Maintenance and Merriment

Richard is fond of reminding people who complain about getting old that getting old beats the alternative. This is only true if we make it so. It’s easy for me because I was never proper in the first place, but for the good girls it’s gotta be tough.

So-very-serious Richard has a policy of adding something fun to all of aversive activities. When he used to be on call for days at a time with little sleep, and no time for fun, he’d do simple, quick things to treat himself – like buy a lottery ticket convincing himself that this would be his last week-end to work. Or, he’d buy himself some Honey Buns for a treat. Both these activities were done while accomplishing something necessary, like stopping for fuel. Now, Richard’s doctor has told him he has to kick the Honey Bun habit to get his triglycerides in check. Since sweets are his cure for stress, he may have to divorce me to succeed in this endeavor – but I hope not.

I prodded Richard into setting up his post-transplant care in Atlanta because I wanted to be able to visit with Rachel’s family whenever we went through Marietta on our way to and from Emory and the VA. Knoxville is a bit closer, but we don’t have people there; and my sense of fun is all about our people. Rachel’s family is now much too busy for much family time, other than the four in their nuclear family, but we still have Holly and Don – and sometimes Roger. So, we overnight at Holly’s and, with the money we don’t spend on lodging, have dinner on the town.

It’s exciting to me to see that Atlanta has become a food town. When I lived there for ten years in the eighties, it was all white bread WASP food. Steak was about the most exotic thing you could get at a restaurant. Now there are ethnic restaurants on every street.

Because Holly’s a chef, we usually ask her to pick our pleasure. On this trip, we were celebrating her birthday, so we really wanted it to be special. Holly loves short ribs, and had heard that there were good ones in a trendy restaurant in a relatively new dining area. I called and booked a table, being very careful to explain that Holly is the governor’s chef and that this was her birthday celebration. Holly even asked for the restaurant chef upon our arrival.

The short ribs were outstanding, and Holly’s mussels were very good; but we won’t be back. Absolutely no mention was made of her birthday or her status. The chef didn’t acknowledge Holly in any way, and the service was rushed so much that Holly didn’t finish her appetizer before her entrée arrived. Even though I had been assured that this would be a quiet night at the restaurant, the noise level was quite high. Since Richard’s voice doesn’t carry past his nose, this precluded conversation.

Richard, Holly, Don, and I are all excellent cooks. We can create magic in the kitchen for very little money. We pay a premium for ambiance and service. I think, for our next visit, we’ll hire Holly’s housekeeper to clean up after us, and cook in Holly’s home kitchen. At least we’ll get to really relax; and we’ll be able to converse in the quiet of her home.

Richard's Heart and Holly

Yesterday we packed and drove --
Atlanta and the clinic at Emory
This time,
For Richard's heart to be checked
And to create Holly birthday memories.

Brother Bill

My brother Bill is coming to stay
During our open house Holler Holiday,
Along with his daughter and her baby boy.
Anticipation has me quaking with joy.

Bill’s an explorer of the first magnitude
He used to walk miles for a bit of my food
He had planned to stay in Tellico Plains
But I convinced him, Coker Creek is more sane.

He and his babies can walk back and forth
For food, and bonfires, and fun, of course
I was afraid if they stayed off the mountain top
Iced over roads would, to our fun, put a stop.

Our nephews and nieces, babies, and brothers,
Children and spouses, grandkids and their mothers,
How much delight can two weeks bring?
Makes my old body want to stand up and sing.

Cute Little Camille

We just had to get greedy and stay up too late talking. Camille could barely be beautiful, much less lilting, after so little sleep. None-the-less, I dragged her to Coker Creek Gallery, Seven Sister’s Honey Acres, and Mamie’s house. I had intended to take her up the Cherohala Skyway, but my mountain mama Mamie suggested that it was time to put my baby sis down for a nap before her long drive home. Much as I hated to miss a minute of Camille’s company, I deferred to Mamie’s mothering sense. I never had any mothering sense, so I thought it was a good idea to take advice from a master mom.

Before we left Mamie’s we packed up some of her fresh eggs for Camille to take home. We also checked out Mamie’s guest quarters for my brother Bill’s holiday visit with his daughter and toddler grandson. Lastly, Mamie presented me with a beautifully done log cabin quilt. She said that she noticed that Richard and I had big beds at our house, so she wanted us to have the quilt she’d bought from a friend.

I re-stoked the fire and answered my emails while Camille crashed. I was excited that, after less than an hour, she was refreshed enough to take a ride to Bald River Falls with me and join me for lunch on the Tellico River at Kat’s Deli.

