Rest In Peace Aunt Jean

     One of the things about getting older is that it happens to every one. Every day that I get older so do my grandchildren, so do my friends and family, ageing is a consequence of life. The sad part of ageing is that at some point it comes to an end, you reach a time when you can go no further, your job here on earth is done - it's time to leave. For some of us the end comes sooner than we thought it would or would have liked, others of us are like that bunny in the energizer commercial that just keeps on going and going.
     I am the oldest in my family, the oldest grandson on one side, the oldest grandchild on the other. My memories go back a long way and include a multitude of family members who have passed on. I have reached a stage in my life where people I cared for are only memories and people I care for now could very well soon become memories, it is a fact of life.
     I grew up in a family that was close, actually I grew up in three close families, my own parents and four siblings, my fathers parents and his siblings and their families, likewise for my mothers family. We gathered sometimes on a weekly basis, I grew up with cousins, aunts and uncles galore.
     I can't say that I had a favorite cousin or aunt or uncle but I think I can say that I was closer to some than others. As for my aunts and uncles I loved them all and enjoyed seeing them whenever possible. Some were mysterious because I didn't see them as often due to their work or that they lived far away, some were fun to be around and some were simply likable people. For some of my aunts and uncles I invoked a special memory of a happy period in their lives. Sadly out of nine aunts and uncles and their spouses there remain only three.
     Uncle Henry Warren was married to Mom's youngest sister Sarah who was not much older than I or at least that was the way I remembered her. I remembered them dating when Granny and Grandpa Wade lived on North Water St. in Gallatin, Tn., I guess I was about ten or so. Aunt Sarah passed away some years back but Uncle Henry is still around, he has a great outlook on life.
     And then there is Uncle Paul, Mom's youngest brother. He was in the Navy back in the 50's and he would pop in and out when he was in the neighborhood, I don't know why but for some reason I seemed to have been a little closer to him than some of the others, our lives were entwined until Linda and I left Tn. in the late seventies, since then it has been a rather hit or miss relationship. Uncle Paul is quite a character and a bit of an eccentric and often speaks his mind but then he has earned the privilege having reached the age of 87 as of this writing ( 88 next month ).
     Now we come to Aunt Jean. Aunt Jean was married to mom's oldest brother RC, her full name was Norma Jean and I for whatever reason always called her Aunt Norma when I was growing up, Linda called her Aunt Jean and because of that I fell into the habit. I don't know all of the particulars but I do know that during World War 2 Uncle RC and Aunt Jean wound up in California and when the war was over they stayed and made their home there. We didn't see them very often, sometimes it would be years before they would come home for a visit and it was usually for just a week or two. When I was in the Navy and stationed in San Diego Linda and I would go up to LA and visit with them and when we lived in Sacramento we got together a few times. I guess that Aunt Jean took a liking to Linda, she would always call her on her birthday and talk, if I was home I would get in on the conversation.
     When Uncle RC retired he and Aunt Jean came home to Gallatin and when he passed away she stayed on for a while, Linda and I would go for a visit every now and then. She returned to California a few years back to be closer to her daughters and grandchildren but the phone calls still came every birthday even after Linda had passed she called me.
     I hadn't heard from Aunt Jean in some time so while I was at a cousins reunion last year I asked about her, cousin Sally said she had died but Uncle Paul said no and got her on the phone. Sadly it was the last time I talked with her as I was told the other day she had passed away. Her daughters are returning her ashes to Gallatin to be laid to rest with Uncle RC. She was a beautiful lady and I will miss her.
     The older you get the more of your past turns to memories, it is all a part of the ageing process. The early years of my life have long ago turned to memories I guess that is why I hold on to them so tightly.

