New Kid: You Just Never Know

You just never know.

When your front doorbell chimes on Sunday afternoon, who might be paying a visit?
The preacher?
Not this time.

When I opened the door, there stood a pretty young lady, with a fish.
A good sized, yellow goldfish.
In a baggie filled with water.
She held it out like an offering to an unknown god.

Pretty fish - more yellow than gold and a great size.
Seems her daughter had received the fish from a Romeo.
Alas, however, she had no place to keep it, seeing as to its size.
She has Beta, but no place for a 3" x 3" gold fish.

Since her mother had heard from a relative's fiance that we were planning on cleaning out our goldfish pond and were looking for a container to hold the fish while we drained and cleaned the pond, she came to us, bearing a gift.

What? Run that past me again.

We'd been at Adams' Nursery getting some pots to transfer my gigantic ferns and saw some containers in their back lot. We talked to the folks there about the upcoming goldfish pond project, and there you have it. Word was out.

Joining Dot, Dreamsicle, Big Daddy, Jasper, and GreenieWeenie, among others, we have a new gold fish among our menagerie of fantails, speckled orange and white beauties, and butterfly koi,.. I call it New Kid.

And there you have it. What a Serendipity!
You just never know.

Lost and Found

A decree has been issued to declare me sane.
No vote is necessary.

I have found that for which I have searched.
For a month I have searched.
In the heat, sweat stinging my eyes.
Store rooms in the garage, crates in the dungeon,
Standing on my head, risking spider sightings.
I have video tapes of Richard's arrival and Christmas Pizza, other important events covering a few years that I used that enormous video camera (remember the 1990's?).
These video tapes' importance far exceeds many other tapes - even a video tape of GWTW.

These treasures for which I have turned the world upside down are video tapes my parents made for us from old 8mm movies.
YIKES
Now you understand.
I had them in Memphis.
I had them in Cordova.
I had them in Bartlett.
I had them in a bookcase
And then in plastic totes, Sam I Am.
Then, I unpacked.
Dangerous thing to do.
And, I put them away.
In a safe and secure place.
Double dangerous.

I've about pulled my hair out going from safe place to safe place.
Then, VOILA!
Today, after a month of searching, "What are you looking for?"
"Oh, just a few things...I don't remember where I put them..." I'm so nonchalant!
I looked where I had looked weeks ago, but then, I did not get down on hands and knees.

The tapes are in black cases and were pushed back - way, way back in the dark underground
Inside entertainment center cabinets under the TV, where the mechanism for DISH and DVR and JOEY and BlueRay live with all their wires and boxes and flashing lights and other so-very-important equipment.
A thousand pound weight lifted when my hands clasped the VCR boxes.

The wonderful thing is this:
While I may have lost some hair, some sleep, and almost lost my mind,
I did not lose the Family Video Archives.
Whew,

I live to lose other stuff, on another day.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The GIrls on the Porch

There, across from the Methodist Church and across from the proposed site for the new County Court House, the Gordons lived and prospered. And posed for a photograph with cows. They were city-folk now. Papa still taught school and helped his sister Mary Sue on the Gordon Plantation but they had mooooved into town in 1890.

Families in town sometimes kept chickens and raised hunting dogs. The Gordons did. They grew a little garden, also. They may have actually kept cows on the back acreage and perhaps some oinky pigs, also, but it would have been a noisy place if they did.

            Sometime about 1894-5, Papa had some cows he needed to sell. He determined to photograph the cows in the front yard of his home. This must have been a big event because he and his son George R Gordon donned suits with a hat to match. Four of the five daughters were helped into their coats and hats and hurried out onto the front porch by “Aunt Bessie,” the cook. The two older girls wore matching dark, double-breasted buttoned outerwear that made them appear much larger across the shoulders than they were. The two younger daughters did the same; theirs were light colored coats with mutton sleeves and festive, multi-pointed collars.

            This photo is affectionately known in the family as “the cow picture,” for if the cows were not about to be photographed for their sale, this charming picture of the sisters and their brother along with Papa and “Aunt Bessie” in the doorway would not exist.

            Frances, Susie, Mib, and Janie are posed beside one of the Corinthian columns, providing a backdrop for the photographs of the cows. Who took this picture? And where was Alice?

            In front with Cow 1 is an unidentified man with a huge, gray beard and George R Gordon, standing straight and tall, glad to be in the manly position of holding on to a cow. To the far right with Cows 2 and 3 stands Papa, Charles Thomas Gordon, and another unidentified man. Papa wears a white bow-tie and sports a pocket watch along with his fedora. He is dressed up to pose with the cows.

