But I don't have a sofa

It is the last day of 2012.

For me, it has been one of my best years ever.

A year ago, my friend Debbie were visiting on New Year's Eve.  We talked about what we hoped 2012 would bring.

She wanted a regular dance partner. 

I wasn't sure what I wanted.  I had wanted to be published for many years and I knew that was going to happen in 2012. I might like to travel and I wondered what I would do for a job when the Episcopal Diocese of Florida's annual convention was over as it would be in January.

I wanted my children to have joy and success and I wanted my mother to be comfortable in my home as small but significant changes continued to be a part of who she is.

Did I want a regular dance partner?

I didn't know.

I remember that I said it might be nice to have someone to date, but that I really couldn't get involved with anyone.  Between my mother and finishing the writing project, I didn't really think I had time.

Besides my living room has four chairs - no sofa...if you date someone shouldn't you have a sofa?

A little lame, right?

That was a year ago today..

This past Saturday night Debbie and I were together again - just before she went "dancing" with Jack Edwards and I came home to enjoy some time on a small sofa  that is now a  part of the decor in my home office.  Earlier in the day I had rearranged the furniture in my living room to get it ready for  another sofa that's on it's way to my home.

And of course, I didn't come home alone.

"Delight yourself also in the Lord and He shall give you the desires of your heart," (Psalm 37:4).

...Even those you think you do not have!

Words on a page

Everybody has a story.

And most people like to share it.

I have been called a "nosy so-in so".  (Note:  These words are offered from a heart full of love.  I am not in the least bit offended).

Actually I am not nosey.  I am curious.  No wait - I am interested!

And when I hear the story I love to share it. 

My best means of doing that is with words on a page.

In 2010 I was presented with a wonderful opportunity.

"My name is John Compton".

I listened to to my voice mail.  I listened to it again.  What was he saying? 

"I am working with the Duval County Medical Society to publish a book about the history of the DCMS and I would like to talk with you about being one of the writers".

I knew about the Medical Society.  My mother had done some work on their directory when our friend, John Nill, was in the publishing business.  Our family friend, Dr. O.E. Harrell, had been instrumental in that organization many years ago.  And  my friends Marigrace Doran and Leora Legacy  worked for DCMS. 

"Was I interested?"

Was he kidding?

And so it was that after being a nosy, curious, interested person - who talked with more than 75 physicians or practice administrators, my words are on a page.  It's a nice coffee table book that can be found in doctor's offices and at some local bookstores and I've heard there's a possibility that it's coming to the Barnes and Noble on-line bookstore.  I don't think those details have been finalized.

The best thing I know about all of that is that it fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams.  I am published.  Leora wrote the history and I wrote 75 of the 100 physicians/practices that are included and worked with Marigrace who worked on graphics, layout and photographs.  Our photos and bio are on the inside flap (along with another writer, Kara Pound).

However, my friend Deborah Hansen has done what I really want to do. 

She has done what poet William Wadsworth exhorted  when he said "Fill your paper with breathings of your heart."

Deb's first book Broken Strings: Wisdom for Divorced and Separated Families, was published in  2007.  She took her experiences as a single mother and shared them as a handbook for the many other parents who find themselves "going this parenting route - alone".  In 2010 Deborah accepted the challenge of going 21 days without complaining.  It took her 125 days but she did it!

For my birthday this year, Deb gave me an empty journal.  These words in her handwriting are on the inside flap  "Why do writers write?  Because it isn't there." (Thomas Berger). 

That's why we put our words on a page - because in our minds - no one else has put them there. 

Like Deb, I have been writing since I was a child - poetry, essays, a couple short stories, a column on Jacksonville.com. and now this blog. 

But still a dream - of being published...I mean putting the breathing of my heart on paper...So watch out world.  More of my words are going to be on a page.

Is that Jesus?

It is one of my most precious memories.

 

I have always been very involved in the church.  I became a Christian as a first grader and grew up loving to sing and share as a part of my worship experience.  I loved the life God had planned for me as a pastor's wife. 

 

Although I was not raised in a church where the worship was liturgical, I have always appreciated that kind of worship. I love the procession of the choir, crosses, banners, lay Eucharistic ministers who will assist at the rail during communion  and the clergy. I love the responsive position of worshiping. When the scripture is read, I love to hear "the word of the Lord to which the congregation responds "Thanks be to God". I love the corporate prayers of the people that precedes the prayer of confession and I really appreciate it when the celebrant instructs the people to greet one another with a message of God's peace.

In 1981 I lived in Louisville, Kentucky with my minister husband and our three children.  I'm still not sure how I did this but I convinced him that we should go to a midnight worship service at Christ Cathedral in downtown Louisville.  In retrospect, I feel like he was most agreeable, although this was really out of his comfort zone. 

 

We sat in the back of the beautiful cathedral and I watched as our children who were then 10, 7 and 4, took it all in.  As in any service like this, the Bishop was the last to come in and he sat at the front in the Bishop's Chair.  Because I am now an Episcopalian, it all makes sense to me.  Back then it was strange and unique but very beautiful.

 

I then heard a little familiar voice - "Mommy," the voice was meek.  Those children knew about behaving in church. 

 

I looked down the row and  saw my four-year-old leaning forward.
 

"Is that Jesus?"  He was pointing to the Bishop.

 

I told him no but that the man was going to tell us about Jesus which although I don't remember the sermon, I am sure he did - as he shared the message of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love with us that night - a night that remains one of my dearest Christmas memories.

 

Why?  Because the best gift Ray Parker and I gave our  children is the gift of faith! Oh, they had to make the decision to accept that gift (which is from God, through a personal relationship with Jesus Christ).  But we presented them with opportunities to hear and more than that to see how the hope, peace, joy and love of the Christ child could change their lives and the lives of others!

 

Traditions

That's the way we have always done it!  You might say our family is very tradition-oriented.  Particularly when it comes to Christmas.

Both of my parents brought traditions to our family.  Mother remembers "stockings" and daddy remembered that his parents (along with his aunt and uncle) waited until Christmas Eve to purchase presents.  That's when everything was marked down and his daddy was always one for a bargain.  We always had a stocking and daddy loved the hustle and bustle of shopping on Christmas Eve.

I remember that our daddy preferred cheese and crackers and Coca-cola to cookies and hot chocolate so that's what we left for Santa (the first year after daddy had died, I took Cheezits and scattered them on his grave) and that we always had some presents on a chair and some presents were wrapped. 

I carried that last tradition into my family - and one of my favorite memories is the year that they thought they should be my Santa Claus and I awakened to a chair filled with gifts and notes. 

And now my children are all parents and have their own traditions.  Whether it is leaving a little reindeer food near their front door; having close friends in for Christmas breakfast, or a visit from Santa Claus who is also their granddaddy (one of these days some of those England kids are going to figure this one out), they all have their own traditions.  And for the grandchildren here - the tradition is that sometime on Christmas morning, grandma and great gran'ma come to see their gifts.

The most important tradition is something that we all share.  We all worship on Christmas Eve - maybe to different churches - but we all remember what Christmas is about.

This picture is from a live Nativity scene at
Spring Glen Methodist Church (copied from
their Facebook page).

Spring Glen Methodist is an important place to our family because our great-grandfather, John Huffingham deeded some of his land for a school and church - the very land where Spring Glen continues to stand as a beacon for that community.  It was at Spring Glen that my parents met in about 1929.  And when my children were growing up, we often walked up to the corner and enjoyed the live Nativity there

It was truly one of our traditions.  I drove by Spring Glen last night and was filled with a sense of gratitude for that church and what it has meant in our lives.

