Reprint of a story run in the Monroe County Advocate and Democrat February 27, 2011
Young Wins Antique Car Award With Grandpa's Car
Not being able to see over the steering wheel or reach the
gas pedal didn't stop him from traveling the world in
Grandpa's 1934 Plymouth. Brrruumm-brruumm.
Truth be told, the car had seen the last of its real-world
adventures when the engine died and Grandpa parked it
in the garage with all the other items that he may fix-up
or need someday. In 1965, when Grandpa died, Charlie's
grandma promised she'd save the car for Charlie.
Grandma moved the car to a covered lean-to.
In 1978, Charlie went to claim this piece of Grandpa that
he had always cherished. Snow and rain had fallen,
eroding the roof of the lean-to and funneling onto
Grandpa's car. Bit by bit the rain and snow had eaten
through the Plymouth's roof. Charlie's beloved touring
machine was rusted all the way through the floorboards.
Saddened, but determined to restore this beloved part of
his grandpa, Charlie lovingly loaded Grandpa's car onto a
trailer and hauled it from Rhode Island to his home in
Florida.
Nine years passed before Charlie had time to photograph
and dismantle his childhood touring machine. He moved
several times; wherever he moved, the chassis and bags
and boxes of car parts moved with him.
Retiring to Coker Creek, Charlie spent untold hours
researching, installing, tweaking, and polishing. He
became an Antique Automobile Club of America judge to
better understand what was required to become a
champion. He and his wife Deborah traveled thousands of
miles participating in AACA classic car shows and swap
meets.
Working his way up the rankings in the Antique
Automobile Club of America, in 2006, Grandpa's car
earned First Place Junior ranking. Last year brought Senior
rank. Each show was followed by more research, spit,
polish, and sweat to bring Grandpa's car to as-new
condition.
On Friday, March 14, in Melbourne, Fla., Charlie Young
and his '34 Plymouth took the gold in the Olympics of
classic car restoration, Grand National status. Charlie
says, "My only regret is that I didn't find out about
Grandpa giving me the car before it was in such bad
shape - and that Grandpa didn't leave me about
$100,000 with the car."
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Pain of Losing a Partner
Who is there to hold our hands and let us wail in pain?
Who is there to pick us up until we can walk again?
Who will manage our friends in their attempts to take over?
Who will tell the world at large to take our grief a little slower?
We cannot all get over it when we have lost our mates,
In a true partnership, where there are so many states
Of our live's necessities, in which we shared the load.
How can we function alone when we, on two axles, rode?
If only we had wailing walls where we could place requests
For one to take the place of our mates in decisions about what is best,
For the future which we must continue to face without half of ourselves,
For a replacement for the arms that, by once, we were so tenderly held.
I was blessed by reprieves when I thought my loves would die;
I have often thanked My Maker, no matter the reason why.
I do know how desperately we hunger for human touch
When faced with losing a part of ourselves that we have loved so much.
How is it that we can continue to go on with our own lives
Without the earthly unity for which each of us strives?
When we've had it and lost it, how can we not long
For an end to our earthly brokenness. How can this be wrong?
Even those who believe that God waits for their return,
For the physical presence of their loved ones still burn.
Shouldn't there be a way for us to embrace Eternity
Without having to feel the pain of losing a part of me?
Who is there to pick us up until we can walk again?
Who will manage our friends in their attempts to take over?
Who will tell the world at large to take our grief a little slower?
We cannot all get over it when we have lost our mates,
In a true partnership, where there are so many states
Of our live's necessities, in which we shared the load.
How can we function alone when we, on two axles, rode?
If only we had wailing walls where we could place requests
For one to take the place of our mates in decisions about what is best,
For the future which we must continue to face without half of ourselves,
For a replacement for the arms that, by once, we were so tenderly held.
I was blessed by reprieves when I thought my loves would die;
I have often thanked My Maker, no matter the reason why.
I do know how desperately we hunger for human touch
When faced with losing a part of ourselves that we have loved so much.
How is it that we can continue to go on with our own lives
Without the earthly unity for which each of us strives?
When we've had it and lost it, how can we not long
For an end to our earthly brokenness. How can this be wrong?
