spring day and I am awake early and I watch out the window as more and more cars park above our house  and up the road as far as the eye can see.  I stretch.  If a thought bubble were to be above my head it would read, “I am so happy!” Today marks the beginning of a summer vacation -- from school-- that will last forever (in my eight-year-old mind, that is).  The anxieties of school will disappear for a time and I will be playing outside, climbing trees, sleeping in, and doing whatever I want, whenever I want.  No rules apply for summer.  Leaving the house in the morning and not coming home till pitch dark is acceptable.  I have no plans for today.  My brother is awake early too, and he is sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes.  If I do not speak to him he will not speak to me, therefore we will have no reason to fight with one another. 

The wringer washer hums and swishes back and forth, clothes, suds and water.  It rests in the middle of the kitchen floor where mom has pulled it from the corner for wash day.  As I walk outside the screen door slams behind me and I see Mom  hanging clothes on the line.  Her cotton dress catches a breeze, and beats against her legs.  The smell of lilacs, the warm air, the green, full lush trees, and the band that can now be heard in a distance just up over the hill for Eckhart’s Memorial Day service, all indicate that summer starts now.  I breath in deep the smell of the best day of the year.   It’s a lazy and kind day on Cemetery Road.  One I would store in a time capsule and release at a future time if it were possible.  I love today.

 PLAYBACK

One of the memes on facebook asks, Who tells their dog they’ll be back when leaving to go somewhere?  I raise my hand. 

“We’ll be back,” I tell Gracie.

It’s early.  Wait.  You don’t usually leave the house this early, is there a problem?  Should I worry?  Can I go with?  Stop!  You are destroying my habitual lazy morning of laying on the couch with my people routine!

Gracie looks confused as Gary and I scurry out the door shutting her out and heading up the road to the cemetery.  Memorial Day remains a fond memory in my heart and once again I have convinced my husband to accompany me to the service just ten minutes away.  

We stop at Mom and Dad’s gravesite just up over the hill from where we used to watch the activities from our home.  I can see our house from where I stand.   I survey the hill, the one where the drunken man used to fall into the berry bushes and Mom would instill in us fear, “Don’t go outside! Old Man Tucker is drunk out there!”  We’d watch him take a swig from his bottle, swaying as he walked and eventually fell into the thick weeds along the side of the road.  We were taught to fear him, though he was quite harmless.  I smile, remembering some of Mom’s silly, old fashioned ways and think she’d never survive in this politically correct time of life now.   It’s peaceful here.  The grass has been mowed nicely and the scent and feel of spring fills the air. 

“I wish I would have stopped and got Mom and Dad some flowers,” I say.  Maybe next year.  I don't really believe she would even know.  But, what if?  “Sorry, Mom and Dad,” I say, just in case.  They would understand.  Neither of them were  into material things.  It would be more like… “Well, you visited and that’s all that matters.” I imagine that Mom can see me there, looking down upon her grave and then turning my glance to our house over the hill.  Somehow the two seem to go together.  Mom, Dad and our house.  Right there in panoramic view where they all belong.  

“We better get going,” Gary says.  We walk through the cemetery to where the service is held and I throw a blanket onto the ground. There’s a band, some singing, a message and a blessed ambiance that seems to flow through my veins like the blood of life.   Here in the cemetery is peace.  The past sleeps here.  The present savors here.  The future rests here.   

I watch an ant march completely around the border of my blanket as if he is on a mission to complete a lap, not turning back nor wavering.  Staying the course and marching forward.  Life is like that, I think.  We must never stray far from the beaten path.  We must remember where we came from and where we are going.  March! March!  March!  

It’s about time you guys are home!  Sorry I had to rip open your coffee filters and scatter them throughout the living room… but  a voice in my head said, go for it! You needed to be taught a lesson.

The Passing of Years

Through the tunnel of time my thought process has changed.  A lot. There are things I have learned while worming my way through that tunnel...  things that have changed my perspective.  I think differently than I did as a child.  Heck, I don't even think the same today as I did yesterday.  We learn as we go along.  Every day can teach you something to grow you as a person.  And if you examine yourself daily, you can learn from your own mistakes which can grow you even more!

Probably the hardest life lesson for me was the disappointment in people who blatantly, repeatedly, selfishly and coldly hurt others.  The world is filled with good and evil.  You will know them by their fruits (not their fake actions.  just sayin'  ... yes, I have become largely skeptical when it comes to people).  

But I was one of the lucky ones as a child and I experienced the love of both of my parents, many siblings, and a dirt poor day to day existence as Mom and Dad worked feverishly to make ends meet and to provide for all seven of us kids.  They were both hard workers and kind-hearted people.  I miss them terribly!  