Christmas traditions are great - decorations, Christmas cookies, lights, parties - but the best part of Christmas - the one I am more grateful that my children honor - is the fact that it is about the birth of Jesus Christ.

It was also a tradition (when I was a little girl) for me (with my cousins Ellie and Jimmy) to stand in front of our Nesmith family and recite the first 20 verses of Luke 2.  I will not bore you with that...even though I think I could - almost word for word.  Just another family tradition that I hold very dear.

You will not be surprised which verses are my favorite .... "And they came with ^ahaste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child," Luke 2:16,17. 

I do love a good story and I love to Tell It!

We believe!

This house believes in Santa.

Well - at least I believe in what Santa represents. After all, it is at this time of the year that we remember the incredible birth of the Christ child who came to offer us hope and peace when we placed our faith in Him all of which combine to give us joy.  This because God so loved the world.

It was our first Christmas as a "single mom and three kids".  I don't think I believed in Santa Claus that year which is now 30 years ago.

We had been welcomed into my parents' home  earlier that year and the four of us were adjusting.  While it was very difficult, we were learning to experience the love, care and support of  our extended family.

From her earliest years, my second child, Renee, has been a little "prayer warrior". When she was about five, she was going to be in a pageant of some sort and she needed a "fancy" dress.  We were in the "looking" stage when someone gave her some hand-me-downs.  I will never forget her running into the room where I was, saying "I found it; I found it; I found the answer to my prayer".  Sure enough it was a pretty little yellow dress with some lace on it.  It would work.

By this time, Renee had passed her eighth birthday.  Tray was five.  They were in the same Sunday School class at Glendale Community Church, the church I had grown up in and where many dear family members and friends were so supportive of me and my children in this new found position.

Apparently when "prayer request" time came, Renee announced that she and Tray were "praying" that they might get bicycles for Christmas.

They had not shared that prayer request with their mother.  The day before Christmas "Aunt" Anna Jean and "Uncle" Bill Kindred  (you know in the South we call everyone "aunt" and "uncle") came for a visit.  I believe they were the teachers in that Sunday School class.  If not, they certainly must have known someone who heard Renee's prayer request.  They opened the trunk of their car and I saw - "two shiny bicycles".

Christmas morning arrived and Renee could once more say - "I found it, I found it, I found the answer to my prayer".  

There have been other things our family has prayed for that we didn't find. We have had a wonderful live, however.  Thirty years later, three additions - the mates that God chose for each of my bundles of joy - have added to the fun.  Not to mention those seven special blessings who call me grandma.  Our lives are rich and full.

However - something else that my children (and my family and friends) have long prayed for is that I would "find" someone special to share my life with.

Listen - can you hear Renee?  "I've found it, I've found it - I've found that answer to our prayer!"

Yep - I'd say we believe!


"For my God shall supply all your needs, according to His riches in Christ Jesus", Philippians 4:19.

'Did you know???

I love Christmas. 

If you don't believe me -

Come to my house for a visit.  You can take a look at my closet and watch what I wear every day from November 30 through Christmas Day.  You will see that my house is "fully involved" in Christmas from an Advent wreathe to a little village with a train to 7 choir children (Coca Cola bottles with Styrofoam heads that my mother and I made a couple of years ago).

And you will hear Christmas music.

I love Christmas music.

I have always loved Christmas caroling and being in Christmas programs and cantatas.  I loved it when my children were in various programs and I was absolutely thrilled when I went to see my three Nazarene grandchildren in a program and watched their mother being their director.

Their mother is my first born - Rebecca. 

Becca had been born just before Christmas in 1971 so the song The Best Gift by Barbra Streisand has always seemed like the perfect song for the two of us. For that year, she truly was my best gift

I remember when she learned a question for her first Christmas program when she was in Kindergarten.

"Who was born on Christmas Day?"

I remember when she was in the 6th grade and didn't really want to listen to the Christmas sermon.  When I told her to pay attention, she gave me a typical preacher's kid's answer..."I've already heard that story."

A few years later Becca learned a piece for the piano called A Christmas Rhapsody.  I can still see her sitting at a piano at Glendale Community Church playing that.  My memory is helped by the fact that I have a video of it and recently Becca sat down at the piano in her home and once more played that beautiful arrangement that includes many Christmas carols.

Lots of memories, many include music...which brings me to the title of this blog - my favorite Christmas song - Mary did you know?  And why is it my favorite.  Because I cannot imagine knowing something as incredible as what Mary knew; doing something as incredible as what Mary did - and not telling anyone.

Mary kept all these things - even after the shepherds came and worshipped - in her heart! 

From a mother's viewpoint...I could never keep that kind of knowledge and not share it. You did read all the things I just told you about Becca didn't you?

The best Christmas PRESENTS ever!

"What do you want for Christmas?"

He was eight years old.  Truly one of the loves of my life - Tray - my third child, my only son, and my baby.

I told him I thought a waffle iron would be a good idea.

And that I decided that wasn't a very practical idea.

But I didn't tell Tray.

Weeks later as we enjoyed a Saturday night supper, Tray announced to his sisters that he knew what mom wanted for Christmas.  She wanted a waffle iron.

"I actually decided that I didn't want that", was my response.

I can still hear him - "we have a problem", he said as he left the table. 

I could see his bedroom from where I was sitting and I watched as he slowly knelt down and pulled a 1949 "vintage" waffle iron from under the bed. 

He had been to a yard sale next door.  The waffle iron cost $4.  He had $2 so he raked leaves for the extra money.

I laughed and cried.  Remember - "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion".

And I cleaned it up and we used it.

He grew up and went to college. When he was a sophomore he remembered that one thing I wanted when my children were growing up was a train. What a joy for me to open my present that Christmas and how much I enjoy it all these years later (15).

.  

And then he got married and moved away.  They came home for Christmas and we enjoyed the annual Huffingham family gathering.  As the fun and merriment began to die down, Tray announced that there was one more present.

There were four small  packages.  My mother got one; my daughter, Becca, got one; my sister, Cindy got one - and there was one for me.

"Open them at the same time," he told us.

They were children's alphabet blocks.  Mine was a Y - Becca's was a B and so was Cindy's and my mother had an A.

If I laughed and cried over that waffle iron or the train - how do you think I responded when I realized that the words spelled BABY.  Their first child was due the next summer.

I've had other special and wonderful gifts but I think these must be among the very best.

'Course I haven't opened this year's yet!

A shadow can't hurt you...

I have always loved Robert Louis Stevenson's "My Shadow", which is in A Child's Garden of Verses.

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of it (sic) is more than I can see.

The name of the blog is Sunshine and Shadows and it's built around the idea that although life is filled with sunshine, there can be shadows.

I have had a lot of sunshine in my 65 years.  I've also had my share of shadows - probably not any more than most anyone.  However I think we can agree that when those shadows seem to overtake the sunshine it can feel pretty bad - even cold and surely dark.

Carl Jung believed that our shadows are a composite of all the shameful, nasty, negative aspects of our personalities.  I read that idea in Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy, by Sarah Ban Breathnach, a book I read almost every day.  I can tell you that idea certainly does not give me any comfort and joy.

I tend to instead think of my life experiences that caused me disappointment, dismay, defeat and sometimes disgust as my shadows.  In other words - dreams that were shattered - from a failed marriage to the loss of the love of my life, from hopes and plans for a career change to difficult experiences in the lives of my children.