The rose trellis needs trimming as the weather must be quite chilly. The leaves on the roses appear dead and ready to crumble. The yard is dirt with some sprigs of whatever grasses grow without care. A brick walkway fashioned in a pattern leads up to the five steps at the approach to the front porch and open doorway flanked by two etched glass panes. Floor to roof shutters cover windows on the right side of the house, but are opened to the left, showing curtains in the window, suggesting the living area to the left of the center hall. The multiple Corinthian columns appear on two sides of the house in this photo.

            Missing from the photograph is first daughter: Alice V. Gordon.  She would have been sixteen or so and in typical Alice fashion would have raised herself up to full height, pitched her chin forward and said, “If you think I’m getting dressed up in a coat, standing out in the cold on the porch to have my photograph taken with a bunch of cows, you are out of your mind. You go right ahead. You’ll not find me there.”

Watching Life Unfold in God's Glorious Plan

Really. I'm not an outdoorsy-type girl.
In, fact, I'm sorta prissy.

But, I love this time of year, even with the sheets of rain that have fallen and the unpredictability of a full-of-sunshine day. Those will come soon enough...say, July.

Marvin and I have taken great delight in our koi and goldfish. The koi from the original group are rather large now and there are several juveniles and a "kiddo." One is named Dreamsicle, reminiscent of those delicious light orange dessert pops. Another is "Whale." We have "Dot" and "Stubby."  A little less politically correct is "Jap" who is a small, lightening fast white goldfish who sports a red circle on his fan-tail. "The Joker" has a green hue. Not all are named, but we get a kick out of feeding time.

The bluebirds are nesting in the box Marvin made last spring. We saw them checking out the floor plan and watched as they moved in. Now, they are taking turns going in and out of the house. Sometimes both are outside. Mama needed some breathing room, I'd imagine. The male's gorgeous neon blue is suggestive of a bunting, but they are not - just regular, beautiful blue birds.

Cardinals, bluejays, and those chatty mockingbirds along with turtledoves populate the area. There are wrens and fortunately, some martins.

A bonus is cherry tree season - it's almost time for harvest. Perhaps this weekend.We must keep a close watch because within a few days of the ripe harvest, the birds will strip the trees. We've considered netting, but decided to take our chances.

The other day, Marvin spotted a field-dee's nest among some gravel and rocks near a lot he mows. We went by to take a look and spied with great difficulty the two eggs that looked like gray and black speckled rocks, disguised perfectly. Both mama and daddy bird behaved as they usually do to lure any invader away from the nest. They are some  crazy-acting, dramatic birds.

Within a few weeks of our original sighting, the baby birds hatched.We took a picture.They were downy and did not move a lick.
Yesterday, both babies were up, running around the lot. I'm attaching a photo of the one that came to visit me. This bird was, indeed, "born yesterday."

Now,the nest of a brown trasher with four little eggs is in the knock-out rose bush by the mailbox. Yes, I've peeked in, but when I get the mail, if I'm really quiet, mama won't budge.

While I don't cook potatoes in the ground, nor do I camp in the wilderness where there might be mosquitoes or spiders, or where one would have to drive for miles to find a bathroom, I do love to watch life unfold within God's glorious plan .

Cue the Soundtrack

          We'd arrived at the cinema at the last moment, just before the movie began. The theater seating area was darkened. We walked further and further to the front, seeking two seats together.Stepping over several people, we tried to sit quietly and get situated before the big screen illuminated and the soundtrack began. To my right was my husband; to my left sat a 10 year old boy.
          The movie:  Jaws. The blockbuster event still keeps swimmers alert for great white sharks that happen to swim near beaches.The prospect of Jaws showing up also keeps swimming pool antics lively.
           Hum the soundtrack's few telling DAH-DA, DAH-DA, DAH-DA-DAAAA! and squeals will be heard from little swimmers who never saw the first scene in the movie Jaws!
            Before Jaws made his first appearance on the screen 40 years ago, the tension in the theatre had grown to a fever pitch, partly because we knew he was going to show up. We'd seen the previews; we just didn't know when he'd pop out of the ocean and into our laps.The music kept us on the edge of our seats.
             Then, there he was!

 FULL VIEW on the Big Screen, all gray and ugly, with a mouth full of about a zillion sharp teeth. I screeched, of course, and covered my face as soon as I could.  After about 30 seconds, the little kid to my left gave me an elbow jab and said, "M'am, you can look now."