Memorial Day, 2017 was a perfect day for me.  Eckhart Cemetery is just above the house where I grew up.   Memorial Day pasts haunt me (in a good way) each time I attend the services at that cemetery above our old house.  I reminisce of those warm spring days of old when cars lined the road above our home and a brood of gangly kids stood outside our door watching the goings on.

Memorial Day for me then was more of a celebration of the start of summer vacation.  I did not think beyond that, for my mind was that of a child.

I now look down from the cemetery's hill upon the other smaller cemetery beside our house, and I see things as they are.

Still though, when I visit the flourishing trees and green hillsides of my youth, I recollect an innocent little girl with stringy brown hair and crooked bangs, bubbling with excitement for summer's start, and I'm glad that memory is still with me.

For in that memory is an innocence.  A time of trust that I will never know again.

The sixty-two year old me has obligation and duty.  My skeptical self does not trust easily but the dreamer in me is not ready yet to give up on memories past.  

But I know that Memorial Day is a day to remember the country's people who died while serving in the armed forces.   And I am so very grateful.

God bless the USA

Miss you, Dad

It's Gone

 Grandma's house was always warm.  

Even on the dreariest of days the sun seemed to find its way through the window-blinds casting the brightest of light throughout that aromatic kitchen of hers.  The smell was that of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins which could often be found cooling on a towel atop the shiny formica kitchen table.    

The living room sat just off the kitchen and was furnished with a couch, a chair, a floor model black and white television set, and a piano which sat in the corner and held lots of framed family photo's.  Kids met there after school for a bible study, though I do not remember if it was once a week or more but what I do remember is that I felt honored that in this house, my grandma lived and that she was responsible for this meeting of many of my peers.

Just off of the living room the enclosed porch housed wicker furnishings, warm sunshine, and a feeling of total peace.   One Christmas our youth group visited there to sing Christmas carols for Gram.  I stood quietly in the back, behind all the rest of the kids on that porch as Gram handed out cookies to all of us.  When she acknowledged me as her granddaughter my heart swelled.  My Gram. 

The cellar was small,  musty and damp and the stone walls were painted white.  There Gram worked on her carpet loom... weaving those rags in and out... working hard.  

The narrow steps from the cellar led to a little room of sorts (or) more like a hallway which had a commode in it.    There was a curtain that separated this 'bathroom' from the bedroom next to it.  

The big bedroom in the back had two double beds on either side of the room.  One was Gram's and the other was for whoever happened to be spending the night.  The room was old fashioned with dated beds and dressers and old quilts.  On a sunny day I remember watching silent dust particles infiltrating the air through the blinds and casting a vintage feel to the place I called Gram's room.  It was clean and neat though,  and always peaceful.  

Gram outside her house

Gram use to sit us kids down on the porch and instruct us on how to cut the rags she had sewn for her rug-making and then she'd give us a dime for our labor.   That dime would go home with me and then directly to Fairdy's store where I would carefully pick out ten cents worth of candy to take home in a little brown sack.  

Gram in the yard, saying goodbye to company

We visited Gram often and when we would leave to go home, she would stand on that porch waving to us until we were clean out of sight.  

Us

Her house and yard was often thick with kids playing and laughing... 

Us again

  There was something about the lattice below Gram's porch that brings back fond memories for me.  Maybe it was that we used to play around it.  Maybe it was our safe place.   I'm not sure...  but I know I've dreamt about being there and the sun warming the lattice and peeking through to the darkness beyond there.  

my dad in front of the lattice

After Gram died the house went to family.  And then, later it was sold.

Gram relaxing on the porch

When it was in between owners, about fifteen years ago I'd say, Gary and I stopped one day to look around the outside.   To our surprise, when we tried the cellar door it was open!  And so we did what any curious, fond memory laden person would do... and we helped ourselves to a tour.

After the other porch was built in...  Gram and Dad

Gram's house was still laid off the same, but something was different.  The aroma of newly baked muffins was gone.  The kitchen seemed smaller.  There was no children's laughter.  No grown-ups joking, teasing, having fun with Gram.  Updated appliances and cabinets had replaced what was Gram's.  The magic was no longer there.  

Gram's kitchen.  Christmas Eve 1972

I'd pass by Gram's house often, usually thinking of days gone by in passing.  The house exchanged hands numerous times but then, I noticed a major overhaul on the place.  The classic look of old had been replaced with more modern curb appeal.  It was looking good and I was happy to know that a new family was making this house their home.

But then.  Sunday.  The fire.  The family was out of town, but two dogs did not escape the blaze.  

