September - my birthday month. Two years ago I had no grandchildren - just one on the way. This year, by my birthday, I will have three! How my life has changed in these two years.
Jack, John Michael Harlow, grandson number 1. First grandchild, like his mother was, on my side. Typical first child, overachiever (he can spell his name!) enjoying the attention of everyone he meets. He's my muffin man, and I'll happily make him as many muffins as he can eat!
Clara Beth, Clara Elizabeth Harlow, granddaughter number 1. My little Ruby Jill. First great-granddaughter for Mike's parents, amidst 7 great-grandsons. Such a longed-for little girl.
Doc, don't know his real name yet, Holmes. First grandson for Bob and Debbie, my little Aussie mate. I can only pray we will see him often enough for him to get to know his American grandparents. I can't wait to meet him, and I'm taking a month off work, and going to the opposite side of the world, just to do that.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Service
The funeral of an elderly family friend was to be held in a small town in Alabama, close to the Georgia line. It provided an opportunity for me to take my 3 young children for a short drive and, after the service, have an unexpected visit with my parents on a lovely summer day. As I dressed the children in their Sunday best, I tried to impress upon them the importance of being on their best behavior during the service. I promised them a trip to McDonald's and a visit with Granny and Papa afterward. Oddly enough, my son did not complain at all about wearing "church clothes" on a regular day. While this was unusual, I was so happy that he was willing and eager to dress up and ride in the car, that I didn't question it. The children were amazingly cooperative and quiet on the 45-minute ride. All the way, I talked about my expectations for their behavior during the service, that they should sit quietly and listen, and even though there would be things they'd never seen and didn't understand, there was no reason to be afraid. I didn't realize that I hadn't been quite specific enough about what their expectations might be until we got out of the car. As I straightened Nathan's shirt and reminded him to be on his best behavior, he looked around eagerly and said, "Okay, mom, but where's the circus??"
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Nature Camp memories
For several years in the late 1960's, I attended Nature Camp, in Vesuvius, VA. At that time, we lived in Buena Vista, VA. I was offered a chance to go to Nature Camp, and went, knowing nothing about the programs, the mission, or the facilities at the camp. I was the least likely person to enjoy this experience. I was interested in the arts (primarily dance) and literature, not science. I was not a fan of "roughing it" and had never been camping in my life! I was very small, very shy, and not at all athletic. Who could have predicted my love affair with Nature Camp? I don't know what happened, or how, but I fell in love with Nature Camp my first year there, culminating in being named Best All Around Girl Camper that year. After that, nothing could have kept me from going back. I remember spending hours in the lab. There were counselors who became special friends, and campers whom I looked forward to seeing year after year. The magic of Nature Camp - I was hooked, and looked so forward to the time when I could become a counselor. Unfortunately, in 1970 my family moved to Alabama, and I never again had the opportunity to go back to Nature Camp.
Even after these 40+ years, I have fond memories of Nature Camp. I never became a scientist, but the lessons I learned at camp stayed with me far better than any of the science classes I took in school. Every now and then when I can answer a trivia question that no one expects from me, I think back with a smile about all those hours in botany, entomology, and ornithology classes. I remember the "big" test at the end of the session, and having to identify all those plants. Poison ivy was a dead giveaway, because there was a sign saying not to touch. The values instilled at Nature Camp still influence decisions that I make in my life. I was so happy to find the website and discover that the camp that holds such happy memories for me is still providing those same experiences to young people today.
Even after these 40+ years, I have fond memories of Nature Camp. I never became a scientist, but the lessons I learned at camp stayed with me far better than any of the science classes I took in school. Every now and then when I can answer a trivia question that no one expects from me, I think back with a smile about all those hours in botany, entomology, and ornithology classes. I remember the "big" test at the end of the session, and having to identify all those plants. Poison ivy was a dead giveaway, because there was a sign saying not to touch. The values instilled at Nature Camp still influence decisions that I make in my life. I was so happy to find the website and discover that the camp that holds such happy memories for me is still providing those same experiences to young people today.
A Grain of Truth
My dad's philosophy is, don't let the truth stand in the way of a good story. I subscribe to that, so as you're reading my posts, if you were there and don't remember the event exactly as described, please feel free to comment, but understand that I write from my perspective and philosophy. There's always a grain of truth in every story, and more than that in most.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Long-distance Gran
When my daughter called to say she had been sent from her doctor's appointment to the hospital 3 weeks early, I was making a presentation to the school board. When she told me labor was to be induced the next day because of her high blood pressure, I packed a suitcase and left the next morning to drive to the hospital - 13 hours away. Jack was born on November 15, and I stayed to help Elizabeth through Thanksgiving, when my husband flew up, and we drove back together that weekend.
We went back just before New Year's, then again in April, for Easter weekend. Elizabeth and Jack flew down for a visit in June, then we went to Rochester for Jack's baptism in July. Elizabeth, Jack, and Mason made a surprise visit to us in August, and then we didn't see them again until December. Elizabeth and Jack flew down on the 22nd, and Mason joined us on the 26th. So, in the first year of Jack's life we had a total of 6 visits, from 3 days to about a week each time.
Now there's another baby on the way, and how I wish we lived close enough for me to stop by on my way home from work and pick up Jack to give Elizabeth a few hours of rest time. Or close enough to drive over on a Saturday and take him to the park. But the reality is, that's never going to happen. Jack's daddy is in the Marine Corps, and he's never going to be stationed in Murfreesboro, or even within a couple of hours' driving distance from here.
So, the challenge is building a relationship with a child who lives so far away. Children learn to know and trust and love the people they see every day. One day when Jack is old enough, he will understand that his grandparents are people who love him, even though he doesn't see them every day. Until then, I just have to make as many opportunities as possible to see him and talk to him, and do what I can to help Elizabeth from here.
We went back just before New Year's, then again in April, for Easter weekend. Elizabeth and Jack flew down for a visit in June, then we went to Rochester for Jack's baptism in July. Elizabeth, Jack, and Mason made a surprise visit to us in August, and then we didn't see them again until December. Elizabeth and Jack flew down on the 22nd, and Mason joined us on the 26th. So, in the first year of Jack's life we had a total of 6 visits, from 3 days to about a week each time.
