Hunting is not my thing

Do you see a path through these thistles and other tall weeds? Kenny thought he did.

Ever since we have been married, I have made the trip with Kenny to sight his guns before hunting season starts. I have fired a gun on occasion, but generally I am there just to spend some time with my husband doing what he likes to do.

The first year we were married, I decided I would go out with him on the first day of hunting season. I even bought camo clothes. That was the most fun part of the experience. We were in the deer blind before the sun came up on a day so cold that if I were allowed to speak the words would have frozen in mid-air and crashed to the ground.

I could not talk. I could not move. I couldn't read a book because it was dark. All I could do was internally document the level of cold as its freezing fingers scratched beneath my layers and wrapped around my spine. 

In a normal situation, I would jump up, stomp around, flap my arms and rub my hands together to fight the cold. I don't think Kenny would have shot me if I did that, but he might have been tempted.

Well, I stayed until about 8 a.m. and then I headed to the house for breakfast and to snuggle under the afghan on my mother-in-law's couch. This is my only time "hunting."

But I do make this other trip before rifle season comes in. He checks on his favorite spots and takes a little hatchet to cut back the invading branches and weeds. The last few years he has been going to a place in Rappahannock County that has not been hunted in many years. And it has paid off. He got a trophy worthy deer there last year which, I am sorry to say, is staring glassy-eyed over my shoulder as I type these words.

Last Sunday, we marched through the falling and fallen leaves along the Thornton River. It was a beautiful day. Warm and sunny, but not too warm. No pestering gnats or mosquitoes that we noticed. 

We walked quite a distance and ended up on top of a hill. Kenny decided rather than walking back the way we came, we would cut through some underbrush that didn't look too bad. The picture above shows what it looked like as we broke into the brushy area. I wish I had a picture of what it looked after we were 15 yards in. I could not take a picture, though, because I had both hands gripping the back of Kenny's shirt because he was breaking through brush as tall as he is.

It was miserable, awful. He would push through the tall weeds and thistles and they would slap me and shed little seed pods all over me. Then we hit a section that had thorny vines. Not good. Thankfully, we were both wearing jeans and my shirt had three-quarter length sleeves, so there were minimal scratches.

We had to ford a tiny creek or climb some rocks - I can't remember which came first. Anyway, we made it out alive and immediately stripped our shirts off because we looked like we had been plastered with tiny sunflower seeds. All over our backs, in my hair (not a problem for him), stuck to any exposed skin. 

He looked a little sheepish as he admitted that it would have been better to take the extra time and walk around rather than using the old formula "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line."

I pointed out that the shortest distance to an angry wife is to stick her in a field of weeds, covered with seeds and fending off briars and thorns.

Next weekend, he will be up before sunrise and on his way to Rappahannock and I will be firing up the Canon on the byways of Shenandoah County. As it turns out, we both like to shoot. 

 

Grandmom

 

Grandmom (top left) with her sister and parents.

I was very lucky to have a grandmother who loved me unconditionally. I never questioned her motives or wondered if she meant the things she said. She was the best grandmother a kid could have.

She was our safe port in the storm of childhood. We didn't always know what was going on at home, but we knew the minute we entered Grandmother's house that everything would be the same. 

Her home was warm and comforting. The floor furnace made ticking noises when it heated up and it was fun to stand on it and let the heat blow up our pants legs. We spent a lot of time playing games on the carpeted floor in the living room or sitting at the red table in the kitchen while Grandmom made us grilled cheese sandwiches.

Reflecting on it now, I know her house was pretty small, but it always seemed to be exactly right. From the Mr Kool-Aid red plastic pitcher on top of the refrigerator to the hard-backed books with the pretty covers that I never saw anyone read. Don't get me wrong. Grandmom read all the time, but I never saw her touch the pretty books in the shelf.

She was so smart. She did the crossword puzzle every evening. She knew all those arcane words (like arcane) that puzzle creators love. She was a great cook. She always wore an apron. Until she retired, which was in her 70s, she never wore pants when she went out in public. 