Fishing with Matthew

     I have been waiting for the time to come when Danny and I would take Matthew on his first fishing trip and yesterday, August 11, 2018, was the day. Matthew is three and a half years old now and time was wasting.
     I hooked up the boat and drove over to their house to pick up Danny and Matthew. When I got there Matthew and MJ were upstairs in the play room and after several attempts to call them down I went up to get them, when I opened the door I saw wall to wall toys scattered across the floor, everything from cars to trains and dolls. The mess reminded me of Linda's efforts to get the boys to clean their rooms, on one occasion Danny spent an hour cleaning his room after which Linda looked in and saw that not much had changed but Danny was proud of the fact that there was now a path thru the mess on the floor, MJ and Matthew are their fathers children.
     We got Matthew loaded up and off we went to the lake, Matthew quickly feel asleep in his car seat.
     When we got to the boat ramp we got Matthew into his life jacket and started getting the boat ready to launch. I lifted him into the boat and climbed in, Danny backed us into the water and I started the engine and backed out. I looked down at Matthew who was holding tight to his water bottle and the leg of my shorts. I asked him if he was having fun and he said "I afraid, I want to go home ".
     Danny got in the boat and had a seat next to Matthew as I slowly drove off into the lake, Danny talked to him and even held him as I picked up speed. We didn't go far before we stopped, Matthew was a little bit more at ease but he still wanted to hold to one of us. It was about this time that I remembered that silly Grandpa had forgotten to get any worms for bait so we had to turn around. I left Danny and Matthew in the boat while I went looking for bait, on returning Matthew was still in the boat with Dad but he hadn't moved from his seat.
     We eased over to a spot close by and started fishing, I caught one and Matthew was somewhat impressed but he didn't want to touch it. Danny baited Matthews hook with a wriggling worm all the time telling Matthew all about the process but Matthew didn't show much interest. He did however hold his rod  and worked the handle as he rewound the line but then he would tell Danny " you do it ". After a while we found a couple of spots and Matthew was able to get a Bream or Blue Gill on the hook and he did stand up in the boat but wouldn't move from the spot in front of his seat.
     I found a blue plastic ball floating in the water and picked it up, Matthew was quite excited with it as blue was a favorite color. By the end of the day Matthew was still a little unnerved by the whole experience, he was awake for the ride back and we stopped at the Dairy Queen for lunch.
     Overall Matthew's  first fishing trip was not that impressive to him, when he got home he was more interested in showing Mom the blue ball that Grandpa found in the water. As for me I was happy to be out on the water with my boys, over time Matthew may take to fishing or maybe not, as long as he is happy and healthy that works for me.

Book of Memories

     When Danny was not quite 2 years old he started making sounds, of course Linda knew exactly what he was saying but to me goo goo still sounded like goo goo. Linda's mom would often come for a visit and play with him. One day she was teaching Danny to talk and recognize colors at the same time. I don't know whose idea it was but mom or Linda set up a tape player nearby. Mom was working on the color blue, she would patiently point to the color in a book and say "blue". Danny as young as he was would pucker his lips in an attempt to copy grandma but the best he could do was "bue" his L's didn't come in for some time.
     When Clay reached the same age getting anything that sounded like words out of him was like pulling teeth, grunts and groans were his vocabulary. Danny seemed to be the only one who could decipher Clay's guttural language and he did very well too. When Clay didn't start talking by age two or two and a half Linda grew concerned and took him to a doctor. After a thorough check up the doctor diagnosed the big brother syndrome and explained that as long as Danny was around interpreting Clay's  needs then Clay had no need to talk. We solved the problem by telling Danny he had to let Clay tell us what he wanted, this was a problem in its' on because Danny loved to talk.
 
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     There are times that I have stuck my foot in my mouth and I can tell you it is not the most tasty of things you want to chew on and the results of my foot and mouth desease was never my finest hour. One such time happened some 35 years ago and if Clay remembers the incident I want to make amends.
     It all came about in 1985, my dad was dying from cancer and I had quit my job in Kansas to help the family. Linda I and the kids loaded up everything we owned and came back to Nashville. Linda and the kids stayed with her sister Vicky across town and I stayed with mom. Dad had undergone some serious of radiation and maybe even chemo, the result being that when I saw him in the hospital he looked years older than his 62 years and he didn't recognize me. Dad was not yet dead but I felt as if he were already gone.
     It was several weeks before Dad finally succumbed to his illness, there were nights that we held a vigil with him all night. Dad was the first person I had ever seen die before my eyes and it hit me hard. 

