Saturday, May 31, 2014

Bittersweet Saga

      Secrets hide, buried in ancestry archives. Stories from the ages whisper in discovery, tales pieced together like a quilt. Hushed conversations and reminiscences hint at something more. So many women.  Too few men.
     Male heirs must survive to pass prosperity through the ages. Tug-o-war bows to male authority. Strong women are no match for aged tradition.

      Genealogists search family Bibles and attic boxes, taking lunch inside research libraries and beside grave markers. Careful toward accuracy rather than fancy, the storyteller’s pen writes the bittersweet saga. 

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Cookie Crumbs

“You are an adult. You cannot have both cookies.”

Life’s dichotomy struggles within paired give and take parentheses.

We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under Thy table, O Lord…”

Fern Michaels’ doormat heroine lived cookieless until she found truth’s broom and her husband's propensity for the entire cookie jar.

A wife offers both cookies, until she awakens to only crumbs in her bed.




Wednesday, May 28, 2014

White Linen Morning

“Good Morning,” chirps a bird on the wing. The song beacons lazy bones to emerge from her rabbit hole. Pull back the covers and greet the day, for it holds beauty’s daily feast. Stately pines and sturdy oaks shelter lush, fragrant honeysuckle banks that send waves of Estee’ Lauder’s White Linen to sweeten the morning. “Come and enjoy,” they call. Clouds drift, intermittently revealing the sun’s glow. Flirting with rain, sunshine wins the moment as my world springs to life.

Friday, May 23, 2014

What's It All About, Aubrey?

Little Aubrey has been begging to come to her Pawpaw’s house. Yesterday, her parents (who will be driving her) learned they have a free weekend. So, Aubrey’s coming to Rector to see Pawpaw, and her Nana, as a side note. Her parents will accompany her.
“Thrilled,” is how I put it to her mama.  And, we are.  I’m twirling recipes and entertainment in my constantly whirling brain as I make my morning walk of about 1.5 miles through Woodland Heights Cemetery. “I’ll bake a pound cake for the strawberries.” Oblivious, except to my plans.
I’m caught short.  I stop. Teenagers from RHS scatter the cemetery carrying bundles of American flags and a stake for ease in setting.  Each group carries a plot map. Several adults plus the cemetery director, Betty Essman, are with them. They accomplish this honorable task every year and pick up the flags on the following Tuesday.
Memorial Day weekend.  The holiday honoring those who served and have died  is what the preparation is all about. it's also about reverence.
Woodland Heights Cemetery occupies the northwest corner of town, set on multi-acre plots.  It looks like a park.  A lovely park, prettier than most municipal parks, anywhere.

Add to that a sea of small American flags standing at attention at each grave site where a soldier takes his/her final rest. Flying overhead is the ever-present American flag that waves with pride daily.
Along my route, I met a lovely lady, Becky Mount's mother, who told me about her family and where they lie buried. She has made certain the graves are adorned with memorial flowers for the weekend. We visit, just like old friends.
Such honor, love, and beauty you won’t see often, anywhere. My heart is filled.
I wish my parents were buried here, especially this weekend, so that Daddy could receive the honor, love and attention he deserves as a WWII veteran and soldier in the USMC.
Yes, Little Aubrey will be at her Pawpaw’s house this weekend.  We’ll take her to the park by the Community Center and let her swing and slide.  We’ll eat some Bill’s BBQ and strawberries atop pound cake (with a dollop of Cool Whip) and enjoy each other’s company. 

We’ll also make certain that she waves a flag and learns what this holiday represents.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Voices with Attitude!

Wordpress Blog will contain Pages that have been popular with readers. Also, I'll include a link to Delta Crossroads Magazine. You can follow me and this Blog in the same way you follow Lemon Pie Sunshine.  And I thank you.
www.voiceswithattitude.wordpress.com


A paragraph from the most recent post on Voices:


The tiny garden hose-filled kiddie pool that welcomed everyone along with the lawn sprinkler run-through has given way to the private backyard oasis, complete with a privacy fence.  Bar-b-que events are by invitation, because in bigger cities and more nervous times, people don’t know their neighbors very well.  Only shrubs, flowers, and ornamental art enjoy the front yard. Everything else has moved inside or behind the house, behind the fence. Gone are the opportunities to welcome neighbors and connect with the community at large.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Final Four is Over; Bring on The Masters

