We're in deep mourning for a friend lost on Friday,
But our grief was made lighter in a "Social Sunday" way,
When a couple of our young families came to visit and play.
Harold and Gabe were delighted with their new found cousins;
Not only the preteen Corinne, but her dad Tom became fast friends,
While their dad James was in the kitchen, mixing magical food blends.
Our nieces compared notes on teaching methods and books;
Nik is currently teaching school, and for wisdom, Mel looks.
A little bit of introduction is all their conversations took.
The meal that we enjoyed was fit for queen and king:
Salad, jambalaya, ribs, and fried chicken wings;
The kind of joy I had hoped that "Social Sunday" would bring.
Is there anything more sacred than a family joyfully breaking bread,
Celebrating the lives that their beautiful families have ahead?
This is the sort of fellowship for which I believe we all are bred.
Richard was under the weather, but still he enjoyed the group,
Even though frequent naps took him often out of the loop.
A visit from friends and family can be more soothing than chicken soup.
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Caring Community of Coker Creek
What a wonderful way Coker Creek has
Of pulling together during any crisis.
There isn't one detail that these good people miss.
From the volunteer first responders,
To the preachers who are always on call,
To the neighbors who take care of the daily needs, one and all.
If there are hungry mouths, they feed them;
If there's a mess, the cleaning's done.
This little mountain town always pulls together as one.
How fortunate the family or the widow much aggrieved.
The call in the community brings all to the door;
When handling losses like house fires and deaths, who could ask for more?
Of pulling together during any crisis.
There isn't one detail that these good people miss.
From the volunteer first responders,
To the preachers who are always on call,
To the neighbors who take care of the daily needs, one and all.
If there are hungry mouths, they feed them;
If there's a mess, the cleaning's done.
This little mountain town always pulls together as one.
How fortunate the family or the widow much aggrieved.
The call in the community brings all to the door;
When handling losses like house fires and deaths, who could ask for more?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Young Wins Antique Car Award With Grandpa's Car
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."
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."
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.
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