Now there's another baby on the way, and how I wish we lived close enough for me to stop by on my way home from work and pick up Jack to give Elizabeth a few hours of rest time. Or close enough to drive over on a Saturday and take him to the park. But the reality is, that's never going to happen. Jack's daddy is in the Marine Corps, and he's never going to be stationed in Murfreesboro, or even within a couple of hours' driving distance from here.
So, the challenge is building a relationship with a child who lives so far away. Children learn to know and trust and love the people they see every day. One day when Jack is old enough, he will understand that his grandparents are people who love him, even though he doesn't see them every day. Until then, I just have to make as many opportunities as possible to see him and talk to him, and do what I can to help Elizabeth from here.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Temporary Home
Carrie Underwood's new release "Temporary Home" is a beautiful song. The video is even more touching. And I saw an interview in which Carrie said she doesn't see it as a sad song, she sees it as hopeful.
The song contains three stories - a foster child, a homeless, jobless single mother with a daughter, and an old man on the verge of death. Each of these stories hits home with me, as I suspect they do with many people.
As the homeless liaison for our school system, it's my mission to find and help the children in the first two stories. Children who are "awaiting foster care placement" are considered homeless under federal law. Each state is allowed to define "awaiting foster care placement" and the state of Tennessee has not defined it. That leaves it up to the homeless liaison to determine what it means. As a general rule, I consider children in foster care to qualify for services when they come into custody or when they experience a change in placement, as with the little boy in the song.
Single mothers and their children make up a large percentage of homeless families. Domestic violence is one of the primary causes. Others include divorce, failure to pay child support, drug or alcohol abuse or addiction, incarceration, and the list goes on and on. We need more ways to help single parent families, whether the parent is female or male. Educational opportunities, child care, and affordable health insurance are crucial to enable these parents to take care of their children.
The third story in the song hits even closer to home. I'm lucky to still have both parents living. although we all know that can't last forever. For all of us, earth is truly our temporary home.
The song contains three stories - a foster child, a homeless, jobless single mother with a daughter, and an old man on the verge of death. Each of these stories hits home with me, as I suspect they do with many people.
As the homeless liaison for our school system, it's my mission to find and help the children in the first two stories. Children who are "awaiting foster care placement" are considered homeless under federal law. Each state is allowed to define "awaiting foster care placement" and the state of Tennessee has not defined it. That leaves it up to the homeless liaison to determine what it means. As a general rule, I consider children in foster care to qualify for services when they come into custody or when they experience a change in placement, as with the little boy in the song.
Single mothers and their children make up a large percentage of homeless families. Domestic violence is one of the primary causes. Others include divorce, failure to pay child support, drug or alcohol abuse or addiction, incarceration, and the list goes on and on. We need more ways to help single parent families, whether the parent is female or male. Educational opportunities, child care, and affordable health insurance are crucial to enable these parents to take care of their children.
The third story in the song hits even closer to home. I'm lucky to still have both parents living. although we all know that can't last forever. For all of us, earth is truly our temporary home.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Snowy Day Soup
I love to make soup. There's something so satisfying about chopping and mixing and putting things together to make something delicious - but don't give me a recipe! I might look at some soup recipes for ideas, but most of the time I like to just mix things together and see what happens. Sometimes it works, sometimes not, but sometimes I get really lucky, like this weekend.
We bought a Honeybaked Ham for Christmas, and I put the bone in the freezer. Friday, when we were out for snow, I took it out, put it in a big pot, covered it with water, and boiled it for a couple of hours. When that was done and the house smelled AMAZING, I took it off the stove and set it aside.
In a heavy dutch oven, I heated about a tablespoon of olive oil and sauteed one sweet onion, a clove of garlic, and about a cup of chopped celery. Then I washed and peeled all the potatoes we had in the pantry. There were about 8 medium to large red potatoes that were starting to go bad, so I diced all of those and added them to the vegetables, sprinkling everything with freshly ground black pepper and just a pinch of kosher salt (don't need much salt when you have ham).
While all that was browning, I took the ham bone and all the meat out of the broth, and put it in a bowl. I skimmed as much fat as possible off the broth, and added a couple of cups of broth to the vegetables in the dutch oven. When that was simmering nicely, I looked in the fridge and found a few baby carrots left in a bag. I cut those in pieces and added them to the pot.
Back to the ham - I picked all the juicy pieces of ham off the bone, removed as much fat as I could, and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. Then I added that and the rest of the broth to the soup. About that time, I remembered that we still had a few quart packages of corn from our garden in the freezer. It was a couple of years old, but I thought it would be a nice addition to the soup. I took it out of the freezer, cut the bag off with scissors, and put it in the pot. I cooked the soup until the corn was done and the potatoes and carrots were soft. The starch from the corn and potatoes gave it a thick, chowdery consistency.
I made a pan of cornbread and cooked some Golden Delicious apples in a little water, light butter, a teaspoon of white sugar, teaspoon of brown sugar, and a teaspoon of cinnamon. That was our lunch, along with the soup. It was delicious - the perfect snowy day meal!
We bought a Honeybaked Ham for Christmas, and I put the bone in the freezer. Friday, when we were out for snow, I took it out, put it in a big pot, covered it with water, and boiled it for a couple of hours. When that was done and the house smelled AMAZING, I took it off the stove and set it aside.
In a heavy dutch oven, I heated about a tablespoon of olive oil and sauteed one sweet onion, a clove of garlic, and about a cup of chopped celery. Then I washed and peeled all the potatoes we had in the pantry. There were about 8 medium to large red potatoes that were starting to go bad, so I diced all of those and added them to the vegetables, sprinkling everything with freshly ground black pepper and just a pinch of kosher salt (don't need much salt when you have ham).