Sometimes my shadows make me fearful.  That shouldn't be.  It is only when we repress our fears, our doubts, our insecurities that they can help us.  I'm not sure where this idea came from but I have heard that admitting we have a problem is the first step in overcoming it.

Besides - who really ever heard of a shadow hurting anyone? 

Robert Louis Stevenson's poem goes on to say - He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see.

So when my shadows start to creep up and cast doubt on my hopes, dreams and plans. . .I endeavor to meet them face on and know that indeed they are just shadows. 

'Doesn't always work. But at least I have a plan!

'

If...then

September 20, 1964

48 years have passed.  Friendships have blossomed into love and hearts have been broken.

My heart.

48 years.

You would think that when I see the date, September 20, that I would just see it as a normal day.  None of my children or grandchildren were born on this day; no wedding anniversaries or any other special events - so why do I still get just a little twinge in my chest when I see that date?

Because it was on September 20, 1964 that I first began to understand how it feels to have a broken heart.

David Winkles was my high school sweetheart.  It was the beginning of our senior year.  As you might imagine, I was dreaming Homecoming, Senior Prom, Graduation . . . and on September 20, David Winkles broke up with me.

I did not think I would survive.  I cried and cried and finally my mother sent me to talk to our pastor's wife, Othella Elliott who told me the same thing my mother had been saying.  God had a reason, God had a plan.  Everything was going to be all right.

Obviously Mrs. Elliot and my mother were right.  I went on to marry a preacher boy and become a mother.  That marriage did not survive, but the children that came from that marriage have given me such joy!  I married again.  That marriage lasted only a short time because of Rich Suhey's death, but the effect he had on my life remains as one of my greatest blessings. God had a reason; God had a plan.

And now there is another man and he is good and kind and his desire is to serve the same God I have loved and served since I was a young girl.  Does God have a plan?  I mean a long-term plan?

Only God knows that answer.

However - if David Winkles had not broken up with me 48 years ago...then I would have missed ... so much.

Yep.  God has a plan!

" 'For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future' ". Jeremiah 29:11

Red Gap before Sundown

I drove too fast.  I talked to fast.  I ate too fast.

You name it.

I did it too fast.

At least that's what my daddy thought.

"You don't have to make Red Gap before sundown."

I have no idea how many times I might have heard daddy say that.  I can tell you - it was a lot.

And on Wednesday, September 16, 2009, I had an opportunity to throw those words right back at him.

We knew the time was near for daddy's passing.  I think he knew, too.  At least it seems that way today as I remember that he kept asking me when I was going to work.  (I had said I didn't want to be here when daddy died - I was afraid I would not know what to do.  He knew that.  What he didn't know what that the Hospice nurse had given me some instructions and I was more comfortable with what I thought the situation might entail).

I did go to work and had been there only a short while when my cell phone rang.  The voice on the line was my son.  Tray came three times each day to turn his granddaddy so that he could breathe comfortably and would not develop any blisters on his body (I know those blisters have another name.  I just don't like it).

"Granddaddy's not doing so hot," Tray said. 

I hurried home and as I neared his bedside, I saw that he was taking deep and rapid breaths.

"Just take little breaths," I told him.

"You don't have to make Red Gap by sundown."

The Hospice nurse gave him something to help him relax, but I like to think he had already heeded my advice.

The breathing slowed down.  He began to have a very far away look in his eye.  He listened as his minister personalized the 23rd Psalm and then at around 5:00 in a manner that very much suited his calm and gentle spirit - he just sort of wafted out the window.

Sundown would be a couple hours off.  He wasn't on the way to Red Gap.  He was on his way to be with Jesus.  A few days before he had told Tray that he had heard about Heaven all of his life and he was curious to see what it was going to be like. 

Our family stood by his bed.  We believed his curiosity was about to be satisfied.  That might be good for him, but it made us all sad.

There have been three years of sundowns since that afternoon. 

Even though I know that no one lives forever (at least on this earth) and that my daddy had lived a good, rich and full life, I am still sad and I still miss him.  AND I still drive too fast, talk too fast, eat too fast.

And sometimes when I do I can almost hear my daddy - "you don't have to make Red Gap by sundown".

Lost and found

She was a small framed woman.  Her face and her body showed signs of aging. She pushed a cart through the Walmart parking lot slowly, her head turning from one side to the other. 

"What color is it?" I asked.

"Silver with a 'salt life' sticker on the back windshield.  I thought sure I parked on aisle 5," was her reply.

I could easily empathize.  More and more I leave my car, absolutely sure that I know exactly where I parked only to make my way back and find myself in the same predicament. 

"Where in the world did I park?"

Or where did I put my keys, or my cell phone, or my sun glasses?

My most common response to this problem is to whisper a little prayer.  It's something that was instilled in me as a child.  I might say something like "Lord, you know where what I have lost is - and I would appreciate it if you would lead me in that direction".  Not much depth in my prayer and yet I believe...and most of the time I'll find what I am looking for.

I served communion at a memorial service recently.  Although I was not late, I still dashed into the sacristy (the area where I would vest - don the white alb of a chalice bearer).  I tossed my keys on a counter.  It's what I always do.

The service ended.  I had been asked to toll the bell.  After the 76th dong, I hurried to get my keys and be off to the next project.

No keys.

The sacristy is a small area.  Nothing like a parking lot.  And yet I felt as bereft as I do when I can't find my car. 

The two altar guild ladies, Dandy and Carol,  helped me look.  Where in the world were those keys?

A couple of projects were waiting on me. I really needed to get back to work in my home office.

I knew the keys would show up at some time so I made arrangements for a ride home.  Fortunately I remembered the key pad entry that unlocked my car.  I waited patiently.

Dandy's husband, Ted appeared.

"In Dandy's handbag," he said with a grin.

I canceled the ride home, put the key in the ignition and headed home.

Once more something lost had been found.

And the lady in the parking lot? I told her I would take a ride through the aisles and if I saw it I would come back to tell her. I looked briefly but I did not return and I have felt a bit guilty since that afternoon.

What if my friends hadn't helped me find my keys?

What was the best part?

My friend, Sarah Singer, and I were enroute to Tallahassee.  Everyone knows that is a long and boring trip.  However, it was a trip we knew was necessary as we continue to plan the 170th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Florida which will be held at St. John's Episcopal Church in January.

We stopped for supper at the Texas Roadhouse Grill in Lake City.

We had already been a bit surprised.  The parking lot was filled. Our wait would be about 15 minutes. This was on a Wednesday night. Must be something special going on.   Our buzzer signaled it was time for us to be on the way to our table.

The server smiled as she reached into a window and retrieved a plate of hot rolls and cinnamon flavored butter and asked us a question.

"What was the best part of your last visit with us?"

"First time here," was our response.

We had chosen our entree and were chatting when a man appeared  holding a plate that held two ribs - each looking more like a slab of meat that just happened to have a little bone attached than a rib.  They were drenched in bbq sauce.

"Just a little extra treat for all of our first time guests", the man, whom we assumed to be the manager  said. 

The ribs were outstanding.  Our dinners arrived.  We almost wished we had ordered ribs rather than sticking with out diets and ordering salad with grilled chicken. 

Next time we would order the ribs.

As we continued to enjoy our dinner, more than one server stopped by to asked if everything was good etc.

Not only was it good; the service was incredible.

Who knew that in a little town like Lake City we would feel like we were at a Ritz Carlton?