A Ruined Palace

          History has been a favorite study course over the years: not enough hours in my college schedule for electives in history, though. To feed my hunger, I watch the History channel, make selections for the DVR , read biographies, and have a soft spot for Rehab Addict: Nicole works to fuel her passion by restoring abandoned, on the auction block, due for demolition, historic homes.

            Even the shotgun houses of tenant farmers or plantation slaves hold fascination. Some of these relics have been reclaimed and are now used for overnight accommodations along Hwy 61 in Mississippi. Then there’s the Johnny Cash home in Dyess Colony, a Delta Byways Historic Site. Johnny would not know the place; it has been restored and furnished with period pieces including donations from the Cash family treasures.

            A fine line must be noted when determining whether to become involved with National Register of Historic Places. Especially if the historic place is an old home, care should be taken to research the stringent requirements for compliance with the US Department of Interior. Some shy from such dictates. A marker on the doorpost designating the home as historic with the date of the original structure would be a nice touch, adding to historic significance.

Original Home, pre-Civil War home.

            I’ve grown especially nostalgic regarding old homes as I’ve worked extensively on updating family history with new information available through various websites and family interviews. Those family members who lived in The House on Harrison Street, including my brother and me, watched Camden, Arkansas, grow and change from a remarkable vantage point.
Across the street from the Ouachita County Court House, the First Methodist Church, and the Ouachita County Public Library, the house served as home for the entire group of Gordon siblings at one time or another. From the original structure dating pre-Civil War, to the new three-story (full attic) dwelling built in 1913 and remodeled in the early 1940’s, that house is filled with family legends. It was a forever home, until one August afternoon in 1959.

A 1932 winter scene of The House on Harrison Street

            A particularly poignant story I’ve written for a future book of creative non-fiction, a family history, has a working title, “Oh, Nana!  It’s really flaming now!” While I understand with clarity the reasons for the house being razed after the fire, my desire is to infuse life into it and other family homes that no longer exist. I’ll attempt that feat through stories that beg to be told.

When I see an old house neglected and in ruin, when I look up at “Cracker Barrel Portraits” someone has thrown away, I wonder at the tales contained within the walls, marvel at the lives once lived by those gazing at me as I devour a delicious breakfast.

            A quote from the Arkansas Gazette this morning is from a Chinese poet with a soliloquy on “Passing a Ruined Palace.”

            “Heavy dew. Thick mist. Dense grass.

            Trees grow on the broken balconies.

            Willows choke the empty moat.

            Fallen flowers litter the courts…

            The road has vanished. The landscape the same.

            The works of men are being obliterated.

            When I pass by the broken gate

            My horse whinnies again and again.”

Mirror, Mirror, Morph Me, Please

         If having a phone that’s smarter than I am were not bad enough, now the dressing room mirror at the department store is smart.  It promises to interact with me.

         The risk is bad enough in trying on clothes in a fitting/dressing room. Potential exists for perverts to ogle through “security cameras.” We older chicks don’t have too much to worry about in that regard. Even jeepers-creepers-peepers would gag upon viewing a body with sags, bags, wrinkles, and cellulite.

         

     The Wicked Queen, Snow White’s step-mother, had a talking mirror. Everyone knows what happened to that mirror when Her Royal Wickedness heard that she no longer was the fairest in the land. Risk is always involved with a talking mirror. “Yes, Dearie, those slacks do make your butt look big.”

    Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear will not burst forth from the wings, gift card in hand. Stacy will not comment, “What were you thinking?”  No magic eraser will be associated with this 360-degree mirror. No fashion-forward wardrobe will accompany these new smart mirrors. A coupon for a hair and make-up make-over could be printed from the mirror, however; I’d take that. 

            I once wondered what I must have looked like walking away from some cad as I wheeled around with a toss of my hair, and said, “Not in your wildest dreams.” I sashayed away in my mind with style and class thinking, “Eat your heart out.”  In reality, today, the mirror would give me opportunity to see my rear-view as it wiggles and jiggles and looks like a Jell-o mold in death throws.

          The magic mirror promises style comparisons. I now can choose several tops or blouses and see how they look, without ever trying them on. I can compare the looks through the mirror’s magic. I must know, though, after all these years that certain shades of green are not “in my palate.” Perhaps one of the choices could flash a red X several times to remove all doubt and chant, “Abort! Abort! Call the paramedics! Chartreuse: Death-bed sick. Try again!”

           What would be smart about a mirror surveying my overall look as I try on clothes is the advice my mother gave me long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away:  “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

On the other hand, if the mirror were truly smart, it would make me look 10 pounds thinner with hair and make-up like Kate Middleton. I’d buy the outfit and the mirror on the spot.