     Every now and then I would go to see Linda and the kids. This one particular night I walked in and Linda gave me a hug and kiss, I was feeling down and her arms felt good. We sat in Vicky's living room and talked when Clay rushed in and stood in front of me and asked if he had been a good boy. Till this day I don't know why but I said no. Clay cried out and quickly ran up stairs crying his heart out, Linda quickly ran after him to console him. I never knew what Linda said and Clay was OK the next time I saw him.
     All this happened a long time ago and I doubt Clay remembers but I do. I have no excuses only a remembrance that pops up now and again. I'm sorry Clay, you never disappointed me you were always a good boy.

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     Back when I worked for the bank I took on the north Alabama area more specifically the cities of Sheffield and Muscle Shoals. Back then I liked to end my day with a cold beer.
     My first day in Muscle Shoals was long and hot and on my way to the motel I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a six pack. When I entered the store I headed straight to the coolers and proceeded to open every door, I drew the attention of the clerk who politely ask if he could be of any help. When I asked where the beer was he laughed and said "buddy this is a dry county, the closest beer is back at the Tennessee state line ", I grabbed a cold coke instead and went to the motel.
     When I got to the motel I called a banker I knew and after bringing him up to date on my days work I told him about my visit to the convenience store. Being the good friend he was he gave me a phone number and half an hour later I was sweetening my coke with a pint of cheap bourbon that was delivered to my door.
     The next day I was back at it calling on people who were past due, one of these people owned and operated a local garage / service station, one of his biggest customers were the Alabama State Troopers who were in and out of there every day. It was late when I stopped in and made contact with the man, he turned out to be quite friendly and we struck up a conversation in which I told him about my fiasco at he convenience store the day before. He laughed and asked if I wanted a cold beer and I said sure, he walked over to a coke machine that stood against the side of the building and inserted a quarter and punched the button for a brand of beverage nobody ever wanted and out came a can of cold Coors beer. During the 1970's Coors beer was only made in Colorado and for some reason was not allowed to be sold east of the Mississippi River but here we were in Muscle Shoals, Alabama and it was stocked in vending machines. My customer explained that this was another revenue stream for him and once a month he would drive a twenty foot box truck to Dallas, Texas and fill it up with Coors and resell it at a premium price because it was something people wanted but couldn't get but just had to have.
     So much for Muscle Shoals being in a dry county.
   


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     The other night we had some pretty severe thunder storms in the area, the lightning flashed brightly followed by loud claps of thunder that shook the windows. The next day I noticed that Danny posted to his face book page that Matthew became scared during the storm and Danny had to console him, to a three year old sometimes words don't help as much as a pair of strong arms holding you tight.
     The post brought back memories from when Danny was two years old, he didn't like the thunder any more than Matthew. We lived in Florida then and thunder storms were often a daily affair. When the storms occurred Danny would would come running from where ever he was in the house and seek the comfort of Linda's or my arms. I remember one day when I was sitting on the couch he was playing on the floor in front of me when the first loud clap of thunder rattled the windows. The next thing I knew Danny was in my lap with his arms around my neck and his face buried in my shoulder. At two he had a limited vocabulary so he called the thunder "noise". With each clap of thunder he  squeezed my neck tighter and dug his feet into my belly as he attempted to climb higher onto my neck, after several claps he literally was wrapped around my neck and I had to pry him off. Try as I might I couldn't explain the thunder to him all I could do was hold him tight and tell him everything would be alright.
     I can only assume that as a youngster I too was probably afraid of the thunder, I can't remember back that far, I can only hope there was someone to hold me and tell me the "noise" would go away soon and everything would be alright.
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     As I have stated in previous stories, my Dad was of an older generation where men were expected to demonstrate certain attributes at all times, they were not to show any signs of weakness, they couldn't back down, they were the head of the house and all inhabitants were to pay them the respect due them and most important of all sentimentality  was a closely guarded trait.
     I left home when I turned 18, I had joined the Navy and was headed to boot camp. Dad, Mom and at least one of my siblings took me to the airport to see me off, I never looked back as I climbed the stairs to board the plane but I have been told that Dad's eyes did water up. When I returned home from boot camp I spent two weeks leave at home and then boarded a Greyhound bus to my first duty station. Again Dad and Mom were there to see me off, as the bus backed away from the curb there was Dad with tears rolling down his cheek. When I returned from my last trip to Vietnam and was discharged from the Navy I didn't get any hugs from he or Mom, we just sat down at the kitchen table and started talking as if I had never left.
     Two years later Linda and I bought our first house, Dad and my brother Ronnie were going to help me move but when I arrived to pick them up Dad was still in bed. Seems that one of Dad's friends had been over the night before and they had a few drinks, actually more than a few. The more Dad drank the more melancholy he became, he told his friend that I was moving away and he was upset that I was moving away, Mom said that he was starting to cry. His friend told him that it was a shame that kids just up and moved away with no consideration for the parents, so he then asked Dad where I was moving to and Dad told him Engelwood which was about 10 miles away. Dad's friend burst out laughing and told Dad that the way he was behaving he thought I was moving to California.
     I never heard my Dad tell me he loved me or that he was proud of me and he never hugged me but from time to time there were little things that reminded me that I was his son no matter what. When he passed away I closed his eyes then went and sat in the floor and cried.