And why do I reference the Ritz Carlton?  Because they are known for outstanding customer service.  I learned this last year when I was interviewing physicians and practice administrators for Florida's Pioneer Medical Society, A History of the Duval County Medical Society & Medicine in Northeast Florida.  A few years ago the staff at the Borland-Groover Clinic, Northeast Florida's 60 plus year-old gastroenterology clinic went for training - at the Rita Carlton headquarters.  My interview with Vicky King, the practice administrator, told me that the training at the Ritz had been one of the keys to the reputation that Borland-Groover enjoys.

My point in all of this?  Customer service is of utmost importance today's economy.  We've kind of gotten away from that.  When we need something we often talk with someone who speaks a different language and additionally we often hear - sorry we just can't "fix" that.

I'm not naive enough to think that our economy will afford us the opportunity to be treated royally at every juncture.  I am simple enough however to recognize it when it happens and to take an opportunity to share the goods when it does.

If you want a good meal and have time, go to the Texas Roadhouse Grill in Lake City; if you want a nice place to stay, save your money and go to a Ritz and if you need some gastroenterological assistance, my money is on Borland Groover.

It's all about the way they make you feel!

And I almost missed it

Years ago I heard an old time gospel preacher paint a beautiful word picture of a shelf that was laden down with presents.

He said some were wrapped in pretty ribbons, some still wrapped in plastic...some in huge dress boxes and others in boxes that encase a bracelet or a ring.

His point was that sometimes we are so busy asking God for something that we don't take the opportunity to check the shelf for the blessings that are already there.

This morning I debated about going to church - I know that's really not a debatable question.  I just was kind of in a funk and finally a little voice said - You might miss something if you don't go.So I went.

As I walked down the lane toward the sanctuary I saw my friends Randy and Allison.  They had been to the 8:00 service.

"You will love church," they told me.

And guess what?  They were right.

I had forgotten that Michele Perry, one of our missionaries who works in an orphanage in South Sudan, was our special guest.  She spoke with passion and shared the love she has for the 125 children who are a part of the ministry there, in an orphanage where there is no electricity nor running water.

One of my granddaughters recently read A Long Walk to Water so we've been made aware of the water shortage in the Sudan and it all became so real to me this morning as I listened to Michele. 

And because we have adopted children in our family, Michele's words about how adoption is one of the ways that the reality of God's love is expressed really rang true in my heart. I cannot began to tell you how I feel when I see those children and realize that they are loved, cared for - and they all know this is a part of God's plan for each of their lives!

It was great - and I almost missed it.

There's something else I almost missed today.  I don't know why I put off cleaning off my desk.  I like to clean and love to organize.  But for some reason, that's usually a task I avoid. However, I decided today is the time.

I've been inundated with political mail not to mention all the mail about supplemental insurance etc., and I've just sort of stacked those flyers and envelopes.  One by one they hit the trash can.  And  then there was an envelope with an unfamiliar return address  -

Hum -  I opened it.

"Oh my land."

There's a check inside - an insurance rebate.  And I almost missed it.  There are some things I've been meaning to do - make a donation, buy a camera, tuck some money away for the three family birthdays that are fast approaching.   And I have HONESTLY been thinking and praying about rearranging the budget - especially for the camera.

And to think I almost missed it.

When's the last time you checked your blessings shelf?

Friends and Fireworks on the Fourth

I am a strong proponent of the necessity of leaving home and becoming your own person and although I am guilty of complaining that I wish I hadn't I raised my children to be quite so independent - to where it seems that they no longer needed me,  I really think it's great that each one of them have acknowledged and accepted that fact that they are adults and they need to be responsible for their own actions.

It seems appropriate on this Independence Day for me to cheer for not only our nation's independence but for the strong spirit of independence that I have seen in my three children.

Could I have a drum roll please?

Now that I have given them a little pat on the back for the fact that they have all become exactly what I wanted them to become, let me say that I think some of the credit has to go to their circles of friends - and to some of mine!

Which seems to me to be what this Fourth of July happened to be about.

For the first time in several years I was with Renee and Wally for the Fourth of July. I have loved to be there at this time of the year and was really excited that I was going to be with them for the festivities that go on in Temple Terrace.

And I was happy to know I would see some of their friends.  Every time I come to visit them I see evidence of the strong friendships they have formed - friendships that have lasted many years  - like the one with Mary and Charles Shelnut who have been like another set of parents to Renee and Wally.  I enjoyed the Temple Terrace Fourth of July parade with them - and with  Cindy Keding who is a long time friend and later that day it was nice to see Jeff Kooper. He and Katherine have been Renee and Wally's dear friends for more that 15 years.

And newer friendships - On Tuesday night, Greg and Jamie Deese and Buck and Amy Buchanan had joined us for Bible Study and then Buck and Amy went with us for a late night run to Target to get Abbie some new tennis shoes and me a straw hat

 and then to Sonic where we sat for over an hour waiting to be served before we were finally able to enjoy our treat - me with ice cream running down the side of the cone and all over my hands.  Lots of laughter!  Then at the close of the day on the fourth, the Deeses and their darling little boy, Joshua, came for a cook-out before we enjoyed the Temple Terrace fireworks together. Lots of joy.

As the Blain girls have grown up, they have been blessed to have friends to love and encourage - and pray for them and with them.

Renee reminded me this week that God has always put a special person in Allie's life - and that is exactly what Buck Buchanan is to her.  He is like a teddy bear, quick witted, soft hearted - who seems convinced that God uses him best as he shares laughter with others.  He's a trip!

And then I was reminded of all the people that God had put into my children's lives when they were growing up - especially some of the friends I made through a Christian singles organization called Seekers (Matthew 6:33).  Again - lots of laughter, encouragement and prayer.

And a heart that is full of thanksgiving to God for what has happened in the lives of my children and grandchildren - who have done and are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing - becoming independent.

The 4th of July

Happy Birthday America!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    We are waiting to leave for the parade. Brownies are in the oven, The Radio is on and we are talking.Thats Pretty much what we are doing until we leave for the parade.


   I just wanted to say Happy July4th!

She is My Grandmother but I call her grand

Sunshine and shadows

is my Grands blogo

She loves to write

and show Gods light

She is kind to others

And she is a mother of 3

She's MY grandmother

BUT I call her Grand

-Allie Blain

Hello all. Thank you for reading my Grands Blog... I wrote this poem for my grand-as you can tell-



This is me (Allie) when I was 2 years and 4 months when my Aunt Becca was getting her doctorate.
  I told Grand that I think I look very cute in this photo and she said it was a good photo
 to include even though we both look a little different now.

the memory box. :)

     Today we have done many things including making ceramic shoes at You do the Dishes. These shoes were Grands early birthday present. We then continued our journey going shopping.  We went to Michaels, Target, Old Navy, and Macys in search for new fourth of july shirts.  It was a fabulous second day for making new memories.
     When Grand arrived we gave her a purple memories box that will be filled by the end of the week by stuuf our LAZY grandmother (just kidding), Allie and I have made. Grand always makes a big deal about making good memories and this week is all about a new chapter of our life filled with great memories.

Abbie

john 3:16

Awesomest grandchild vs. the LAZY grandmother(jk)

Day 2 (Allie wrote this)


today we made a potholder that is red white and blue for Grand to wave in the parade on Wednesday.Abbie is working at church so it is just Grand and me,the awesomest grandchild ever,Allie Blain.


The awesomest grandchild ever is writing this for her lazy grandmother who will not get off of the couch
A note from the LAZY grandmother


Allie knows that I am not really LAZY because she is very active and she knows she inherited that from her grandmother.