While all that was browning, I took the ham bone and all the meat out of the broth, and put it in a bowl. I skimmed as much fat as possible off the broth, and added a couple of cups of broth to the vegetables in the dutch oven. When that was simmering nicely, I looked in the fridge and found a few baby carrots left in a bag. I cut those in pieces and added them to the pot.
Back to the ham - I picked all the juicy pieces of ham off the bone, removed as much fat as I could, and chopped it into bite-sized pieces. Then I added that and the rest of the broth to the soup. About that time, I remembered that we still had a few quart packages of corn from our garden in the freezer. It was a couple of years old, but I thought it would be a nice addition to the soup. I took it out of the freezer, cut the bag off with scissors, and put it in the pot. I cooked the soup until the corn was done and the potatoes and carrots were soft. The starch from the corn and potatoes gave it a thick, chowdery consistency.
I made a pan of cornbread and cooked some Golden Delicious apples in a little water, light butter, a teaspoon of white sugar, teaspoon of brown sugar, and a teaspoon of cinnamon. That was our lunch, along with the soup. It was delicious - the perfect snowy day meal!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Snow 2003
Snow was predicted. All the local channels said it was coming. Mike had to go to a meeting in Kentucky. He said his truck wouldn't be good to drive in snow, so he was going to take my car, because if the snow came, school would be canceled and I wouldn't have to drive. I hated driving that truck, because it was so big and I wasn't used to it. Much preferred the Camry, but I drove the truck to work, 20 miles away.
School had not even started when the snow came. I remember standing out front directing traffic in the snow before school started. It kept snowing, and pretty soon we knew we were in trouble. We got the word that school was closing at 10, and school buses started showing up, but before we could even start loading students on the buses, the drivers got a call saying not to load. The roads were too dangerous for the buses, so they had to leave, and the students were still at school.
A lot of parents came to get their children, but many couldn't get there. Phone lines were jammed, parents were at work in Nashville or Murfreesboro, and road conditions were terrible. Interstates shut down because of so many wrecks, and salt trucks couldn't even get through the traffic jams.
School was officially closed, so cafeteria workers had gone home and no lunches were being prepared. Finally some of us went to the cafeteria and found bread, peanut butter and jelly, and started making sandwiches. We fed the students who were still there, while teachers continued to try and reach parents.
Around 3 pm, we still had students at school. The principal asked the teachers who lived closest to the school to stay, so those of us who lived farther away could get home before dark. About 10 of us had to drive to Murfreesboro. We made a list of everyone's name, car make and model and license plate number, and cell phone number. Then we left, with Nancy leading the way in a Mazda Miata not much higher than the snow. I was driving that big blue Ford truck with white knuckles all the way but we all made it safely home.
The next day, Mike drove the Camry home from Kentucky, a trip that took far longer than anticipated, due to the road conditions. He heard the whole story, my irritation at having to go to school in the first place when everyone was predicting snow, anger that I had to drive the truck that he didn't trust to drive in the snow, and the frustration of being stranded at school with students, no buses, no meals, and no way to reach parents. Two years later, Mike became the Transportation Director for the school system. Now, when snow is predicted, all that goes through his mind. I don't even have to say a word...
School had not even started when the snow came. I remember standing out front directing traffic in the snow before school started. It kept snowing, and pretty soon we knew we were in trouble. We got the word that school was closing at 10, and school buses started showing up, but before we could even start loading students on the buses, the drivers got a call saying not to load. The roads were too dangerous for the buses, so they had to leave, and the students were still at school.
A lot of parents came to get their children, but many couldn't get there. Phone lines were jammed, parents were at work in Nashville or Murfreesboro, and road conditions were terrible. Interstates shut down because of so many wrecks, and salt trucks couldn't even get through the traffic jams.
School was officially closed, so cafeteria workers had gone home and no lunches were being prepared. Finally some of us went to the cafeteria and found bread, peanut butter and jelly, and started making sandwiches. We fed the students who were still there, while teachers continued to try and reach parents.
Around 3 pm, we still had students at school. The principal asked the teachers who lived closest to the school to stay, so those of us who lived farther away could get home before dark. About 10 of us had to drive to Murfreesboro. We made a list of everyone's name, car make and model and license plate number, and cell phone number. Then we left, with Nancy leading the way in a Mazda Miata not much higher than the snow. I was driving that big blue Ford truck with white knuckles all the way but we all made it safely home.
The next day, Mike drove the Camry home from Kentucky, a trip that took far longer than anticipated, due to the road conditions. He heard the whole story, my irritation at having to go to school in the first place when everyone was predicting snow, anger that I had to drive the truck that he didn't trust to drive in the snow, and the frustration of being stranded at school with students, no buses, no meals, and no way to reach parents. Two years later, Mike became the Transportation Director for the school system. Now, when snow is predicted, all that goes through his mind. I don't even have to say a word...
Thursday, January 28, 2010
G'day, Grits, and Graceland
In 2006, my daughter married an Australian. Dan's parents, Bob and Debbie, and his brother Steve, came for the wedding. They had never been to the United States before, so we wanted to show them around. We took them to the Grand Ole Opry, and to the Jack Daniels Distillery, you know, all the best places! Debbie is a big Elvis fan, so she wanted to see Graceland. It was the week of my spring break, but Mike was working. Courtney and Dan had to go to Alabama to get their marriage license, so I decided to take Debbie, Bob, and Steve to Graceland.
As we left Murfreesboro early in the morning to drive to Memphis, Bob said he wanted to eat at an American diner. An American diner??? This was 2006, not 1956! I thought and thought about where we could eat breakfast. Suddenly I saw a sign for a Waffle House. Perfect! This was as close as I could come to the traditional American diner.
Now, you need to know that Bob not only speaks with a heavy Australian accent, he doesn't open his mouth when he talks! I learned a year later when we visited their home in Sydney that even his friends have trouble understanding him. So imagine the frustration on the face of the teenaged Tennessee waitress at the Waffle House! She couldn't understand anything he said, and he was having the same problem with her.