I know just enough about golf to be dangerous. Same is true about tennis, snow skiing, water skiing, croquet, cheerleading, and horseshoes. Family and friends know I’m not athletic at all, but have always thought, “Hey, I can do that.”  Not.
Any story I might share ends in tears or disaster or both. Sometimes the tears came from hysterical laughter, as I tried to get off the slopes after a fall. I was forced to roll to the side because I could not stand without falling again, tears freezing on my cheek. I’m a danger to myself and others. On my next skiing attempt, I flunked out on the bunny slope.
When trying to learn golf, I began at Putt-Putt and on that course I’m pretty good, until those challenging obstacles appear. Take the maximum on each hole and enjoy the party.
Recognizing my interest in golf and ability on the putting green, Daddy took me out for some golf lessons. On one drive, the ball lifted from the ground enough to clear blades of grass and we celebrated the accomplishment with cheers, fist pumps and a modified Can-Can routine. Soon I realized that club selection complicated matters, as did the heat, and the lack of a golf cart.
At this time of year, though, I look forward to The Master’s Tournament held at Augusta National Golf Course. Daddy's good buddy, John G Phillips of New Orleans, LA, is a member at Augusta National. He is well-connected as retired CEO at Louisiana Land and Exploration. Daddy was able to spend a January weekend at Augusta National with Bud and two other gentlemen. They stayed in one of the cottages, dined in the clubhouse, and played the Master’s course.  Each year thereafter, I watched Sunday segments of the event on TV, called Daddy and talked to him about his memory of that hole and his trip of a lifetime.

My fascination with the course is its beauty: the pines, azaleas, ponds, manicured fairways, groomed greens with the pin’s yellow flag, plus that iconic bridge. I also love the forever memory of Daddy’s thrill at having played “The Masters” at Augusta National.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Sisterhood of Spring

                      I don’t have a sister, but if I did, I’d want one just like my grandmother had.  
She had four sisters, actually, each with a decidedly different gift. 
Frances, Alice, Mildred

Mildred and Frances
The oldest of the Gordon girls, Alice, was the stern one followed by the second sister, the pretty one, Frances. A birth injury hampered the development of another sister , Janie, but the sister who was my favorite was Susie. Next to my grandmother who had the distinction as the baby of the family, Susie was the most generous, funniest, most welcoming sister, and the sister closest to my grandmother, Mildred. 

Susie and Mildred by the roadside
Mib and Sook, the Sisters of Spring, delighted in each other. My grandmother never said an unkind word about anyone, at any time. Her sister, Sook, said what she meant and it was sometimes barbed, but was usually hysterical, said with the driest of expression. 
Mib and Sook exchanged visits when Spring came and the flowers bloomed. They’d enjoy small parties with neighboring ladies and play canasta or bridge, enjoying a slice of cake and a glass of sweet tea or Coca-Cola. When Mib visited Sook, she’d come home with recipes she had written down, recipes for the desserts she enjoyed, adding the lady’s name whose delight she had sampled along with the  notation, “Grand.”
Mib and Mamie, her cook and long-time companion, made muscadine jelly and plum preserves.  They’d spend days canning Warren (AR) tomatoes and shell pecans from the groves on the lawn of the county courthouse and grandmother’s home place. Peas and beans from Mr. Hagee’s were shelled and snapped, always putting some aside for Sook. When we had several baskets and boxes full of culinary delights, the girls would make arrangements to meet at “The Meeting Place,” a pull-over on the highway between Arkansas and Louisiana, about half-way between, on the road to Ruston.  We’d be overjoyed at the exchange of goodies. Sook would arrive with Ruston peaches, a box of Mrs. See’s Candy, some Southern Maid doughnuts, and perhaps a treat from a neighbor’s kitchen. Sometimes, she’d come home with Mib to celebrate Easter, the grandest treat of all.
MJD, April 1950, Easter Sunday
In anticipation of Easter morning, for weeks ahead of the glorious day, generations of the Gordon family’s mothers and grandmothers dyed egg shells by dipping them into vats of vibrant colors. The egg shells would have the top portion chipped away, and would require drying for several days. These openings on the egg top left just enough room for a hand-fashioned, colorful crepe paper twirled top-knot representing a fluffy bunny-tail. The Gordon girls would fill the eggs with jelly beans, gum drops,candy corn, lemon drops, Hershey kisses, and M&M’s. Then, they’d gently fit the colored topper into the shell, making a distinctive specialty egg for the children’s Easter egg hunt.
Laughter well into the night characterized sister-visits.From my bed on the second floor, I could hear gales of laughter drift upstairs and I’d smile.No telling what tales were being told and I looked forward to the days I could laugh, tell funny secrets, and taste fruit at a roadside stand with my sister.
Just My Nana and Me in her side yard.
Each March, as the daffodils and iris begin to bloom, I recall my grandmother’s side yard filled with blossoms signaling the end to a frigid winter. Fresh flowers filled vases set around the various rooms, welcoming Springtime and the sun as it streamed through the windows. April’s days count to Easter morning sunrise and those specialty eggs which represented creativity, love, and whimsy, all delightful aspects of sisterhood.
Though I never enjoyed a sister by birth, I have sisters of choice who warm my heart and color my days with love. I learned sisterhood from Mib and Sook, the most joyous Sisters of Spring.