   

Who Will Bring Them Flowers

     Last Sunday, May 20, 2018, Kay's brother Rick passed away, he was 69 years old.
     Being the youngest of the family, like Kay, you expect the older siblings to pass before you but that bit of knowledge doesn't make the passing any less painful. We were there for two days, close to tears one minute and laughing at a memory from long ago the next. Kay's family lived in Gainesville, Ga. most of their life and many old friends and distant relatives came to pay their respects and celebrate the life of Rick Kiser. I have known the members of Kay's family a short time, they welcomed me with open arms and from the first moment I met them I have never been a stranger in their home. I have attended their gatherings and listened to their stories of the past, I have heard their laughter and seen their tears. I look upon them as brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, I too feel the pain of Rick's passing - you will be missed Rick, rest in peace my brother.
     Kay and I took a break from the overwhelming joy and sorrow and went outside for some fresh air. We found a nice bench under an oak tree and sat down. The bench was next to a flat bronze grave marker with a removable flower vase which was holding a bouquet of silk flowers. My curiosity got the better of me and I read the names and dates on the marker, the husband was born in 1898 and died in the mid 1980's, the wife was born in 1902 and died in 1995.  I don't remember their names, they were nobody I knew so I had no knowledge of their lives  or family but they must have someone who still cares for them because there were flowers on the grave.
     I am 71 years old and have attended the funerals of several people that I loved and over the years I have seen a change in the way people look upon death. For centuries people were born, lived and died within a small area of their known world, it should not surprise you to know that many people as late as the 1930's and 40's never ventured farther than 50 miles from the place they were born. Generations of families were born and lived in the same community and family graveyards were not uncommon so when a loved one brought flowers for their spouse they probably brought along extras for mom and dad, granny and grandpa or maybe uncle Joe.
     After World War II families started moving around, my great grandfather, his two wives and youngest daughter are buried together but their sons and daughters are buried in cemeteries all over three or four counties and at least two states on opposite sides of the country. The family graveyard is no more. I attended the funerals for both sets of grand parents and my parents, for whatever reason I have had no desire to return for a visit, memories of them are forever branded into the memory cells of my mind and that is enough for me. Linda and I decided long ago that we wanted to be cremated and our ashes scattered, we didn't want to take up the real estate or have our sons grieving over a marble marker that would eventually erode away, we wanted them to get on with the business of living. Kay and her husband Wayne also chose cremation.
    Very few people achieve immortality in this world those that do eventually are remembered in name only after a couple of generations. Once again my curiosity forced me to gaze upon the bronze marker of the old couple, sadly I wondered, after more than twenty years how many more bouquets the future would hold for them, would someone sit and talk to them, would there be tears of joy or sorrow ?
     Who will bring them flowers ?
   