I can't say what I miss most about my grandmother, who would have been 100 years old today. There are too many things. Nobody pats my hand. She could convey more meaning in those little hand pats. She had bad arthritis in her hands and her fingers were swollen and twisted some. She hated how they looked, but I loved them. How many times did I play with her rings because they never stayed in place and always wound around her fingers? 

My grandmother was Reba Margaret Cross Smith. Happy birthday, Grandmom. I surely miss you.

Homecoming

Kenny (yellow shirt) with football buddies from high school.

I attended part of the Homecoming game at Central High School on Friday night and I wondered aloud why I have never gone to any of my high school reunions.
All around us were tents (very important because it rained through the first quarter) with classes celebrating the "5s." Class of 1969 was on one side and the class of 1999 was on the other. Both groups seemed to be having a good time.
Turns out I had good friends at both of these reunions. They appeared to be having a good time.
I came close to going to my 25th high school reunion. I don't remember what kept me from going. I heard that everyone had a great time.
I try not to have too many regrets, but I do regret missing that reunion because a classmate died a few years ago and it would have been fun to hang out with her in a setting like that one more time.
I took my first step at reunioning by going to Kenny's high school reunion from Hampshire High School a couple of weeks ago. My big concern when attending something like this with Kenny is that I will get lost in the background noise. He starts talking and I think I turn into a sofa. (Not that anyone sits on me, but I kinda becoming just part of the surroundings). Mom tells me that is a common female complaint.
I truly cannot make that claim about his reunion, however. He seemed a little shy and I was just dying to hear stories about my husband as a boy. I missed the first 44 years of his life, so I was ready to do some prime pumping.
We sat with men from the football team, primarily. I guess those were his closest friends. As you can imagine, he was quite the athlete, earning a football scholarship to JMU and numerous awards in baseball too.
I listened and laughed and really enjoyed myself. I was bummed that there was no dancing because we rarely have the opportunity, but overall it was a pretty good event.
I think I am ready for the next one. And there better be dancing!

Humpback Bridge

This picture of Humpback Bridge in Alleghany County was taken in 1953 just after restoration of the bridge had started. I think it says the picture was taken by Mr. S. L. Knapton. Aunt Helen was among the people who did the fund-raising to have the bridge repaired and turned into a wayside spot. Look at the amazing reflection of the bridge in the water. I have just started dipping into Aunt Helen's stuff. This is a real treasure.

Garage

My brother, Mom and I spent a good portion of this Labor Day weekend going through boxes from the garage in Covington. Scott did the laborious part of digging things out and throwing away a lot of the kind of random stuff that accumulates in a garage in 30  years or so.

Mom retired 17 years ago from the school system in Alleghany County and had never gone through the boxes from her office. As you can imagine, plowing through that stuff was very time consuming for her. Whereas my brother's point was "What can you want? You haven't looked at it in17 years?" Mom took the approach - "I'm not throwing it away until I go through it."

Scott then busied himself with sweeping and packing up the trailer we had brought to the house for just this purpose.

I assisted as best I could, but I really was stymied by boxes my father had brought to the house after my Aunt Helen Childs died in the early 1980s. She was secretary for the manager at the paper mill and was a proud member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Covington Business and Professional Women. She also was in a garden club and worked to beautify sites such as Humpback Bridge and the re-creation of Revolutionary era Fort Young - which does not exist anymore.

She also was a genealogist and an amateur historian. Hundreds of yellowed clippings were in those boxes on local history, state history, West Virginia history (primarily Greenbrier County) and even international history. She took two European cruises and had many books from places where she visited.

The picture in this blog does not show Aunt Helen. I brought it with me because it is one of the few pictures I have of my mother's father, Grandaddy Frazier Smith who was the postmaster in Covington (back when that post was politically appointed).  The picture was taken at Aunt Helen's house which was called The Pines. You can see pine shelving behind us. The whole house had pine walls and it once was used as what was euphemistically called a Tea Room. I am not sure how much tea was consumed. There were dances and dinners and other events held in the big open area that she eventually divided into two living rooms when she began using it as a home.