Even those who believe that God waits for their return,
For the physical presence of their loved ones still burn.
Shouldn't there be a way for us to embrace Eternity
Without having to feel the pain of losing a part of me?
Re-Creating Responsibility
The hardest thing a woman could do was let her children fly alone;
Being absolutely sure that they'd never again return home.
Watching these children parent and partner is an indication to me
That there may be something more that our society could not see.
Women weren't fully functional, except as an extension of the man;
This included the nurturing of men and children, in the Eternal plan.
When women become frail, there was often nothing but rejection;
To whom should they turn for fellowship and protection?
To have no separate identity but what is reflected in others,
Was the accepted norm for all women, especially for mothers.
Much was wrong with this, that woman wasn't completely formed,
But this was the accepted philosophy, our past society's norm.
Who would rise up and speak for all of those mothers
That had been told to keep silent in respect for others?
What was to become of women, once they let go of their children?
They were still unprotected from the callousness of men.
Many did not wish their daughters to have all the responsibility,
But husbands and fathers were not brought up to, caretakers, be.
What was to become of the women and daughters of our nations
Unless the fathers and the lovers sought their own re-creation?
There are many men today, though they may be relatively few,
Who, when their women are weary, know just what to do.
They have learned by truly becoming one with her soul,
Fulfilling the unmet needs that keep their union whole.
Being absolutely sure that they'd never again return home.
Watching these children parent and partner is an indication to me
That there may be something more that our society could not see.
Women weren't fully functional, except as an extension of the man;
This included the nurturing of men and children, in the Eternal plan.
When women become frail, there was often nothing but rejection;
To whom should they turn for fellowship and protection?
To have no separate identity but what is reflected in others,
Was the accepted norm for all women, especially for mothers.
Much was wrong with this, that woman wasn't completely formed,
But this was the accepted philosophy, our past society's norm.
Who would rise up and speak for all of those mothers
That had been told to keep silent in respect for others?
What was to become of women, once they let go of their children?
They were still unprotected from the callousness of men.
Many did not wish their daughters to have all the responsibility,
But husbands and fathers were not brought up to, caretakers, be.
What was to become of the women and daughters of our nations
Unless the fathers and the lovers sought their own re-creation?
There are many men today, though they may be relatively few,
Who, when their women are weary, know just what to do.
They have learned by truly becoming one with her soul,
Fulfilling the unmet needs that keep their union whole.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Sunny South
I love light, whether it's artificially arrived at, or the natural light of early dawn. It's so great to be able to wake to the clear shimmering crystals left by an overnight rain, made magical by the reflection of the pool lights, on the leafless tree outside our window. Upon seeing the sun, we have all day of twice the light as the it beams down and reflects up from the mirror of the marina.
When we're in the forest, light doesn't descend on us until the sun tops the hill behind our house in the latter part of the morning. Even then, the illumination in the foothills of the Smokies is hazy, hence the term Smoky Mountains. The light then leaves rather early as it dips behind the vast array of both deciduous and evergreen boughs on the opposite hill. It can be very soothing, especially in the heat of summer, but not so soothing when winter lingers long. It is true that we also have our share of fog, but we on the water see the sun fighting to free itself behind the bank of morning mist.
Maybe some of us suffer from a vitamin D (as in daylight) deficiency. I don't know, but I do submit that, whatever the case, winter in the woods is not the best for me and my mental health. And we all know that "If Mama ain't happy, nobody's happy" -- at least in the sunny South.
When we're in the forest, light doesn't descend on us until the sun tops the hill behind our house in the latter part of the morning. Even then, the illumination in the foothills of the Smokies is hazy, hence the term Smoky Mountains. The light then leaves rather early as it dips behind the vast array of both deciduous and evergreen boughs on the opposite hill. It can be very soothing, especially in the heat of summer, but not so soothing when winter lingers long. It is true that we also have our share of fog, but we on the water see the sun fighting to free itself behind the bank of morning mist.
Maybe some of us suffer from a vitamin D (as in daylight) deficiency. I don't know, but I do submit that, whatever the case, winter in the woods is not the best for me and my mental health. And we all know that "If Mama ain't happy, nobody's happy" -- at least in the sunny South.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Technology and the Tower of Babel
The new Tower of Babel is technology;
It seems that no two systems are the same.