A note from the real LAZY grandmother  


I am LAZY. I like watching disney junior.I am LAZY!!!!


A note from the awesomest grandchild ever


Ok so maybe I made up the real lazy grandmother but... the LAZY grandmother is right but maybe she is the awesomest. IDK???

P.S.
everything I said about the lazy grandmother i was joking and having fun she is one of the best grandmothers EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Something I've never done before

About 18 months ago, my friend Deborah Hansen determined that every month she would do something she had never done before.  For a while I watched and then I joined her - me and several of our friends who now have a Facebook group called Life Changers.  It's been fun to  see what some of us have done - learn to dance; drive a motorcycle; rock climb.

I have done none of the above.  However today I did somethingI have never done before.

I signed my Medicare card.

Oh help.  Am I really old enough to have qualified for Medicare?

Well, yeah.  I have lots of silver in my brunette hair, am beginning to have aches and pains in places that I didn't know I have and am certainly plagued with those dreaded body changes that most women my age have experienced. 

So what am I going to do about it?

What can I do about it?

The aging process is exactly what it is...the aging process.

However, I am determined not to let this get me down.  I am going to look for some more adventures.  I recently saw The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel - twice.  And then I bought the book.  Why?  Because although I don't necessarily agree with everything in that story, I do think it's important to find a way to enjoy life and to remember that life can still be an adventure.

Today is the first day of the month that I turn 65.  May be filled with sunshine, but surely there will be shadows. Aging cannot be stopped.  But is might as well include some adventure.

I'm going to do more than be open to adventure.  I am going to look for adventure - with the help my family and friends -- This week my Tampa family is going to provide me with adventures -- Abbie and Allie have planned projects for us; I get to participate in a couple of Bible studies; go with them to the Temple Terrace Fourth of July parade and enjoy fireworks later that night.

Actually I've just learned about a little bit of an adventure -- Renee and her family are WALKING in that parade.  I've never walked in a parade...maybe...

Nah.  I'll find a spot and watch.  Besides I will probably meet some interesting people.  That's always an adventure.




 .

A new name for mother-in-law

They were both named Margaret; born in the mid twenties; died way too young; and loved their sons dearly.

My connection to them - I also loved their sons - in fact I still do. 

I never met Margaret Cherpok Suhey but my home is filled with things that belonged to the woman of Czechoslovakian descent, who was born and raised in a Pennsylvania village and grew up to marry Peter Suhey.  When Marge Suhey died in 1997, Rich and I (and my parents) went to New Milford, New Jersey, where we packed a U-HAUL truck and brought back furniture, linens and many other household items that became a part of our home when Rich and I married the next year.  Although that marriage was short-lived (because of his death after 8 months and 4 days of marriage), I love all the reminders I have in my home today - that are a part of Rich's heritage.

I'll never forget the first time I saw the other Margaret.  My parents and I were en route to Bryan College in Dayton, Tennessee where I was about to enter my freshman year.  We found a little restaurant, the Daytona Cafeteria, and as we enjoyed our lunch, we saw two couples at one table and two nice looking young men at another.  The next day I saw those young men on campus.  They were both aspiring "preacher boys" from Winston Salem, North Carolina.

I later learned that one of the mothers had remarked, "Look at those people, I bet that girl is going to Bryan, too."

I learned that from Margaret Gentry Parker when she and her husband, Raymond came to see their son about 6 weeks after that day in the Daytona Cafeteria.

By this time, Ray Parker and I were an "item".

I did know Margaret Parker very well.  And not just my home, but my life, is filled with  a huge part of her. I have always appreciated the heritage that my children have - Nesmith/Huffingham or Gentry/Parker.  And I have very special memories of my first mother in law.

I think the most precious was the day she said to me - "I'll see you later, Mrs. Parker," as she walked down the aisle to her seat as the mother of the groom on August 5, 1967.  Then as each of our children were born, it was so dear to me to see the way she welcomed them into her arms.

Ray was an only child.  His mother told me many times how much she loved children and that she missed having more.  She was especially sorry she never had a little girl and when Becca was born, she was absolutely thrilled, especially because Becca looked so much like Ray. That joy was doubled when Renee was born and they had a very special relationship.  And of course, when we decided that our son should carry on the name and be the "third" Raymond Lee Parker,  that was the icing on the cake.

Margaret was heartbroken when my marriage to her son ended.  I promised that I would do all I could to keep the grandchildren as near to them as possible.  That was not always easy because we lived 750 miles apart.  However, I have endeavored (sometimes not as diligently as I should have) to remind the children of their Gentry/Parker heritage.

It was a sad time in 1985 when as our children visited their dad, they learned that Mammaw had ovarian cancer.  She lived about 18 months from that diagnosis.  I'll always remember our visit to her bedside that Thanksgiving night and be grateful that my parents had helped me take the children to see their grandmother and their dad - in what would be a time of grief for him.

Today is the day that Margaret Irene Gentry was born. 

When I think of her as a mother-in-law, I think of what I want to be now that I am in the same position.  It is my prayer that I will be supportive of my children and their mates and that I will honor their commitment.  I know that I love and appreciate each of them (Dale, Wally and Kristen) for what they have brought into my children's lives.

I was "officially" a daughter in law to Margaret Parker for about 15 years, but I always felt like I was a daughter in love.  In the same manner, I have been a mother in law for 17, 16 and 12 years -- and if I could give myself another name I would like it to be mother-in-love!

The man in his little girls' lives

I have heard that when my sister, Cindy, was born our father's words were "another little girl, just like Paula".  While we were different from the start (she's blonde, tall and willowy and I'm not), there is one thing that is exactly alike. Both of us always knew how important we were to our daddy.

He was the first and probably the best (with apologies to our boyfriends, husbands, sons and grandsons) "man in his little girls' lives" and I don't need to email or call Cindy to ask - I  know she is feeling the exact same thing I feel on this Father's Day in 2012.  I miss my daddy.

I still feel him in the room.  Most of the writing I do is in the same room where I watched on September 16, 2009 as daddy relaxed and as I have often said seemed to sort of waft out the window.  He had told my son that he was curious as to what Heaven would be like and that day, he was about to find out.

Most people think it was an adjustment for me when my parents moved in with me -  and it was.  However just after daddy had died, my cousin, Jeanne Collins, remarked that she thought it must have been hard on him - no longer being the responsible one when that had been his role for so many years.

I wish  I had been more sensitive to that.  I just thought "this is my house and I should be responsible - so there". 

Somehow I had been able to hide the fact that I have a temper from my father - for almost 60 years. Once we lived in the same house, I had nowhere to go when I was angry.  Daddy was shocked!

Being the good daddy that he was, he took it in and he tried, really tried, not to let it bother him or worse to reprimand me.  That did not always happen.  Toward the end of his life, he would say something like "short fuse" which only served to make me angrier.

When I think of those times, three years down the pike, I think "for crying out loud; why in the world did you let those little foxes spoil the vines?"  Maybe he didn't always understand me (and who always understands their children) but he was always "there" for us - from my mother to my siblings to our children and grandchildren.

Daddy was the epitome of the analogy in Scripture of God the Father's love and care for us being likened to the love a father has for his child.  One commentator described it as "the tender love as such is borne by the parent for his offspring; the disposition to care for its needs; the readiness to forgive when an offence has been committed."

That's a great definition of the kind of father Earl Huffingham was.