The picture shows my third birthday party. I am sure my Aunt Claudine Caddy, Helen's sister, made the cake. You might be able to tell that there is a doll in the center and the cake was her beautiful dress. Aunt Claudine was a well-known baker of wedding, birthday and anniversary cakes. She and Helen ran a catering business on the side. We used to get a lot of leftover food from the parties they catered. My favorite, oddly enough, was a three-layered finger sandwich that had pink and green filling that was made of cream cheese and tasted of onion. They also did pimento cheese and chicken salad sandwiches and pigs in a blanket (another favorite).

But back to Aunt Helen. She traced the Childs family and the Tucker family (her mother, Granny, was a Tucker) and had volumes of stories and pictures about people that I heard my Dad talk about. He also was interested in genealogy and I have most of his family collection too.

I packed boxes of stuff into my car when we left. I just could not let all of that history be history. Aunt Helen never had any children and my father's parents (his mother Lillian was Helen's younger sister) both died before Dad was 6 years old. So he was raised by his grandparents and aunts and uncles. He felt closest to Helen and Claudine who lived in Covington.

So, in a way, I feel like I am continuing this legacy.  I could not save it all. There was a lot of damage and mouse droppings. But I did save some and I plan to share it with others. Because, ultimately, that's what families do. I might even tell a story or two here.

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday, happy birthday.
Happy birthday to you.

Kenny sang me awake this morning, then stumbled off to the shower singing Happy Birthday to the dogs at his feet.

I lay there a few more minutes, blinking my eyes. Birthday. Ah, yes. Aug. 29. Friday - that is a bonus. Three-day weekend - bonus, bonus. 10 more minutes of sleep would be the perfect trifecta, but I had to rise and do my best to shine.

Let's see, the gang at the office sang to me. Olivia sang to me. And hands-down the best version was from my granddaughter who was talented enough to leave it on my voicemail. (Thank you, Ya-Ya.)
So lots of singing today. Thank you all who participated in my annual anthem.

Lots of notes on Facebook, too. It is fun to receive these little blurbs from past and present friends. Workmates from across our footprint sent emails. In addition to the ones from Edinburg, I received best wishes from Farmville, Lynchburg, Rustburg, Radford, Wytheville and Weston, WV. That was cool.

My Mom gave me a big hug and kiss today, but it has been four years since my Dad has wished me a Happy Birthday. I remember my last birthday with him. He helped me find the Cadillac CTS that I wanted so bad. Black with a moon roof. We found it in Lewisburg, WV. He bought me a Cadillac license plate holder and got choked up when he gave it to me, saying that he wanted me to think of him every time I saw it. I didn't know he was sick. Or that he would not make it to my next birthday.

Since then I have traded the Cadillac and the license plate holder broke. But not a day goes by that I do not think of my father. Today, especially.

wanderings: A visit in the country

wanderings: A visit in the country: Umm, is it OK for her to do that? Through the lens of my camera, I watched Grace run through the freshly-mowed grass. At some point her...

A visit in the country

Umm, is it OK for her to do that?

Through the lens of my camera, I watched Grace run through the freshly-mowed grass. At some point her pants had come off and she had shucked her sandals for Cinderella slippers which did not slow her down one bit as she got to the cattle gate.

Quicker than a blink of my shutter, she clambered up the gate, fake glass slippers clacking as she went. I turned my head to Olivia and said, "Umm, is it OK for her to do that?"

"Well, probably not," Olivia said in a tone of voice I have come to recognize as Olivia thinking on her feet. She does a wonderful job of not squashing Grace's natural desire to see and do everything, even if everything could result in a broken arm. Olivia finds ways to bring Grace back to earth without taking away the magic.

Grace is two and a half. She definitely is pushing against all boundaries. Instructions to do something very often meet resistance. I asked Olivia if their family is experiencing what you always hear of as The Terrible 2s."

She laughed and conceded that Grace doesn't always take no for an answer. Olivia prefers to think of this time as the Teachable 2s. Everything is a lesson. Never does Olivia say "because I said so." She explains what she wants Grace to do and finds ways to get her spirited little girl to buy in to what Mommy thinks needs to be done. I think her success rate is pretty high. There are meltdowns, of course, that defy logic and explanation. Most of the time those blustery storms blow up and away and Grace is on her way to whatever is next.