First, I had to translate everything she said to us, then everything they said to her. Bob ordered white coffee, and I was just guessing when I said, "I think he wants coffee with cream." Then, I had to explain everything on the menu - scattered, smothered - and then we came to the grits! "What's grits?" Ummm, how do you explain grits? I don't even know what hominy is, I just know grits are good! Finally I convinced them to try some grits. I explained that Mike puts butter and sugar on his grits, while I put butter and salt, and maybe a little black coffee. They went the sugar route, and while they were all game, no one was converted. After they tasted the grits, I told them that they had just done something American that probably 75% of Americans haven't done. Bob's response? "Tastes like porridge!"
On we went to Memphis. We had no trouble getting to Graceland, and we enjoyed the tour of the house and grounds. I'm not a huge Elvis fan, but even I was impressed with the place. Debbie admired everything as we went through, Bob and Steve didn't have a lot to say. But at the very end of the tour, just as we were about to walk across the street back to the parking lot, Bob started shouting, "Look Deb!" I turned around to see what he was looking at, only to hear, "Deb, look it's a squirrel! Take a picture!" A squirrel?? They don't have squirrels in Australia, and the only place they had seen them was in American movies. I think I could have found a squirrel in Murfreesboro...
As we left Murfreesboro early in the morning to drive to Memphis, Bob said he wanted to eat at an American diner. An American diner??? This was 2006, not 1956! I thought and thought about where we could eat breakfast. Suddenly I saw a sign for a Waffle House. Perfect! This was as close as I could come to the traditional American diner.
Now, you need to know that Bob not only speaks with a heavy Australian accent, he doesn't open his mouth when he talks! I learned a year later when we visited their home in Sydney that even his friends have trouble understanding him. So imagine the frustration on the face of the teenaged Tennessee waitress at the Waffle House! She couldn't understand anything he said, and he was having the same problem with her.
First, I had to translate everything she said to us, then everything they said to her. Bob ordered white coffee, and I was just guessing when I said, "I think he wants coffee with cream." Then, I had to explain everything on the menu - scattered, smothered - and then we came to the grits! "What's grits?" Ummm, how do you explain grits? I don't even know what hominy is, I just know grits are good! Finally I convinced them to try some grits. I explained that Mike puts butter and sugar on his grits, while I put butter and salt, and maybe a little black coffee. They went the sugar route, and while they were all game, no one was converted. After they tasted the grits, I told them that they had just done something American that probably 75% of Americans haven't done. Bob's response? "Tastes like porridge!"
On we went to Memphis. We had no trouble getting to Graceland, and we enjoyed the tour of the house and grounds. I'm not a huge Elvis fan, but even I was impressed with the place. Debbie admired everything as we went through, Bob and Steve didn't have a lot to say. But at the very end of the tour, just as we were about to walk across the street back to the parking lot, Bob started shouting, "Look Deb!" I turned around to see what he was looking at, only to hear, "Deb, look it's a squirrel! Take a picture!" A squirrel?? They don't have squirrels in Australia, and the only place they had seen them was in American movies. I think I could have found a squirrel in Murfreesboro...
Monday, January 25, 2010
Turn on the light - Valdosta GA, 1993
As I walked through the room where my son was doing his homework, I turned on the light. He looked up and said, "That's okay, I can do this without it." I answered, "Maybe, but why muddle through in the darkness when we have the light?" That's when it hit me - how often do we try to muddle through in the darkness?
Jesus said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." (John 8:12)
When we try to "do this" (whatever this is) without the light, we make mistakes. But if we turn on the light and follow Jesus, we will never walk in darkness.
Jesus said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." (John 8:12)
When we try to "do this" (whatever this is) without the light, we make mistakes. But if we turn on the light and follow Jesus, we will never walk in darkness.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Reading this blog - a little advice
If you get to my blog and only have time to read one story, read the one about the tooth fairy. It's the funniest one. The one about mothers is probably the next best one. I put everything on today, so they're just in random order. Unless you know my dad, you don't need to read the ones about his birthday party. Happy reading!
GRITS - Really???
Okay, I know what you're thinking. I've already said I was born in 1954, so you know I'm old, and yet I'm calling myself a GRITS. Girl - really??? Well first of all, OLRITS doesn't really make sense. But aside from that, let me just say that I still feel like a girl. I heard my mother say recently that she couldn't believe she had a 30-year-old granddaughter, because (aside from the physical evidence) she doesn't feel like she's over 30 herself! I feel exactly the same. I do hope I've gained some maturity along the way, but it's really hard for me to believe I'm 55. It's kind of a shock when I look in the mirror!
GRITS and Gran
GRITS and Gran ~ what does that mean? Well, I'm a Girl Raised In The South (GRITS), and a grandmother, so GRITS and Gran describes me. Born in 1954, I've survived the 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, and 00's, and have lived pretty much all over the southeastern US. I was born in Virginia and have lived in Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee, with vacations in Florida and relatives in North and South Carolina. I have a husband of 35 years, 3 children, 2 sons-in-law, and 1 grandchild (so far). I'm one of the lucky ones my age who still has both parents living, but facing lots of health issues.
Recently my children found some writing that I did many years ago, so I'll post that to this site, as well as more current thoughts. I hope you'll enjoy sharing my life and thoughts, and will let me know what you think.
Recently my children found some writing that I did many years ago, so I'll post that to this site, as well as more current thoughts. I hope you'll enjoy sharing my life and thoughts, and will let me know what you think.
Kudzu - Daddy's 80th birthday party
KUDZU
Jennifer named this party kudzu - she said it started small, but quickly grew out of control. I think that's a pretty appropriate description.
The first seed was planted last summer, when my cousin Michael told me about a conversation he'd had with Dr. Doug Foard. Dr. Foard was on the faculty at Ferrum College when Mike was a student there. Their conversation was about the high academic reputation that Ferrum enjoys among small private colleges, and Dr. Foard said that reputation was a direct result of the people hired by Sidney Sandridge during his years at Ferrum. Later, Jennifer "googled" our dad's name, and found references from two prominent United Methodist ministers who talked about the influence that Dr. Sandridge had on their lives as students at Ferrum. I started thinking then about the extent of his influence over the years. Kudzu.