   

Responsibilities

     Turning eighteen was a big step for me, I was coming of age, no longer a teenager not yet a man. I couldn't vote or drink beer but I could be charged as an adult for any crimes I might commit and more importantly I could be drafted and sent off to some foreign war and die for my country. If I didn't hurry up and make a decision I would be drafted into the Army and that just wouldn't do, so I joined the Navy like my father before me.
     They say that the military makes men out of boys and I think they might be right, mom was not there to pick up after me so I had to do for myself. There were a lot of things involved in turning boys into men and I must say that a lot of the schooling was not taught by the Navy, it was taught by older sailors who at times took some strange pleasure in walking young boys down the path of manhood. Such was the case of learning the arts of drinking and gambling. The lessons were hard and some times painful but you eventually figured out the basics, never draw to an inside straight and don't mix beer with liquor.
     My first year in the Navy found me rooming with two older guys in their early twenties, they were both from Boston. Leo was the younger one and we became good friends, he took me under his wing and guided me along in the ways of manhood.
     My first lesson was in the art of drinking and I must say that I was not really looking forward to this as my father was an alcoholic and I never really liked the smell of beer much less the the taste but being called a chicken in front of your peers was frowned on so I thought, awe what the heck, one beer won't hurt. Well the first beer didn't hurt and by number six or seven I felt no pain and somewhere around number fifteen I didn't feel anything at all.
     It all started one Friday night when several of us went to what was called the gee-dunk (don't ask why), it was a sorta restaurant / bar where enlisted personnel could go and have a burger and beer and sit around shooting the breeze, it was the only place those of us who were under twenty one could legally be served beer. So there we were, about six or eight of us guys sitting around and one of the older guys bought everyone a beer which at first I turned down until someone said something about no hair on my rear end ( I am trying to watch my language ), the gauntlet had been laid down, the line was drawn in the sand and for the honor of all the sailors who came before me I had to step over it. I grabbed a cold can and took a sip, it didn't taste any better than it smelled and the guys could see by the expression on my face that I needed to be encouraged so they told me it would be better if I just turned it up and chugged it down, in other words turn it up and drink the whole can real fast, so I did, my eyes watered and I started to feel a numbness spread thru out my whole body starting in my brain. They say beer is an acquired taste and they were right, after you acquired the first one the rest didn't taste as bad.
     There was another boy in the group from Chattanooga, Tn., he was what we called a mama's boy and he was teased about it often. After my first beer the guys started teasing him and finally talked him into his first beer, the next thing I knew he and I were pitted against each other in a beer drinking contest. Bets were made as to which of us could drink the most beer, there was cheering, slaps on the back and the popping sound the beer tabs made when a fresh beer was opened, the race was on.
     I can't remember how long it took for me to chug-a-lug those eighteen beers but I won the contest sitting down because I was a little unsteady on my feet. My good friend Leo again took me under his wing and walked me back to the barracks, it took time because I couldn't feel my feet touch the ground and I thought it was funny. Once back in my room I fell into my bed and closed my eyes. I was at peace with the world until Leo came in and woke me up to take a couple of aspirins to ward off tomorrows hangover. As I opened my eyes the whole known world started spiraling off its axis and I was about to fall off if I didn't make it to the head (bathroom) on time. I spent a good fifteen minutes with my head buried in a commode puking my guts out. Once I determined there could not be anything left inside me I crawled over to the wall and pulled myself up to a standing position, fortunately the hallway in the barracks was not very wide and that made it easier to brace myself with a supporting hand on either wall as I made my way back to my room. I laid back down and hoped the worse was over but it wasn't as what is called the dry heaves came along and I started trying to puke into a waste basket beside my bed, there I was stretched out on the bed with my head hanging over the edge trying to puke into a waste basket but there was nothing left inside me. At some point I think I might have passed out.