What I enjoyed the most about spending some at-home time with them over the weekend was being part of the family dynamic. It was lovely.

Most of the time.

Kenny and I brought our four dogs with us to visit Olivia, Webb and Grace. They have a new Golden Retriever pup, Jeb. At best, our waking hours were managed chaos. Jeb wanted to play with all of the dogs. Two of our dogs wanted to eat him. One of our dogs barked every time Jeb flinched. And if Jeb was not in the room, then the dog would bark at Webb.

"Never again," Kenny said as he tossed a pillow at the barking dog as two other dogs shot by the sofa. "I mean it. Never again."

He doesn't mean it. We'll do it again and again and again. We just may bring muzzles.

When a man goes grocery shopping

When a man goes grocery shopping, what is he thinking? We have been married almost 13 years. That means for 13 years we have used the same products, more or less. A few new things have popped up, but we use the same milk, the same breads, the same ketchup.

It's probably not fair to call out all men on this, but I know my father would do the same thing. Send Dad to the store for two cans of chicken noodle soup and he would come back with one can of chicken noodle and one can of cream of chicken. So my suspicion is that there is some kind of testosterone interference in the shopping gene.

Once the husband brought home paper towels with designs on them. I hate paper towel with designs. I never use anything but white, Bounty Select-a-Size. I didn't even know Bounty made patterned towels any more. (He did get the brand right) I had to use them, but trust me, any spill required five or six.

Recently, we have been enjoying a fudge pop after dinner. I buy Pet because they are rich and creamy. He came home with the Food Lion brand. I felt my taste buds deflate when I pulled the box from the bag. 

He think that I pay too much for groceries. That house brands are just as good as known brands. If the product hits his "cheap" taste bud, then that makes it a good buy. So the meat is only good for two more days, you can always put it in the freezer. Cheese slices from Food Lion are fine. So what if it take three extra minutes pulling the plastic cover off the slice?

Do I sound ungrateful? That is not my intention. I came down with some kind of bronchial illness on Friday and was wiped out most the weekend, so I am really grateful that my husband was thoughtful enough to take on my weekly chore. 

But I probably will stop by the store tomorrow for real fudgsicles.

I may not have gotten a picture of the Super Moon, but I did a super picture of a Moonflower. They are hard to photograph because they only bloom on cloudy days or after the sun has set. Flash made this look terrible, so I did what I could with the late daylight. It truly looks like an impossibly soft linen, barely creased. The flowers are trumpet-shaped when unfurled. Lovely and quite poisonous if ingested. 

Super Moon

I have stalked the Super Moon and have fallen short. 

Twice this year, the Super Moon has appeared and both times my photographic quest was snuffed by clouds.

Lots of cool pictures on the Internet, but I wanted to capture it myself, preferably with the old courthouse in the picture somehow.

Once I saw a Super Moon in a super place. A friend and I had gone to the Outer Banks in September. My folks had a condo there and they had let us use it all by ourselves - a big concession on their part. I don't remember why they let us, but I am glad they did. We were driving back from dinner and went by the Bodie Island Lighthouse (yes, it really is pronounced Body) and there was the moon behind the lighthouse. A gigantic orange moon that seemed to take up the whole sky. With the lighthouse in the foreground, the perfect picture was set. Only... I did not bring my camera. 

I take pictures all the time to document the Shenandoah Valley where I live. Just as sometimes I cannot find the proper words to express my feelings, it doesn't matter how often I adjust the camera, pictures always fall short of the real thing. But I keep trying.

I can still clearly see that moon in my mind and remember that feeling of awestruck wonderment. The black and white stripes shining in the light of the enormous, eerie moon. It's OK that this picture lives in my mental photo album. I can access it any time I want and if I need verification, I can call my friend and say "Remember that time we went to Nags Head? Remember that moon?"

The Super Moon is coming around again in September. I will have my battery charged and ready to go.

 

Rockin' Robin

I am uncertain why the death of Robin Williams has rocked me so.