Before I can communicate with anyone,
I need a password and a user name.
We are warned not to repeat them
From one secure account to another.
Is it getting to where we need secret names
With even our sisters and our brothers?
The sound of the voices of those I love
Is my preferred communication tool.
But with the speed at which life is lived,
Time between talks can be too cruel.
My daughter prefers that I text her;
My son wants no message left on his phone.
He checks and returns the missed calls;
I guess he does this when he's all alone.
The grandkids are into facebook posting,
Which is the way I most often see them.
My nephews and nieces mix it up;
It seems to depend on their whim.
Facebook is fine for small talk,
But I'm much too long-winded for that.
At least with the use of email,
We can have a longer "chat".
When having a misunderstanding,
Sometimes I find it to be better,
To put my discussions with others
In the form of a well-thought-out letter.
I do not mean to imply that
I often make use of snail mail.
I hate to send out greetings that,
By the time they arrive, they are stale.
I leave it up to each person
To let me know their preference,
And unless I want to be correctly quoted,
I usually give them deference.
The Tower of Babel seems to prevail
In my relationship paradise.
At least with written communication
Before "talking", we can all think twice.
It seems that no two systems are the same.
Before I can communicate with anyone,
I need a password and a user name.
We are warned not to repeat them
From one secure account to another.
Is it getting to where we need secret names
With even our sisters and our brothers?
The sound of the voices of those I love
Is my preferred communication tool.
But with the speed at which life is lived,
Time between talks can be too cruel.
My daughter prefers that I text her;
My son wants no message left on his phone.
He checks and returns the missed calls;
I guess he does this when he's all alone.
The grandkids are into facebook posting,
Which is the way I most often see them.
My nephews and nieces mix it up;
It seems to depend on their whim.
Facebook is fine for small talk,
But I'm much too long-winded for that.
At least with the use of email,
We can have a longer "chat".
When having a misunderstanding,
Sometimes I find it to be better,
To put my discussions with others
In the form of a well-thought-out letter.
I do not mean to imply that
I often make use of snail mail.
I hate to send out greetings that,
By the time they arrive, they are stale.
I leave it up to each person
To let me know their preference,
And unless I want to be correctly quoted,
I usually give them deference.
The Tower of Babel seems to prevail
In my relationship paradise.
At least with written communication
Before "talking", we can all think twice.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Back to Basics
My niece told me yesterday that she sees me as the family's chief cheerleader. Could this really be the case? Is my role in life to offer encouragement to those who are getting bloodied and beaten on the battlefield of life? Into what a weird place this puts my mind!
I was a cheerleader in grammar school, chosen by a group of boys who stated that they voted for me because of my loud voice. Once I graduated and went to an all-girl school, I was no longer chosen for any honors, as my loud voice was seen as a negative nuisance.
I figured that I had a shot at being chosen if I tried out for a spot on the cheer leading squad of our brother school, but I didn't really like the superior, snarky attitudes of most of the top tier sportsmen at that academic institution. I also knew that being chosen was not a way to earn friendship or favor with the other girls in my class. What was The Almighty thinking placing me in the midst of a stable of sneakily competitive sisters?
Southern women, for the most part, won't confront you; they simply shun you, expecting you to magically know why. This obviously is not my way. If I don't like something, I tell you; we can then negotiate for change. I don't always get my way, but at least we know how to avoid issues that throw rocks into our relationship.
Since graduating from grammar school, I've generally had disdain for the cheerleader types, mainly because they are mostly dedicated to whipping up adoration for a bunch of bullies. This was definitely not how I wanted to spend my life; and now I'm seen as a cheerleader by one of my almost-daughters. I guess we can run from our destinies, but we cannot hide. Our true selves will eventually be outed.
At least I'm back to the basics where I began. I cheer just as loudly for the hard-working females as I do the males. And I don't ever encourage unsportsmanlike behavior, aka, bullying.
I was a cheerleader in grammar school, chosen by a group of boys who stated that they voted for me because of my loud voice. Once I graduated and went to an all-girl school, I was no longer chosen for any honors, as my loud voice was seen as a negative nuisance.