     So ended my first step into manhood. I did continue to drink on into my early thirties but never again did I have a night like that one and when Danny was born I quit all together. I have an occasional drink now and then but I learned a long time ago that life is more fun and beautiful with a clear head.
     My first stab at gambling came when I stood my first watch as a duty driver, it was a Saturday and things were slow so the duty petty officer ask if  I wanted to play some cards, "sure I said what kind of cards". He suggested that we play 500 Rummy for a penny a point, little did he know that I had been playing rummy since I was about ten years old, some twenty minutes later he handed over ten dollars.
 Most of the guys played Poker - draw, stud, seven card and baseball to name a few of the variations. We played in one of the rooms with the door closed, the room was small and quickly filled with blue smoke from the long green cigars we purchased for just the occasion. The bets were nickle, dime and quarter with a maximum of three raises that way nobody could lose too much.
     When I got to my outfit in Vietnam a whole new world opened up as those guys would bet on anything and they took their gambling seriously. I walked in on an Acey Ducey game on the ship one night, there were about eight guys playing with another half dozen backers. Acey Ducey is a card game where each player is dealt two cards after putting an ante into the pot, let's say five dollars. Both cards are dealt face up and the object of the game was to bet that the next card dealt to you would fall between the two you had, in other words if you had a five and a ten you had to get a six, seven, eight, or nine, any other card and you would lose your bet. You could bet any portion of the pot or all of it. This particular game was hot, when I walked in there was $2500 in cash and the title to a two year old Mustang in the pot. The betting was frantic, several players had all of their money in the pot and had to work a deal with the backers to remain in the game.
     Once we were on board ship we kept a running poker game which we played at lunch and at night, rather than have money laid out on the table we used poker chips. All winnings and losses were recorded in a book and all players had to settle up every pay day or they couldn't play until they did. Poker was not the only game we bet on, there was also Blackjack and when the monotony set in we adapted other card games into games of chance.
     I played my share of Poker and Blackjack even long after I left the Navy, once I won over eight hundred dollars playing Blackjack in Lake Tahoe but generally I probably broke even at best. Years later when I worked for the SBA, my boss invited me to join a small group of four guys who had been playing poker every Tuesday night for some thirty five plus years, one of the guys had to drop out for health reasons and they were looking for new blood. There was a special bond these guys had, I was honored that they asked and I did play with them a few times. I am sure they continued on but I wonder if they ever replaced their friend, I think this was one of those times where the last hand was played when the last man drew his last breath.
      I was a little slow to grow up even though I did finally become old enough to vote there was still enough of the boy that wanted to play. When the pressures of responsibilities finally overwhelmed me I achieved my manhood, drinking and gambling as it turned out had very little to do with a boys right of passage into manhood, it is how he handles his responsibilities, and yes the world is a more beautiful place when you are not looking at it thru bloodshot eyes.