When my first marriage ended, daddy reassured me, comforted me, and helped me with the difficult decisions that had to be made.  For thirty years I have known that part of the reason my children adjusted as well as they did was that my parents were around to help.

That is also the position that my chidren's father would take.  He has often said that he is very grateful for my parents' involvement in our children's lives. I appreciate his attitude. 

Our children are grown now with children of their own.  And from my seat, it looks like all seven of my grandchildren feel just as secure in the love that their dads offer them as I always felt.


Which brings me back to my dad - who loved me when I was at my best - and when I was at my worst. And who always made my sister and me glad that he was the "first man in his little girls' lives".

Cindy, daddy, Paula at Cindy's daughter, Leslie's wedding to Jason Beck (May, 2008)

The truth, just the truth and nothing but the truth

None of us remember things exactly the same way.  In my mind it is usually one way and that's most often not the way someone else remembers it.

I thought of that concept this morning as I made some French toast.

In my son Tray's mind, we had French toast every morning during his time in high school. His sisters were both in college and between the Fall of 1992 and June, 1995, we followed the same routine I had started many years before.  I always woke my children up with a cup of coffee.  I would sit with them as they started to enjoy that first cup - each one individually - first Becca, then Renee and finally Tray.  It seemed to me to be a good time to visit with my children (I am not sure they agree with that) as we talked about what was ahead for them and for all of us as the day got started.  I never actually prayed aloud with them, but it was my way of letting them know they were important to me and that I would be thinking of them and praying for them during the day.


Sorry, I'm digressing.


Back to the French toast.

We did have coffee every morning and maybe Tray is right. French toast was easy.  The kitchen and my bathroom were in close proximity and I could multi-task with no trouble.  Heat the  pan, put on make up base.  While one side browned - the eye shadow, liner, mascara were applied.  As the second side browned, I could usually get the blush and final touches done.  If the toast got cold before he got there to eat it, he could stick it in the microwave for a few seconds and it would be fine. While he ate, I fixed my hair. Then one of us would put the dishes in the sink and we were off. - him to Englewood High School and me to my job at Vistakon.  I had it down to a science.

But I really don't think we French toast every morning.

However, one of the things my son and I have in common is that we both remember every thing that happens.  And some things stay in our mind so strongly that it seems like we did it many times when it might have happened only occasionally.

For example -

A view of Jacksonville from River Road in San Marco

River Road is a favorite place of mine.  I go there often to meet my friend, Marigrace, and give her a ride somewhere.  I like to get there early enough so that I can enjoy the river or as she says "get my river fix".

In addition to enjoying the view, I have happy memories of that place.

When my sister, Cindy and I were little girls, our mother went to work at Atlantic Discount, a company that processed automobile loans.  Her rationale for doing this was that she wanted to buy a car (which she did, a little blue plymouth that was affectionately known as her puddle jumper).  She tells me that she worked there only a few months. 

It seems that daddy, Cindy and I spent many Saturdays enjoying a picnic lunch right there on River Road.  Happy memories - except...

We probably went there one Saturday, maybe two.  And it must have been that mother worked a half day and we were there before time to pick her up. Her office was not too far from where we picniced.

Once I wrote that I remembered riding bikes with my children and that it reminded me of the scene in The Sound of Music when the VonTrapp children rode through the countryside singing "Do Re Mi".

In my mind, we did it lots of times.  My children say once or maybe twice.

So tell me, when I remember something that gave me joy and it grows in my mind - and I write about it - is that embellishing?  Am I stretching the truth?  Is it okay to stretch the truth?  In the world of writers, we call this "poetic license".  We have to be careful because if we stretch it too far, it can become slander or libel - but how far can we go?

As a Christian, I think it's important to tell the truth.  One of the Ten Commandments addresses that when it tells us not to bear false witness.  Philippians 3:8 says "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things," (New International Version).

Think about what's true; concentrate on truth.  But also think on things that are lovely, admirable, praisworthy.

That would be things like the river; memories of growing up as Earl and Iva Huffingham's daughter and Cindy Huffingham Williams' sister; the fun I had raising my children and yes, even the French toast that Tray got so tired of.

Do I embellish?  Really not that much.  After all it is important to tell the truth, just the truth and nothing but the truth?  And here's another question  - is there ever a time that we shouldn't tell the truth?  Let's save that thought for another day.


 .

Five men and a ceiling fan

I was crazy about my daddy - and sometimes he drove me crazy.

Try as I did, I never could convince him that I do not have to rely on a man to help me with projects that are traditionally male-oriented.  I have a tool box, know what to do with a paint brush and can usually tell what might be wrong when something sounds unusual in my car. That last one is a bit of a stretch.

Daddy was not unlike most men of his generation.  He just thought there were things I shouldn't do.  We had a running discussion - mostly on what I shouldn't do  - because to me he was saying they were things I couldn't do.  And I never stopped wanting to prove to him that I could do anything I set my mind to.

It would really get me when he implied that I was not capable of the task at hand.  It made me think he thought I was weak. 


When Rich Suhey died, it got worse.  Now not only was I not supposed to do things because I am a female.  I was a "little widow woman" who needed the help of a man.

Please don't misunderstand me.  It's not that I don't like a little attention.  If I am being truly honest, my problem is that I don't like to wait on a little attention.

That said - I can also say that I know what the Bible says about widows and orphans (James 1:27) but I mean really...I usually can do what I might need a man to do.

Several months ago as I was changing a burned out bulb in the ceiling fan/light that hangs over my desk, there was a pop and then there was nothing - no fan, no light.  I kept thinking I was going to get it fixed.  It just never was a priority. 

Until the warm days of Spring became the hot days of Summer.  And as much time as I spend at a computer - I needed the light.

"Let's ask the MUGS to do it," my mother suggested.  The MUGS are Men Under God's Service at Mandarin Presbyterian Church where she worships.  They love her there and are always offering to help with anything she might need.

I kept saying no.  Until finally, I told her to go for it.

The day that they were coming arrived.  I had spent the early hours of the day working in my garden.  I planned to take a shower, etc before they were due (this tells you I'm okay with being a female, right?).  However, Doug and Rob arrived to find a dirt-splattered, no make-up or hair fixed Paula.

Oh well.  An additional need was that the sprinkler system didn't seem to be running exactly as it should - Could they take a look at it? They would be happy to but suggested addressing the electrical issue first.  That would be simple.

The two men had worked for over an hour when my doorbell rang.  Pat and Phil had come to their rescue.  In a few minutes, Randy, the chair person of MUGS arrived.

I told them it was rare for me to have one man in my office.  It was pretty cool to have five.

Another hour.  They really were perplexed.  I was ready to go purchase a new ceiling fan.  Pat was not going to let this go.  He knew it could be fixed.

Then one of them pulled a little black cover from the housing of the apparatus.  A light bulb went off in my head.

Does the fact that the ceiling fan has a remote have anything to do with this?

"Everything to do with this," someone said.

I felt like one of those women who calls the washing machine repairman before checking to see if all the cords are plugged in.

Within minutes the ceiling fan was oscillating and the office was filled with light.

In all of our defense, the original problem had nothing to do with the remote.  However, when their electrical tester was showing there was power and the light was still not working, that's when the fact that there was a remote entered into the equation.

Almost three hours had passed.  Five men had joined together to fix a ceiling fan.  And the strangest thing to me was that they all acted like they were having a good time. Their actions brought to mind a  Bible verse. "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men," (Colossians 3:23).

What a blessing these men, who really love my mother, were to me!

