People of Two Places

It's rather surreal sitting here,
Knowing that we'll soon be gone.
We've had a whirlwind trip
With so much said and done.

Many said they missed us
While we were so long away,
But we had to tell them
We were not here to stay.

There are several other couples
Who live here and in warmer climes
And their friends and families
Must feel that it's just fine.

Perhaps we can convince ourselves
That we are meant to be
People of two homes and places
One wooded and one by the sea.

A Legacy of Love

The House by the Side of the Road
by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I'm not sure that when Walter Foss wrote that poem, he was talking about living on Highway 68. Charlie loved to tell how when he moved to Coker Creek, you could set up a card table in the middle of Highway 68 and play all day without being disturbed. His constant complaint was about all the trucks and crotch rockets barreling past his place at breakneck speed. I'm not sure what upset him most about that the fact that Bootsie, his cat, couldn't roam free, or the fact that none of those barreling past his place ever stopped to say hello.

It didn't matter what time of day or night a person drove into his driveway, Charlie greeted that person with a smile and a hug...and a story. Charlie had stories about everything from his childhood adventures, to rum running, to religion. He said what was on his heart and mind, and lived what he believed. He was the only person I ever knew who actually thanked me for arguing with him without getting (in his words)"all pissy."

One of his favorite sayings was, "A hypocrite I'm not; a Christian, I am." We know that Jesus' time on the earth was spent collecting people, feeding them, loving them, and leading them on the road to salvation. Charlie lived his life doing similar things. He seemed to know everything about whatever he loved, and couldn't wait to take you along to enjoy what he loved with him.

If ever one wanted a tour guide, Charlie was your man. It was often a wild ride taking a tour with Charlie. He'd drive these curves with one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road. How we ever stayed on the tarmac is a wonder to me, as he was usually turned toward the person to whom he was talking. Now Charlie is, I'm sure, giving tours of heaven. I figure that The Almighty needed a great tour guide who could make getting to heaven look like a fun ride.

We all leave a legacy when we physically leave this earth. Some leave great fortunes to continue the work of their favorite charities; some leave laughter and love. Love is the legacy of our friend Charlie. He truly lived on the side of the road and was a friend to every man, woman, and child that crossed his path. I'm so glad to have been one of those people.

The Perfect Prize

Catching up on errands and popping in on friends,
This is how we spent our first day in
Our Tennessee mountain getaway in the forest.
These are some of the things we like best.

Today we'll be baking cookies and cakes,
And generally doing whatever it takes
To get ready for Charlie's memorial service,
Something that we really don't want to miss.

There'll be antique cars and lots of folks
Telling Charlie's stories and jokes.
Bluegrass pickin' will be a part,
All things close to Charlie's heart.

We'll sing and dance and honor him,
A man who so many called their friend.
Now that he's won the greatest prize,
We'll party him into paradise.

Singing of Spring

On the way, Nature's scenes
Of the many shades of green
With the backdrop of storm skies
They looked surreal to our eyes

Waterfalls that I had never seen
Flowing from the mountains of green,
Into rivers running red with mud,
Swollen with the snow melt's floods.

As we enter into into our lane
Spots of light called our names.
Solar path lights welcome him and me,
Along with our Great Pyrenees.

The snowball bush is at the stage
Of its most radiant white plumage.
Azaleas and dogwoods are in full bloom
The hostas will be flowering soon.

The creeks are running riotously;
The breeze is blowing wild and free.
We have many friends we want to see.
Today, there's no place I'd rather be.

Heading Home

We're packing up our sleigh and heading to Coker Creek today.
We are still working in Louisiana, so this won't be a long stay.
We are going to honor Charlie and hear Bluegrass musicians play.
And my little sister Deborah and I have so much we want to say.

I have webbed feet; as a Cajun, I don't do mountains well.
I feel so isolated at night, I feel I've fallen down a well.
It's not that my man doesn't love me and protect me from all beasts;
It's that the forest has many night sounds that I like the least.

We're looking forward to seeing friends who are much less wimpy than I.
They, unlike me, don't see wintry ice and snow and begin to cry.
A nighttime emergency on a snowy night has made me quite mountain-shy,
But the Appalachian Mountain way of life, at least I did try.

I watched a bit too much Dorothy and her Scarecrow and Tin Man;
I know the Wizard of Oz had nothing on the magic of my man.
But what of me without him, all alone in this dark place?
I wish I could handle my phobias with a bit more adult grace.

Will we ever be settled down in one place for life?
I think that's not in the cards for Richard and his wife.
All our losses have convinced me that nothing on earth is lasting
Our destiny may be roving until our own day of passing.

A Forever Friend

His wife has the great loss;
Will I help or increase the cross
That she ultimately bears alone
Until she reaches the Great Unknown.

His wife is like a sister to me;
It is she that I long to see,
Because words can't properly impart
Such depths of the broken heart.

Will I ever learn that dying
Is not always a time for crying;
That believing in The Hereafter
Should engender laughter?

I think not, as I long to see
The people who are dear to me.
To hear the voice that would say,
"Can you come over to play?"

Charlie welcomed with open arms
And shared his many charms
With all that sought a friend.
Now his party will have no end.

But what about those of us
Who, in The Almighty trust,
But still long for his smile
Like that of a happy child?

Will we still be able share
All Charlie's love and care,
That from him flowed so free,
And in our hearts should be?

Always Family to Richard and Me

What an honor it was to to spend yesterday's Social Sunday at Tristan's Eagle Scout installation! Richard helped this young man to build his Eagle Scout project -- an electronic bell system and belfry for a seminary. Richard assisted with the carpentry, not the electronics.

This is something I miss when we're in Coker Creek. Most of the people we know there are retirees, and the Coker Creek people we know with children seem to have little need for more parenting partners.I love being part of Richard's involvement with young people. He's never had children of his own, but he is passing on a lot of himself.

Tristan's mother, Terry Sue, is married to my longest lasting best friend's brother. When she was put on bed rest during the time Tristan was "in her oven," my friend called to tell me that Terry Sue had nobody to help prune her prize roses. I volunteered to help, as I had always wanted to know how to care for rose bushes. This blossomed into a wonderful friendship. You could say that Tristan was the catalyst for my friendship with his mom.

Several years later, Terry Sue asked if I'd like to join her and her second son in "enrichment activities," taking my grandson and her second son to the educational venues such as the Audubon Zoo, Louisiana Children's Museum, and The Global Wildlife Center. I gladly accepted, as I was babysitting twice a week for my grandson while my son worked and his wife was in school. This was the first of many outings with these two baby boys.

Whether Richard and I are in Coker Creek or Slidell, Terry Sue's home in Sandestin and both of our homes are now many miles from each other. Our heart strings, however, are long enough to span the distance. Wherever we are, I hope that Terry Sue's family will always be family to Richard and to me.