All day I felt despondent. I was a teen when Mork and Mindy came to be. Actually, I remember Mork's appearance on Happy Days - one of the characters to spin off from that popular show. 

He was like no one I had ever seen. He was a force of nature. Larger than life. Is that why it seems so impossible that he chose to hang himself? I guess we didn't realize that he was lightning. Beautiful, bright, brilliant, scary, sometime flashing, sometimes sharp and jagged, raw and real. But lightning never outlasts the storm.

His performances have left footprints all over my life. One of the first movies I watched with Kenny when we were dating was "Patch Adams." My nickname in my family is Cindy-Pan, consequently, I love "Hook." His soulful roles showed us he could rein-in the mania and sell it. "Dead Poet's Society," Good Will Hunting."

I was drawn to watching Robin in roles that seemed completely out of character. He played a terrible person on Law & Order SVU and "One Hour Photo" was creepy. I think we like to see our funny men go serious now and again.

It's been a sad day, but I know I will laugh and smile again. And when I watch Robin's movies and comedy routines in the future, it will be like he is still alive. Only he won't be. And that's just too damn bad.

The change of life

Not that change. I am writing about the change that comes when children become part of your life. 
Grace is 2.6 years old. Her vocabulary is a strange mix of detailed nonsensical sentences punctuated by a word or two that are just as clear as a bell. I am pretty good at deciphering her intent since that is pretty much the way her Grandaddy talks. It is so frustrating. "Honey, what do you want for dinner?" His reply... "Uh, heh unno um ec ec hot dog duma dexi con." This stream of language - and I use that term loosely - is extremely hard to follow because he is taking a drink of water or has his head in the refrigerator or is doing anything except looking straight at me and answering my question.
Grace, on the other hand, will look you straight in the eye and give you her words with all sincerity and plenty of force and detail. In either case, I know they want hot dogs,
We got to spend some time with Grace without her parents recently and it was fun. I do not know how they do it every day. The best word for Grace is busy. She played with her toys, then played with the dogs, then bounced on Grandaddy, then ran into the kitchen to put her tiny hands on anything that could possibly be sharp and dangerous.
Our house is dog proof. We don't leave things on the floor. We don't have carpets or curtains. We have leather furniture and the coffee and end tables are made of slate tiles.
Dog proof is not the same as child proof. Grace found things I did not even know I had. She was at full throttle running through the house picking up things, asking questions (I think they were questions) and looking for a place to put the item so that I will never find it again. It took me two days to discover the second dog leash.
I was never a mother. Olivia came into my life when she was 17, so I did not need to develop mothering skills. 
Grace has brought something out in me that I cannot quite identify. I do not think it is my inner mother. I guess it is my inner grandmother. I love her. From her stinky feet to those beautiful blue eyes that can be serene or stormy. I feel her spirit and I already recognize who she is going to be. 
Hands down, the best day in recent memory was when she spotted me and yelled "OG!" and came running to me, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me the best full body hug ever. 
My brother talks often about the way his daughter changed his life. I can see it plainly, but now I truly feel what he means. It is a change. Good change. Or, as Grace might say, "OG, yen fammy hoe whop change!" You bet, Gracie. You got it.

I want to say thanks.
For the past year, I have been getting random encouragements to return to writing a "column" which in today's lingo would be posting a blog.
I have a blog, Valley Words, which I have let stagnate. I am going to bring some of the best of those posts to this blog in hopes of giving them some new life. There are some tough postings on there. Like the one I wrote when my father died. It's tempting not to bring that one here. It hurts, but there is beauty in that pain. In an awful situation, I found a place for a tiny smile and a tip of the hat to the man who made me.
I want to let loose. I write every day at work. But there are restrictions, requirements and rigor imposed on that work that I can blissfully shrug aside here like a beautiful dress that is way too tight.
Here, I will pull on my jeans and the Life's Good impossibly soft t-shirt that Olivia gave me and I will just write until I laugh or cry or, on a good day, do both.
Please come along with me. Send me ideas. Encourage me. Write to me. I will write back.
I think I'm officially excited.