As I watched them leave,  I noticed they were all smiling. Well,  maybe they were laughing.  Maybe they thought I really was like the lady who didn't check the plug before calling the repairman - maybe they were thinking the same thing my daddy might have been saying -- it's just because she's a girl.  But I tell you what I think...

What else needs fixing around here?

Strawberry Ice Cream

What do you do when you are stressed?  Do you have a de-stressing tactic?  Or are you a person who never gets stressed? 

There has been more than one time in my life when I have snapped at someone - just because I was stressed and I absolutely hate for that to happen.  Unfortunately the older I get the less tolerance I have so that happens much more than I am comfortable with.

I am always looking for a solution.

My friend, Tamra offered me one.  Tamra and I met when we were both working in Corporate America.  We were in an Administrative Professionals Group.  We meet for supper about every six weeks. 

This past week was one of those times.  Our chats usually include what's going on with her job, one that she has loved for many years.  Like most "jobs", this one has good and bad days.  And it always carries a certain amount of - stress.

She talked and I listened.  I endeavored to be sympathetic.  I even started to give her some words of wisdom - including Scripture.

And then Tamra said - "well, this is what I do."

"I have a little pad in my lower desk drawer," she said, "Whenever I read something that is encouraging, whether it is Scripture or someone's words, I write those words on that pad.  Then when I am feeling discouraged or even a little frightened, I will pull that pad out and be reminded that life probably isn't as bad as it feels at that moment - and be encouraged to keep on going. It really helps me when I feel stressed."

Sounds like a good plan to me.

As we continued our chat, Tamra talked about a recent visit with her daddy in a little town not too far from Atlanta.  Her mom passed away a few months ago and she's been going up occasionally to clean out closets and help her dad as much as possible.

She talked about a recent visit with him.  She said they got into his little truck and drove out to a farm where they picked strawberries.  When their baskets were full, they each got a strawberry ice cream cone.  She said they had a super time - sitting in the cab of the truck - continuing to visit and enjoying the ice cream.

I told her that sounded like a good story for her little note pad. 

At this time in my life the things that stress me most are related to what my next step should be, would be, could be, and of course because my 89 year old mother lives with me - there is some stress involved there and most of the time it is my mother whose ears are the receptacle for my pontifcation that is related to my stress!

Tamra's plan should work for me - I might not have a little note pad in my desk - but I can reach into my memory bank and pull out a time that made me smile.

The world offers stress relievers - pills, Yoga, a glass or two of wine - and what about that old Calgon advertisement  - - Calgon, take me away?  Remembering a happy time will do the same thing.  Just ask Tamra.

I love a man in a uniform

Sunday, May 13, 2012 - Time to head on home.

Surely there would be no adventure today.  All we needed to do was travel the two hours back to Jacksonville.

The dining area was filled with young men and a couple of women in field uniforms.  Some of those marines the desk clerk had told us about.

Bagels and hard boiled eggs, instant oatmeal, juice... We had finished our breakfast and as we were leaving, I realized mother wasn't walking out with me.  I turned around --

"Thank you for what you are doing," she said to first one and then another.

I thought daddy would be so proud of her (as would my veteran son, Tray and nephews, Chad and Brad Williams). 

Brad Williams, Earl Huffingham Tray Parker, Chad Williams - WWII Memorial, May 2008

And I thought I bet some of these soldiers will always remember when the pretty white-haired grandma on a walker went out of her way to say "thanks".

Interstate 95 was in my view as I suddenly saw some blue lights begin to flash on a car in the median.

"I'm getting a ticket," I said to my mother as I slowed down, pulled off the highway and took out my drivers license and registration (at least I knew exactly where it was).

The nice Georgia trooper thanked me for being ready and told me how fast I was going.  I was shocked.  I must have thought I was already on the Interstate.

He left and when he returned with the ticket and my instructions about the next steps - i.e. where and when to pay the fine, he had another word for me.

"Ma'am," he said, "I'm not going to ticket you for this, but in Georgia, you aren't allowed to have anything impede the name of the county where your tag is registered."

I, of course, have a University of Florida frame around mine.

Actually in Florida, all license tags do not have a county inscribed.  I've been checking that one out.

This nice man in a uniform must be a Georgia fan.

The Florida state line, the Jacksonville city limit, Mandarin and Paddle Boat Lane ....

We arrived home to the laughter of grandchildren, Happy Mother's Day wishes and presents, and the hydrangea in the front yard bursting into color.

It was good to be home.  I was glad I had done this.  And then of course my mother said -

"So, when's our next adventure?"

Sad and Glad

Saturday, May 12th  - I was a little sad that the trip was soon going to end.  I wanted to go to Charleston and Savannah even though both of those towns hold special memories for me and I thought that might make me sad.

A line from an old song came to mind - "even be glad just to be sad - thinking of you".  And I heard a little voice in my head - "you are making NEW memories and in just a few hours your house will be filled with the laughter of your grandchildren". . . Sunday would be Mother's Day.  I had a lot to be glad about.

Our last visit would be with Doris Johnson Brockington in Goose Creek, South Carolina.

Doris's mother, Martha Louise, was  granddaddy Nesmith's sister. Aunt Mattie Lou was a favorite of my grandma Nesmith, so much that she named her first daughter, Iva Louise.  My mother was also very fond of Aunt Mattie Lou and I grew up knowing that Doris is one of my mother's favorite cousins. 

The two cousins enjoyed visiting as at her invitation, I enjoyed meandering around her beautiful home.

I took note of a familiar photograph.  I had seen a similar one many times.  Taken about 1930, it was Solon T. Nesmith who with Annie Rebecca Gamble had been the parents of Alva, Gertrude, Gerdette, Ellie, Mattie Lou and Solon.  There was also a little girl, Etta, who died in early childhood. 

Interesting note of the day was that it was the day that granddaddy Nesmith had been born - 115 years ago.  Doris told me that he had always called her chatterbox and I wondered why he never called me that - I guess it's because he was too busy calling me (and all the other females in our family) "sister".

After a delicious lunch, it was time for the short trip into Charleston.

I have wonderful memories of a day that Rich Suhey and I spent in Charleston in 1997 after Jennifer and Jeff Calabrese's wedding.  My living room remains the home of a beautiful print of a Charleston door which began a collection of similar prints that I still enjoy.

When we were planning this trip, I determined that we should not travel more than a couple hours at a time.  So rather than come on home, we were going to spend the night in Savannah.  I have "Rich" memories of Savannah also - and a print of a door to prove it.  Besides my mother had never been to The Lady and her Sons (AKA - Paula Deen's).

Thanks to my friend Sandy Harbison, we had a great rate at a Best Western.  We checked in and put our things away and were off into the city - where of course we could find no parking place.

We drove by The Lady a couple of  times and the line was not long.  So mother suggested that I put her out, she would get in line and hopefully I would be back before they had a table for us.(Don't stop reading here).

With a little hesitation, I decided that was our best option.  Now remember, my mother goes nowhere without the assistance of "Big Blue", her walker.

We had seen a parking garage.  It now alluded me. I seemed to be driving in a circle.  When I realized that I had driven past The Lady and Her Sons at least twice, I knew I was driving in a circle.  Once when I rounded the corner where the restaurant is located, I put my window down and was able to speak to a hostess.  My mother was fine.  She was in the gift shop.

Finally - I made the proper turn and ended up at the entrance to the earlier observed parking garage.   I gave the attendant a $10 bill.  He told me to turn left at the arrow.  As I turned, I saw the way the pavement was going - DOWN.  Before I found a parking place I was on level four.  Maybe it should have been called minus four.   Me, whose least favorite thing in the world is a tunnel of any kind!