Camille and I weren’t close as children, neither in years nor in interests. With her being six years my junior, I considered her a baby. And the fact that she was so attached to Mama just added fuel to this fire. She was a solemn, thoughtful child, not easily amused by the antics of her older siblings. In fact, she seemed downright suspicious of us. (The fact that our sister Denice and I used to bring Camiile to tears by convincing her that I was dead probably didn’t help the trust level of our relationship.) The more we clowned for her benefit, the less amused she appeared. I decided that she was not only a baby, she was a boring baby.

Now, here we were, as middle-aged mamas with grown-up kids, sledding down the hills of the holler and generally acting like fresh-faced fools. We’ve been accused forever of being much alike, but we could never see it. Now that her aging has compelled her to go blonde, as I have always been (mostly with the help of Miss Clairol), we are beginning to celebrate the similarities. Her sense of adventure greatly exceeds mine, as does her education and common sense. We are both wild about the arts, as so many of our siblings were artists. And, most importantly, we both love a good laugh.

Camille’s husband, David, is a talented painter, cook, and musician. I’m attempting to get Camille involved in my publishing and art promotions business. I don’t want her to quit her day job, but it would be wonderful to have a business excuse to have the pleasure of Camille’s company on a regular basis -- if we can survive the excitement.

Happiness Hangover

It was great that Camille came to play
But I had to sleep half the day
To recuperate from all our fun
There are many jobs still to be done.

Mail to sort and bills to pay
String the lights for the holiday
Gifts to wrap and cookies to bake
Ice to scrape and leaves to rake.

Garland, glitter, village scene
Bows to tie and floors to clean
Time for a break in front of the fire
Making this list has made me tired.

A World of Whimsy

We woke to the sight of snow. I put on a pot of coffee, and built a blazing fire, hoping to surprise Camille with the feel of Christmas morning. But just like a little girl, she had jumped out of bed and looked out the window to check for snow as soon as she opened her big brown eyes. What a glorious winter world was waiting!

Camille was itching to hit the slopes with her saucer sleds. As I made breakfast and finished baking twelve dozen coconut macaroons for the Tellico Plains Candlelight Walk Cookie Caper, Camille put on her snow boots, grabbed a cup of cocoa, and scouted our property for the perfect pitch of property for sledding. If she’d asked, I’d already had grandkids sledding here; and there’s nothing like grandkids for finding the magic in life.

When we bought our house in the holler, there was a piece of property between us and our nearest neighbor that was just a fallow pasture. It wasn’t for sale, but I set my mind on having it simply because our creeks ran through it and I didn’t want to take the chance that someone would build so close to us on “our” creek. I hunted down the absentee owner and paid a premium for the land, but we kept the acreage intact. Now I know what we needed it for; this land is our sledding slope.

Camille and I found that it has perfect pitch for getting a good glide going. And it ends in a flat piece of pasture perfect for slowing your sled before crashing into the creek. We played and posed for photos until our old bones froze, then we got ready for a sightseeing and shopping adventure.

I showed Camille the rock Christmas village scene painted by a local artist named Hanson, which we agreed is one of the most original uses for rocks we’d ever seen. When I told her where I got it, we decided to make our first stop was the wonderful Coker Creek Welcome Center and Heritage gift shop. Here Camille fell in love with flapper-style knit hats, and bought one for herself and several for her version of Santa’s sleigh.

Camille is a fool for “cute,” so she absolutely adored the little town of Tellico Plains, Tennessee. We dropped off our cookies and spent several hours strolling through the shops, checking out artwork, antiques, books, and bakeries. I, who hate to shop, found furniture that will be perfect for our little house in the holler. I’ll substitute an oak rocker for the more delicate wicker rocker that is more in keeping with Camille’s tastes. Since Richard’s mantra is “Waste not, want not,” he’ll be thrilled that Camille requested the old ragged rocker. Camille and I will now have the sisterhood of the traveling chair.

Jack and Richard squired Camille around the square as I sat at the book signing table with Jack’s book. Everybody who saw Camille in her fabulous flapper hat asked about its origin. The Coker Creek Welcome Center should pay Camille for being such a darling model. She even had one local man follow her around flirting.

We ended the evening with a chat in front of our home fire, plotting future adventures.

Toys For Boys

Went to Sam's Club to reload the sleigh
With presents for the Christmas holiday
Lots of toys for lots of boys
Hoping to increase the joys
Of our first Holidays in the Holler.

Then trying to hurry to beat the snow
As back to the holler I had to go
Behind a big slow trailer truck
I found that it was just my luck
We went only twenty miles per hour.

Arriving home in dimming light
I came upon such welcoming sights
A roaring fire was on the grate
As Richard and my sister did wait
For a cozy visit and hot supper.