 I feel horribly for the family.  To lose their house.  Their dogs.  It must be devastating.  

A house is just a house.  

 But as I watched the updates of the fire on Sunday... and photo's that were being posted on Facebook,  the music of my youth with Gram stopped playing.  The laughter.  The chatter.  The teasing.  The safe place.  All was gone.  And the smell of muffins burned in the oven as a flood of memories returned.  And then ceased.

It's Gone

To fully appreciate what I am about to say, you may want to go back and re-read my April entry

 HERE.

~~~~~~~~~~~

So there I was in church today... thinking...  wondering.  Did they tear down my brother's old house yet?  I had forgotten to look on the way in.  I had this funny feeling though, that they had.  I made a mental note to myself to check on my way out.  And when I did, I couldn't find it.

Wait. 

I thought maybe it was hiding behind some trees.  I second guessed myself assuming that I was not looking far enough beyond the trees.  It was there last week.  

It couldn't just disappear in one week.  

But it had.

Jim's voice could be heard somewhere inside my head, "I'll be coming home in the spring to go through the old house."  

It was his anchor, that old house, for a very special and long season of his life.   

I cried all the way home. 

Then I wiped away my tears and enjoyed the here and now.  Grand-angels came to swim and eat pizza, shrimp and ice cream and play games in the yard. 

Anvil enjoyed the attention...

and so did Gracie.  

Dear Diary,

Today I learned that I am the master.  I always thought dad was the master.  But the CupCake and ShortStuff said I was the master.  And they started walking like me and following me through the yard acting like me.  Imagine that?  Me, a master...  Now.  To convince dad of this...  Gracie.

Little Girl Gone

Some days I try to turn off the hustle bustle of traffic up and down our road and take my mind back to a simpler place and time.

For a moment I forget about the hectic, adult obligations of the here and now ~ and I smell lilacs in full bloom in our yard just clear of the clothes line where Mom is hanging clothes on the line.

Its quiet there, in my once upon a time world.  Paying attention to detail, I notice the green grass and even the patches of dirt where grass won't grow.  My hands and arms are dirty from a full day of play.

There are no worries.  No obligations.  No deadlines.  The only drama is kids stuff, and it all washes away with our weekly bath.  (ugh!  Did I say weekly?)

The old four room house is hot in the summer and cold in the winter.  There is a path out back to the outhouse when we need to go.  But we don't complain.  We make do.

I think about my life.  I've come a long way since those once-a-week baths and the outhouse path.

But somehow... somewhere along the way...  I seem to have lost the innocent little girl who thought life was all good... once upon a time.

Treasures

May 27, 1984

 Spring is in full swing and the days are warm and mostly sunny now.  The winter was long and harsh, freezing temperatures and blustery snow made this mom of two mischievous little boys a little stir crazy.   I am thankful for my sister who lives next door.  She comes to visit often, which helps me to maintain my sanity.    Jackie goes to school now, so I do get a break from the chaos on weekdays.  Justin does okay as long as he doesn't have his brother Jackie to instigate trouble. 

I love the weekends the most.  I can hear the boys laughing and playing in the sandbox through the screen in the bedroom window.  I peeked out just a minute ago.  Cars, trucks, and army men were racing through sand dunes.  What their mission is, I do not know.  I just know that it's a quiet, sunny day on our hill and our boys are playing happily in their world of make believe.  

May 2014  

Digging up treasures can be fun for six year old boys.  Especially to unearth the most precious of gems:  Daddy's old toys.  

Digging around the old sandbox where his daddy played almost 30 years ago Jake found some interesting finds. 

When I look at them, I remember my boy, dirty face and mussed hair...  living in a world of perfect days without a care in the world.  And I miss him.

But then I look into the eyes of his own six year old, and my boy is with me still.  

Jackie with two sons Jake and Jasper

Random Memories

Did you know that the Mall Of America in Minnesota has a ferris wheel and roller coaster inside the mall?

We visited there in 2002 I believe it was...  we had the girls with us.  Lindsey was a teenager at the time and Athena was about five years behind her.  The Mall of America is huge, so we decided to buy the girls walkie talkies so we could be separated from them without losing them.  This was before cell phones were all the rage.  It turns out all parents had the same idea because there was not one single frequency on those walkie talkies where we could reach the girls.  The channels were jammed.  Yes, they got lost.  And yes, we found them.

   my bedroom BG (before Gary)  So girly, right?

  Just some family and friends gathering on Thanksgiving.  Look at how tiny Gracie was...  awwww


Any random memories for you Gracie?

My first Christmas.  When Santa bought me Mr. Monkey.