For someone who is really good at remembering, I often lose my car once I've taken my leave of it.

So, I took out my little notepad and wrote down exactly where I was.

I found the elevator, the doors that opened to the street and walked back to The Lady and Her Sons (by this time I was well familiar with its location).  My mother was still in the Gift Shop.  She told me that they now accept reservations - no wonder the line was so short - and that we were to be seated at 9:00 PM.  It was 7:45.  I knew that there was no way that my diabetic mother could wait that long to eat.  And I knew that if we ate at 9, then I would be walking back to the parking garage and into that abyss  - well after 10 - so we decided to forgo the Southern culinary experience this time.  My mother had purchased two items so she can say "I've been to Paula Deen's" now.

The Best Western's desk clerk had told us that there were 100 Marines staying in the hotel for the night and that we might hear them.  I was worried about that - for about a minute. Time to bed down - tomorrow we would head home - the adventure was over - but wait...there was one more surprise...that comes in the next blog.

He calls me Paula Raye

We were on the sixth day of our journey.  MapQuest had led us through Andrews and to Georgetown and we were heading south, on the way to Moncks Corner, South Carolina.

I remembered listening to a voice mail in April.

"Aunt Iva, this is Ken.  We got your letter and we would love for you and Paula Raye to visit us".

Paula Raye?  It has been a long time since we've seen each other...we being my cousin Kenneth Huffingham and me.

Mother had written Ken to see if our trip to South Carolina might include a visit with him and his wife, Laura.  It had been more than 10 years since I had seen him. He joined the navy right out of high school and although we have seen him occasionally, he has lived away from Florida since that time.  Both of Ken's parents (his dad was my dad's older brother, Ted) are deceased.

Ken's message invited us to spend a night with them and we accepted.

And now we were on our way to their home in Moncks Corner.

I was excited to see my older cousin.  Like many people, the older I get, the more my extended family means to me.  I have fun memories of our childhood and looked forward to the visit. 

A telephone call assured me that we were on the right track in our quest to get to Ken and Laura's home but when we found the address I was a bit taken aback.

There were several cars in the drive.  I thought I might have the wrong place.  I knocked on the door and heard. "come in".  I was not about to "come in".  The door opened and Laura, on a cane, greeted me.  Her daughter Amber was going to help us get our things.

"We've had a few things going on around here", Amber said.

"Mom had knee surgery four weeks ago and on Tuesday, dad had a mountain bike accident and he has a bad break to his elbow, upper arm and shoulder".

By this time we had mother in tow and were walking into the house.  There was an immobilized Ken.

Oh me.  We should go to a hotel  I thought.

Oh no.  They seemed genuinely pleased to have us in their home and set about to make us welcome.

The cars belonged to Amber and her husband who was helping them.  Laura's dad was also there.  He had wanted to meet some of Ken's family.
Pretty neat right?

Within moments, they were listening as mother told first one and then another story of what's been happening in our family.  I had heard the same stories all week and by this time I was about done.  I teased my mother and told her I was going to call one of the stories I am including in this recap of our adventures - The Queen of Detail - Give me grace.

However as I think back on that time what I remember most is the way Ken sat and listened.   And I remember Laura's words to my mother.

"We just love these stories, I think you should write them all down".

We talked about Ken's dad, Theodore James Huffingham, Jr.   I told him that our cousin, Diane, and I have decided we inherited Uncle Ted's keen interest in the news.  We remember he always knew everything that was going on everywhere because he read every word in the Florida Times Union - every day and watched the evening news religiously.  We also talked of our granddaddy - the man we called Papa and we mentioned briefly the pain we all experienced because of the alcohol and substance abuse that had taken a  toll on our family.

I shared a childhood experience from a time when I stayed with them and Aunt Frankie, who was his mother, insisted that I eat cooked carrots (something that I love today).  I wondered if he and his older brother Reggie were bothered at all when the four Huffingham granddaughters (me, Debbie, Cindy and Diane) came along. Did we steal their thunder? Were they glad when Jonathan and Lester came along so that there was an even number of each sex?

Ken also told us about Reggie who is now being cared for in an assisted living facility in Virginia.  Although it made us a little sad, we were also glad to know that he is safe.

As we left Ken and Laura to be on our way to visit another of my mother's cousins, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction - first of all for my mother, who had really looked forward to seeing one of daddy's nephews, second for Ken, who seemed so eager to know about all of us and finally for me -

It's been a long time since anyone has called me Paula Raye -

Kenneth Charles Huffingham - surrounded by Mother, Laura's daughter, Amber and Laura

  

 .

Cousins and those who wish they were

When we were thinking about this trip,  I knew my mother would enjoy seeing two of her cousins who live in South Carolina.  We contacted Katherine Tisdale Shaffer and Doris Johnson Brockington who both responded that they would really enjoy our visit.

I remembered being in Katherine and her husband, Vern's home in about 1980.  They had not lived in the Kingstree area very long, having come there from Washington, D.C. where he worked in the print press area of the Smithsonian Institution.  I found him fascinating and looked forward to another visit. 

Vern met us on the driveway and ushered us in to where Katherine was putting the finishing touches on a lovely lunch - BBQ and all the trimmings and a lovely blueberry dessert.  Mother visited with her at the stove while I went on the porch and listened as Vern told me stories of his work at the Smithsonian, about the way Hugo took several of their trees and about how much he misses teaching his Sunday School class.  He has had several operations for cancerous lesions on his face, near his eyes and he doesn't see as well as he used to.

He does see well enough that he has continued to print various scripture verses and gives them as a gift.  When we left we had two little plaques that included John 3:16 and I had two versions of Jeremiah 29:11.  He had asked me what my favorite scripture was.

To be honest, I never can remember the reference but I can always say "For I know the plans I have for you...". 

He just happened to have two prints of the verse.

Our next stop would be Andrews.

My plan was to just "ride through there".  My mother was born in Andrews and I thought it enough that we just say "we went to Andrews".

However, my mother had another idea.

A dear friend of our family, Cathy Skipper, works and lives in Andrews.  We could just pop in where she is a dental hygienist and say hello and then be on our merry way.

I think it's good to tell how we met Cathy here.  Many years ago, my grandma Lonnie was sitting on the front porch of Aunt Gloria and Uncle Leon's house in Florence.  Cathy was riding her bicycle and had an accident.  Grandma Lonnie called for help and the next thing anyone knew Cathy was in the house being taken care of.  She's been in our family ever since that day. 

We contacted her and she was not working.  We could come to see her at her home.

Hum.  I hadn't MapQuested that.

Not to worry.  She gave me the directions - including the landmarks to look for.  Have you ever driven in the country.  A mile seems like about 5 miles.  I would think - oh me...we've missed a turn and suddenly there would be the landmark. 

We arrived at the address she had given me.  It was actually her parents home.  I think my mother had met them, but I had not.  They were just as delightful as Cathy and we had a wonderful visit.

Paula, Mother, Cathy

My childhood friend, Linda Peppers Gurganious always tells people she is my cousin.  I refute her statement but always follow it with "well, we might as well be".  That's how we feel about Cathy Skipper.  She is not our "kin" but she might as well be!

The cousins visit was turning out to be right fun.

A quick drive into Georgetown so that my mother could see how it has been restored and we were off to Monck's Corner, South Carolina.  My mother had seen her cousin that day.  Now it was time for me to see mine!