I've recently started paying closer attention to the stories my dad tells. In the past year, I've heard the "inside" story of the journey from Athens college to Athens State College more than once. It's pretty amazing. Those of us who graduated from Athens all know the story of Madam Childs, the lady who saved the college from the Union Army. I wonder how many thousands have received degrees from this university since 1975 because of the man who saved the college from the Methodists! Kudzu.
In January, Daddy's brother "Junior" died, and in March, his sister Dorothy. In Crozet for Dorothy's funeral, I saw cousins and other relatives that I hadn't seen in about 30 years. When my cousin Gay said she wanted to bring her dad and Aunt Mary to the farm for a visit, I started thinking Daddy's 80th birthday would be a good time for them to come. So when my mother said, "Kim, your dad's 80th birthday is coming up, what do you think we should do?" I already had some ideas in mind. But I was thinking of something at the farm, or to make it easier for my mother, at the church. Jennifer suggested the college, and the kudzu started growing. Jeff and Dejuana and Sandi and MC got involved, and they all had great ideas, and the kudzu grew and grew. Then, as I started talking to people and writing letters, everyone seemed very excited, and many people suggested more names and gave me more addresses. I think Curtis and Lea sent out as many emails as I did! Creeping vines of kudzu.
One response kept coming up, as different people contacted me about the party. When my cousin Mark from Texas emailed me to say he, Maridee, and Helen were coming, he said, "We wouldn't miss it." And when my cousin David from New Jersey called to say he and Bree were coming, he said, "We wouldn't miss it." And I thought what a tribute that is to both of my parents, that we have cousins here from both sides of the family, from Texas to New Jersey, and from Florida to Portland, Oregon, who wouldn't think of missing this day! Heart-shaped leaves of kudzu.
So, I think Jennifer was right. It started small, and grew and grew. And I would like to think so many people for making this day possible. To Dr. Bartlett, thank you for allowing us to use this beautiful building and for welcoming us back to the campus. To Sandra Stockton, thank you for everything you did to make this day happen - my dad made a good choice when he hired you! To Curtis, Jack, and Jim, for your willingness to be a part of this day and to help in every way, thank you. To all the family and friends who sent emails, wrote letters, and made a special effort to be here, thank you. To my family - my mother, siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews, thank you for everything you did to make this day happen, and for being here. And finally, to Mike, Elizabeth, Renee, Mason, serving our country in Iraq, Nathan and Jaime, and Courtney and Dan in Australia, thank you for all your help and your love and support.
The party was called kudzu. But the party was not really the kudzu. You are the kudzu - we are the kudzu - and if Daddy's, Papa's, Sidney's, Dr. Sandridge's influence has meant anything in your life, let it continue to spread.
Jennifer named this party kudzu - she said it started small, but quickly grew out of control. I think that's a pretty appropriate description.
The first seed was planted last summer, when my cousin Michael told me about a conversation he'd had with Dr. Doug Foard. Dr. Foard was on the faculty at Ferrum College when Mike was a student there. Their conversation was about the high academic reputation that Ferrum enjoys among small private colleges, and Dr. Foard said that reputation was a direct result of the people hired by Sidney Sandridge during his years at Ferrum. Later, Jennifer "googled" our dad's name, and found references from two prominent United Methodist ministers who talked about the influence that Dr. Sandridge had on their lives as students at Ferrum. I started thinking then about the extent of his influence over the years. Kudzu.
I've recently started paying closer attention to the stories my dad tells. In the past year, I've heard the "inside" story of the journey from Athens college to Athens State College more than once. It's pretty amazing. Those of us who graduated from Athens all know the story of Madam Childs, the lady who saved the college from the Union Army. I wonder how many thousands have received degrees from this university since 1975 because of the man who saved the college from the Methodists! Kudzu.
In January, Daddy's brother "Junior" died, and in March, his sister Dorothy. In Crozet for Dorothy's funeral, I saw cousins and other relatives that I hadn't seen in about 30 years. When my cousin Gay said she wanted to bring her dad and Aunt Mary to the farm for a visit, I started thinking Daddy's 80th birthday would be a good time for them to come. So when my mother said, "Kim, your dad's 80th birthday is coming up, what do you think we should do?" I already had some ideas in mind. But I was thinking of something at the farm, or to make it easier for my mother, at the church. Jennifer suggested the college, and the kudzu started growing. Jeff and Dejuana and Sandi and MC got involved, and they all had great ideas, and the kudzu grew and grew. Then, as I started talking to people and writing letters, everyone seemed very excited, and many people suggested more names and gave me more addresses. I think Curtis and Lea sent out as many emails as I did! Creeping vines of kudzu.
One response kept coming up, as different people contacted me about the party. When my cousin Mark from Texas emailed me to say he, Maridee, and Helen were coming, he said, "We wouldn't miss it." And when my cousin David from New Jersey called to say he and Bree were coming, he said, "We wouldn't miss it." And I thought what a tribute that is to both of my parents, that we have cousins here from both sides of the family, from Texas to New Jersey, and from Florida to Portland, Oregon, who wouldn't think of missing this day! Heart-shaped leaves of kudzu.
So, I think Jennifer was right. It started small, and grew and grew. And I would like to think so many people for making this day possible. To Dr. Bartlett, thank you for allowing us to use this beautiful building and for welcoming us back to the campus. To Sandra Stockton, thank you for everything you did to make this day happen - my dad made a good choice when he hired you! To Curtis, Jack, and Jim, for your willingness to be a part of this day and to help in every way, thank you. To all the family and friends who sent emails, wrote letters, and made a special effort to be here, thank you. To my family - my mother, siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews, thank you for everything you did to make this day happen, and for being here. And finally, to Mike, Elizabeth, Renee, Mason, serving our country in Iraq, Nathan and Jaime, and Courtney and Dan in Australia, thank you for all your help and your love and support.