I figured that I had a shot at being chosen if I tried out for a spot on the cheer leading squad of our brother school, but I didn't really like the superior, snarky attitudes of most of the top tier sportsmen at that academic institution. I also knew that being chosen was not a way to earn friendship or favor with the other girls in my class. What was The Almighty thinking placing me in the midst of a stable of sneakily competitive sisters?
Southern women, for the most part, won't confront you; they simply shun you, expecting you to magically know why. This obviously is not my way. If I don't like something, I tell you; we can then negotiate for change. I don't always get my way, but at least we know how to avoid issues that throw rocks into our relationship.
Since graduating from grammar school, I've generally had disdain for the cheerleader types, mainly because they are mostly dedicated to whipping up adoration for a bunch of bullies. This was definitely not how I wanted to spend my life; and now I'm seen as a cheerleader by one of my almost-daughters. I guess we can run from our destinies, but we cannot hide. Our true selves will eventually be outed.
At least I'm back to the basics where I began. I cheer just as loudly for the hard-working females as I do the males. And I don't ever encourage unsportsmanlike behavior, aka, bullying.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
What I Was Meant to Be
It feels so good to be back to a routine. The thing that I missed most about our lives before Richard became disabled was a rhythm to our lives created by his schedule. I was brought up to wait on those who take care of others. No matter how I fight this, it's still my comfort zone. This isn't a problem for me as long as there are young families, non-profit public relations efforts, or recuperating family and friends around.
When Richard was working, his schedule was brutal; many weeks he worked well over sixty hours. We had to carefully plan any time together. As social as I am, I'd often have to declare a week-end of "just the two of us". I often thought that I could be happy with only the two of us and the occasional visit from family and friends. I got what I wished for, in spades.
After Richard became ill, his energy was limited; simply having him continuing to breath became my primary goal. We had to limit his exposure to the germs of others, so having him around babies and small children was dangerous. My world contracted to be all about him and his health, but we still had easy access to our family and friends when we (or I)wanted company.
When Hurricane Katrina wiped out our house, our neighbors' homes, and the homes of most of our families and friends, she left behind all kinds of microorganisms that were potentially deadly to my man. We went away, but still came back often to help our people rebuild. They are all settled again, and we've been missing the celebrations.
I like to be home, preparing for my man's return. This requires that he go somewhere. There were only very few places to go in Coker Creek, and there was no urgency to anything. I also don't like to be in organizations that change my priorities from family and friends to hobbies.
For eleven years I've been creating daily events to give us a sense of purpose. In our little house in the forest, we were entirely focused on each other. We have about worn each other out with togetherness.
Now that Richard has daily employment (although it is volunteering), I can spend my days reading, writing, and being the best wife, mother, granny, and aunt that I know how to be. This feels like the life that I was meant to live.
When Richard was working, his schedule was brutal; many weeks he worked well over sixty hours. We had to carefully plan any time together. As social as I am, I'd often have to declare a week-end of "just the two of us". I often thought that I could be happy with only the two of us and the occasional visit from family and friends. I got what I wished for, in spades.
After Richard became ill, his energy was limited; simply having him continuing to breath became my primary goal. We had to limit his exposure to the germs of others, so having him around babies and small children was dangerous. My world contracted to be all about him and his health, but we still had easy access to our family and friends when we (or I)wanted company.
When Hurricane Katrina wiped out our house, our neighbors' homes, and the homes of most of our families and friends, she left behind all kinds of microorganisms that were potentially deadly to my man. We went away, but still came back often to help our people rebuild. They are all settled again, and we've been missing the celebrations.
I like to be home, preparing for my man's return. This requires that he go somewhere. There were only very few places to go in Coker Creek, and there was no urgency to anything. I also don't like to be in organizations that change my priorities from family and friends to hobbies.
For eleven years I've been creating daily events to give us a sense of purpose. In our little house in the forest, we were entirely focused on each other. We have about worn each other out with togetherness.
Now that Richard has daily employment (although it is volunteering), I can spend my days reading, writing, and being the best wife, mother, granny, and aunt that I know how to be. This feels like the life that I was meant to live.
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