The party was called kudzu. But the party was not really the kudzu. You are the kudzu - we are the kudzu - and if Daddy's, Papa's, Sidney's, Dr. Sandridge's influence has meant anything in your life, let it continue to spread.
You and Me, Daddy - May, 2007, Athens AL
I wrote this for my dad's 80th birthday party, held at the Sandridge Student Center at Athens State University May 27, 2007.
You and Me, Daddy
Daddy and I've had lots of special times together. For one thing, I'm the only one he loves. I know this because he's told me on many occasions. I pay no attention to that "only begotten son" thing, because I believe what he told me.
One of my earliest memories is of standing on the car seat beside my dad, while he's driving. Yes, today he'd be arrested for that, but this was a long time ago. We're going to a wedding, I'm all dressed up, and he's practicing the wedding ceremony, with me as the bride. I remember driving through the mountains of Virginia numerous times, repeating this scenario. The only thing that changed was the name of the groom. Finally, in 1974, he married me for the last time, to Mike.
I remember dancing with Daddy, from the time I was old enough to remember. We danced in a talent show when I was in high school, when most teenagers would have been embarrassed to be seen with their dad, much less dance with him, and on stage! We danced when I was in college, in this very room, and my friends were amazed to see their college president throw me around on the dance floor. We danced last year at Courtney's wedding. He's the reason I've always loved dancing, and put Elizabeth in dance classes as soon as she could walk - and now she's a dance teacher.
Daddy signed my first college diploma, drew a little star beside his name, and handed it to me with a kiss. Did you know that before he came to Athens they always had their graduations in the gym? They were afraid to have it outside, for fear of rain. Daddy said he would take care of the weather. He started the tradition of holding graduation in front of Founder's Hall, and continued that every year he was here, except one - 1975. The year I graduated, it rained, and graduation was in the gym.
October 6, 1987 was a very special day for us. That's the day he was kidnapped and carried in the trunk of his car from Birmingham to Atlanta. I was living in Atlanta at the time, so I went to pick him up. It was around midnight when we got finished at the police station and met Mama halfway back to Birmingham. I never told him that I was almost out of gas and had to stop on the way back, in the middle of the night, by myself, in Atlanta, to fill up the tank.
Daddy's stories and sayings have become such a part of our lives. I even tell some of his jokes. I can't pass a cemetery, especially if there's someone new in the car, without saying, "You know, that cemetery has a very strange rule..." and my children just roll their eyes. But that's okay, because I know, Daddy, I'm the only one you love!
You and Me, Daddy
Daddy and I've had lots of special times together. For one thing, I'm the only one he loves. I know this because he's told me on many occasions. I pay no attention to that "only begotten son" thing, because I believe what he told me.
One of my earliest memories is of standing on the car seat beside my dad, while he's driving. Yes, today he'd be arrested for that, but this was a long time ago. We're going to a wedding, I'm all dressed up, and he's practicing the wedding ceremony, with me as the bride. I remember driving through the mountains of Virginia numerous times, repeating this scenario. The only thing that changed was the name of the groom. Finally, in 1974, he married me for the last time, to Mike.
I remember dancing with Daddy, from the time I was old enough to remember. We danced in a talent show when I was in high school, when most teenagers would have been embarrassed to be seen with their dad, much less dance with him, and on stage! We danced when I was in college, in this very room, and my friends were amazed to see their college president throw me around on the dance floor. We danced last year at Courtney's wedding. He's the reason I've always loved dancing, and put Elizabeth in dance classes as soon as she could walk - and now she's a dance teacher.
Daddy signed my first college diploma, drew a little star beside his name, and handed it to me with a kiss. Did you know that before he came to Athens they always had their graduations in the gym? They were afraid to have it outside, for fear of rain. Daddy said he would take care of the weather. He started the tradition of holding graduation in front of Founder's Hall, and continued that every year he was here, except one - 1975. The year I graduated, it rained, and graduation was in the gym.
October 6, 1987 was a very special day for us. That's the day he was kidnapped and carried in the trunk of his car from Birmingham to Atlanta. I was living in Atlanta at the time, so I went to pick him up. It was around midnight when we got finished at the police station and met Mama halfway back to Birmingham. I never told him that I was almost out of gas and had to stop on the way back, in the middle of the night, by myself, in Atlanta, to fill up the tank.
Daddy's stories and sayings have become such a part of our lives. I even tell some of his jokes. I can't pass a cemetery, especially if there's someone new in the car, without saying, "You know, that cemetery has a very strange rule..." and my children just roll their eyes. But that's okay, because I know, Daddy, I'm the only one you love!
House in the country, TN 2009-10
Early in our marriage, Mike and I lived on my parents' farm in Harvest AL. My dad bought the farm when he was president of Athens College, and they had never lived there. It had 20 acres and a small, old house. We lived there for 3 years before Mike was transferred to Nashville and we bought our first house. Mike, especially, fell in love with living in the country. He had grown up in Nashville, whereas I had always lived either in the country or in small towns.
As Mike climbed the corporate ladder with Roadway, we moved from Alabama to Tennessee, back to Alabama, to Atlanta and Valdosta GA, then finally back to Tennessee, settling in Rutherford County, where we had bought that first house more than 20 years before. Every time we moved with Roadway, we looked for a house that we could resell, so country life was not in the picture.
In the meantime, my dad retired and he and my mom moved to the farm in Harvest. They renovated and increased the size of the house by adding an even older house that was moved from another property. Our children would go for a week of "Camp Madstone" every summer, and grew to love the farm, horses, dogs, and the appeal of country life.
After Mike retired from Roadway and we knew we wouldn't be transferred again, he started looking for hunting property. Last summer, he saw a property advertised in the paper that looked interesting. We drove out to look at it, and fell in love. We went to an open house, then made an appointment and went back a few times. The house is rustic, but spacious. The property is hilly, and the views are incredible! We saw deer and other wildlife every time we went. We took as many of the children as we could to look at it, and they loved it too. We felt it suited us perfectly, and would be a great place for children and grandchildren to come and visit. Ultimately, we made an offer on the property. The owner countered, and we accepted the counter offer. That's when the trouble began.
We learned very quickly that the homeowner was in bankruptcy, and the counter offer that he made to us would result in a short sale of the property, which he had not had approved by his bank. Not only did the bank not accept the offer, but they decided to put the property back on the market and raise the price! Two months later, no one had made an offer. In November, the realtor contacted us, saying that the homeowner's bankruptcy lawyer had a proposal. He suggested that we offer a certain price, which was lower than the original offer, but didn't include certain things like the two tractors, refrigerator, and porch furniture. He thought he could convince the bank to accept that offer, and the sale of those items would give the homeowner some cash. We did everything he suggested, and simply asked that the bank let us know if they were going to accept our offer by January 15. Once we got the bank's approval, we would put our house on the market.
Throughout the holidays, we waited anxiously, hoping to hear something. We wanted to show all the children (who were here for the holidays) and my parents the house. They had all seen the outside of it, and the location and views, but most haven't seen inside the house. Not a word. January 15 came and went. The following week, Mike contacted the realtor who told him she hasn't heard a thing. So much for the January 15 deadline. We still want the house ...
I'll keep you posted.
As Mike climbed the corporate ladder with Roadway, we moved from Alabama to Tennessee, back to Alabama, to Atlanta and Valdosta GA, then finally back to Tennessee, settling in Rutherford County, where we had bought that first house more than 20 years before. Every time we moved with Roadway, we looked for a house that we could resell, so country life was not in the picture.
In the meantime, my dad retired and he and my mom moved to the farm in Harvest. They renovated and increased the size of the house by adding an even older house that was moved from another property. Our children would go for a week of "Camp Madstone" every summer, and grew to love the farm, horses, dogs, and the appeal of country life.
After Mike retired from Roadway and we knew we wouldn't be transferred again, he started looking for hunting property. Last summer, he saw a property advertised in the paper that looked interesting. We drove out to look at it, and fell in love. We went to an open house, then made an appointment and went back a few times. The house is rustic, but spacious. The property is hilly, and the views are incredible! We saw deer and other wildlife every time we went. We took as many of the children as we could to look at it, and they loved it too. We felt it suited us perfectly, and would be a great place for children and grandchildren to come and visit. Ultimately, we made an offer on the property. The owner countered, and we accepted the counter offer. That's when the trouble began.
We learned very quickly that the homeowner was in bankruptcy, and the counter offer that he made to us would result in a short sale of the property, which he had not had approved by his bank. Not only did the bank not accept the offer, but they decided to put the property back on the market and raise the price! Two months later, no one had made an offer. In November, the realtor contacted us, saying that the homeowner's bankruptcy lawyer had a proposal. He suggested that we offer a certain price, which was lower than the original offer, but didn't include certain things like the two tractors, refrigerator, and porch furniture. He thought he could convince the bank to accept that offer, and the sale of those items would give the homeowner some cash. We did everything he suggested, and simply asked that the bank let us know if they were going to accept our offer by January 15. Once we got the bank's approval, we would put our house on the market.
Throughout the holidays, we waited anxiously, hoping to hear something. We wanted to show all the children (who were here for the holidays) and my parents the house. They had all seen the outside of it, and the location and views, but most haven't seen inside the house. Not a word. January 15 came and went. The following week, Mike contacted the realtor who told him she hasn't heard a thing. So much for the January 15 deadline. We still want the house ...
I'll keep you posted.
Mothers, mid-1980's
This is another "essay" that my children found recently. Before publishing it, I would like to go on record as saying it simply reflected my thoughts on a particularly frustrating day in 1986 or '87. I love my mother very much, and probably the reason my children laughed so hysterically when they read this is because I'm more like her than I would like to admit! Here it is:
There is something so contradictory about mothers. For example, mine adores her family, but we don't know why, because none of us has ever done anything right. No matter what it is, or how it turns out, her initial reaction is negative. The only thing I ever did that won her immediate approval was give birth. I was so happy to find something she approved of, I did it three times. It's not only the big things, it's every little decision. But you would think Mom and I could at least go to the grocery store together after all these years. Wrong!!
On a recent visit, my mother offered to babysit while I went to the grocery store, but the children wanted to go, so we decided we would all go. Mom offered to sit in the car with the kids, but they would have none of that either. So in we all went. The first stop was eggs. I picked up a carton of large eggs and moved calmly down the aisle. Mom was still at the egg display, so I went back to see what the problem was.
"Medium eggs are 20 cents cheaper than large" she said, "so they are a much better buy."
"But I always use large, extra large, or jumbo, Mom. Mike likes the bigger sizes for his breakfast, and I prefer them for baking."
"Well, I would rather eat a medium egg myself, and when they are so much cheaper, it just makes sense to use them."
"Okay Mom (anything to keep the peace), I'll get the medium ones." Well, that did it. She had won, and it was open season on daughters. I had to explain why I bought liquid detergent instead of dry; why I chose a small package of disposable diapers instead of the large; why I wanted name-brand garbage bags instead of store-brand; in fact, almost everything I put in my cart. Now, I was the one paying for these things, and you would think a mother would let her 32-year-old daughter buy groceries without questioning every purchase. After all, we're both adults, right? But that's okay, I had the last word, when on the way out I picked up a box of the latest ice cream craze, Bon Bons!
There is something so contradictory about mothers. For example, mine adores her family, but we don't know why, because none of us has ever done anything right. No matter what it is, or how it turns out, her initial reaction is negative. The only thing I ever did that won her immediate approval was give birth. I was so happy to find something she approved of, I did it three times. It's not only the big things, it's every little decision. But you would think Mom and I could at least go to the grocery store together after all these years. Wrong!!
On a recent visit, my mother offered to babysit while I went to the grocery store, but the children wanted to go, so we decided we would all go. Mom offered to sit in the car with the kids, but they would have none of that either. So in we all went. The first stop was eggs. I picked up a carton of large eggs and moved calmly down the aisle. Mom was still at the egg display, so I went back to see what the problem was.
"Medium eggs are 20 cents cheaper than large" she said, "so they are a much better buy."
"But I always use large, extra large, or jumbo, Mom. Mike likes the bigger sizes for his breakfast, and I prefer them for baking."
"Well, I would rather eat a medium egg myself, and when they are so much cheaper, it just makes sense to use them."
"Okay Mom (anything to keep the peace), I'll get the medium ones." Well, that did it. She had won, and it was open season on daughters. I had to explain why I bought liquid detergent instead of dry; why I chose a small package of disposable diapers instead of the large; why I wanted name-brand garbage bags instead of store-brand; in fact, almost everything I put in my cart. Now, I was the one paying for these things, and you would think a mother would let her 32-year-old daughter buy groceries without questioning every purchase. After all, we're both adults, right? But that's okay, I had the last word, when on the way out I picked up a box of the latest ice cream craze, Bon Bons!
Burned in effigy, Ferrum VA, circa 1963
In the early 1960's, my father was dean of a small Methodist college in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains. Although this was a time of great unrest on campuses across the nation, we felt pretty isolated, and therefore insulated from much of what was going on in the outside world. But I'll never forget the night an angry mob of students descended upon our house, determined to burn my father in effigy.
Our maternal grandmother was living with us at that time, having been widowed a few years earlier. Granny Brewer loved children, and by "children" she meant anyone under 40. So, we had a built-in babysitter, and Granny had her children, including every student on campus. She knew most of them by name, and more than that about many. And Granny always loved a party!
One week in winter, the students were upset. Seven students had been expelled, and it was an unpopular decision made by the administration. I, at age 8, was unaware of all this. All I knew was that my parents were out for the evening, and there was a crowd with torches coming up our driveway, shouting for my father to come outside. Terrified, I ran and got Granny, thinking she would hide us children and lock the doors. I should have known Granny Brewer better than that!
Granny opened the door and walked out on the porch with a big smile on her face. She recognized the leaders of the group, called them by name, and invited everybody in for hot tea and cookies. By the time my parents got home, the "riot" was forgotten, and the students left somewhat sheepishly. Granny was inviting them to "come back soon, we'll have another party!"
Our maternal grandmother was living with us at that time, having been widowed a few years earlier. Granny Brewer loved children, and by "children" she meant anyone under 40. So, we had a built-in babysitter, and Granny had her children, including every student on campus. She knew most of them by name, and more than that about many. And Granny always loved a party!
One week in winter, the students were upset. Seven students had been expelled, and it was an unpopular decision made by the administration. I, at age 8, was unaware of all this. All I knew was that my parents were out for the evening, and there was a crowd with torches coming up our driveway, shouting for my father to come outside. Terrified, I ran and got Granny, thinking she would hide us children and lock the doors. I should have known Granny Brewer better than that!
Granny opened the door and walked out on the porch with a big smile on her face. She recognized the leaders of the group, called them by name, and invited everybody in for hot tea and cookies. By the time my parents got home, the "riot" was forgotten, and the students left somewhat sheepishly. Granny was inviting them to "come back soon, we'll have another party!"
Tooth Fairy 1986, Lilburn GA
In the last 4 days before starting second grade, my daughter lost both of her top front teeth. The first one came out on Thursday night, and Friday morning Elizabeth came downstairs with a shiny quarter and a big slightly toothless grin. Her four-year-old brother tried with all his might to loosen any one of his teeth, to no avail. When the second tooth came out on Sunday, I noticed a strange look in Nathan's eyes, but attributed it to jealousy, an emotion heretofore unseen in his relationship with his sister.
Sunday night was the first night of "back-to-school bedtime" earlier than they were used to during the summer, and Nathan had some trouble falling asleep. He made a couple of trips downstairs before I finally convinced him to just play quietly in his bed. Finally, when I was certain everyone was asleep, I made my Tooth Fairy visit.
I felt under the pillow, where I had seen Elizabeth place the tooth when I tucked her in bed. No tooth! I picked up the pillow (Elizabeth always scoots toward the foot of the bed). No tooth could be felt or seen in the dark. I turned on the light. I looked under the covers. I did everything short of picking Elizabeth up, trying in vain to find that blasted tooth! Finally, deciding that it must have fallen to the floor behind the head of the bed, I left the quarter and hoped when the tooth showed up I would think up a good explanation.
Next morning, Elizabeth came downstairs with another quarter and a now almost totally toothless grin. No mention of finding a tooth in her bed, or of "hiding" it from the Tooth Fairy, so I started planning a thorough hunt as soon as she left for school. Until Nathan came down the stairs a few minutes later.
"Did the Tooth Fairy come, Elizabeth?" he asked. Upon receiving an affirmative reponse, he muttered, "Well, I don't know why, because I have the tooth!"
Sunday night was the first night of "back-to-school bedtime" earlier than they were used to during the summer, and Nathan had some trouble falling asleep. He made a couple of trips downstairs before I finally convinced him to just play quietly in his bed. Finally, when I was certain everyone was asleep, I made my Tooth Fairy visit.
I felt under the pillow, where I had seen Elizabeth place the tooth when I tucked her in bed. No tooth! I picked up the pillow (Elizabeth always scoots toward the foot of the bed). No tooth could be felt or seen in the dark. I turned on the light. I looked under the covers. I did everything short of picking Elizabeth up, trying in vain to find that blasted tooth! Finally, deciding that it must have fallen to the floor behind the head of the bed, I left the quarter and hoped when the tooth showed up I would think up a good explanation.
Next morning, Elizabeth came downstairs with another quarter and a now almost totally toothless grin. No mention of finding a tooth in her bed, or of "hiding" it from the Tooth Fairy, so I started planning a thorough hunt as soon as she left for school. Until Nathan came down the stairs a few minutes later.
"Did the Tooth Fairy come, Elizabeth?" he asked. Upon receiving an affirmative reponse, he muttered, "Well, I don't know why, because I have the tooth!"
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