Memories Of The Past

 





     Growing up in the 1950's there were many things that we just took for granted, they were plain ordinary things, very common place. Take for instance, every body had a telephone but unlike those of today it was wired into the house, your voice was transmitted thru the mouth piece over wires that were hooked to other wires attached to tall poles that ran along the road on into oblivion. We also had small screen TV's that plugged into the wall and generally had tall antennas attached to the outside of the house, the picture was often grainy, black and white and you could only get three channels and programming stopped at midnight.
     My point is, there were so many things that my generation took for granted that my grand kids will never believe existed. Every now and then I run across something else that is so rarely seen and I feel sorry for this latest generation - they will never know what they are missing.
     Last week Kay and I were in South Georgia and Kay wanted to get something for the grand kids that would show them about the things we saw and where we had been. Now let me say that it would have been easy to just dial them up on Kay's super duty full of all kinds of apps smart phone and swing it around so they could instantly visually see everything that we were seeing but that would be to easy and Kay would rather put a more personal touch to the communication - we are a little old school.
      When I was growing up in the 1950's, communicating with each other was done by one of several different ways. Of course the number one way was talking, easy enough to do if the involved parties are in the same room if not you have to go to another form of communicating, the telephone. Telephoning someone was easy just pick up the receiver and stick your finger into the rotary dial finger hole matching the other persons phone number and dial the seven digit number. Utilizing the telephone to talk with someone far away was easy but not cheap especially if you had to factor in long distance charges and if they were not home when you called there was no voice mail so you had to call back later.
     Now another way to communicate with someone who lived away from you was to hop into the family car and drive over to see them, of course if you called them beforehand you might have figured out they were not home when they didn't answer thus saving yourself a trip. In the case of someone living way far away like about 2000 miles, driving was still an option if you had maybe two weeks just to get there and two weeks to get back. The interstate system as you know it in 2018 was invisioned by President Dwight Eisenhower in the early 1950's , work on the interstate system continues as I write this story, it is never ending.
     All of this leads us to the most generally used system of long distance communicating - writing.
Writing as a form of communicating was around long before telephones, twitter, skype, e-mail and whatever else we use today. Writing was easy, just write your thoughts on to a piece of paper or two or three, place the paper into an envelope with the address you want it to go to and stick a stamp on it. The postal service will pick it up from your mail box and deliver it to anywhere in the world sometime in the next few days or weeks or months, not to worry tho, they will deliver the mail no matter how long it takes.
     My Grandmother Riggan was a big writer, she would write half a dozen letters a week plus pay bills via the U.S. Mail, first class postage was a whopping three cents per letter back in the 1950's. When she didn't have much to say Granny often used what was then called a penny post card .
     Strangely enough a penny post card cost only a penny but it cost two cents to mail. Post cards were much like there name, they were a three by five card that was blank on one side so you could write whatever you wanted to say and on the other side you wrote the address you it wanted it to go to and placed a two cent stamp in the corner. A smart person could write a three page letter on a post card simply by writing very small, the problem was that every Tom, Dick and Harry that handled the card could and often did read what you wrote.
     Granny lived out in the country on what was called a rural delivery route and instead of a street address she had a box number. The postman would drive up six days a week and pick up the mail, because it was so far to the post office she would leave the postman a note and some money and he in turn would leave her postage stamps and post cards. Now days you go to a site on line and create post cards, birthday cards, Christmas cards and cards of all occasions and send them via e-mail, twitter, text or whatever it is.
     Post cards were also found in drug stores, gift shops, gas stations and hotel lobbies everywhere, these were called picture post cards because they had a picture on one side usually of some local scenery or something picturesque. They were funny, they were serious and they were beautiful. People would go on trips and buy these cards and send them to friends and relatives with a short note on the other side. They would say things like " wish you were here " or " arrived safely ". The big thing about picture post cards was that people saved them, My Grandmother had a couple of shoe boxes full of them and I would spend hours looking at them, these things were literally works of art just Google "Vintage Postcards " and see for yourself.
     So to bring us back to the original line of thought, Kay decided she wanted to send each of the grand kids a picture post card pertaining to where we were and what we were doing on vacation. Turns out that finding picture post cards is not as easy as it once was, we went to three different convenience stores, one had no cards, one had several cards but the pictures depicted were of places over 50 + miles away. The last store had two different cards, one was a map of the Georgia coastline showing the names of the barrier islands  and the other card was of Dolphins with "From Georgia With Love " written across the picture. They were not exactly what Kay wanted but but she made it work by putting an "X" on the map to show where we were staying and writing that we saw Dolphins on the other card, we signed Grandmama and Mr. Mike on the cards to Benjamin and Abigail and signed Grandpa and Mrs Kay for the cards to MJ and Matthew.
     It is sad to see another part of the past slowly disappear, what is even more sad is to see a way of communicating ones feelings of love disappear. The Grand Kids will be thrilled to get the cards and one day they will remember that we loved them enough to send them, indeed it is the simplest things that bring back the greatest of memories.
   

The Wall

     One of the things Kay and I enjoy doing is to roam the countryside looking for festivals, antique stores, historic sites and just about anything that grabs our attention. Usually we go on these outings on Sunday afternoon but today is Friday and Kay found out that the Traveling Vietnam Veterans Memorial would be in Lincolnton this afternoon, so we went.
     Lincolnton is about an hour and a half away and as I drove I wondered what my reaction would be to something that represents such a big part of my life. Being a Vietnam veteran I had long wanted to see the memorial but at the same time I have wondered if I was deserving of the Honor. True, I did serve two tours in the Vietnam war in the late 1960's and if you have read my previous stories about those times you would understand my doubts - I was there, I was willing and I came home when so many didn't and I wonder why.
      Over the years I have seen many war memorials in every town and city I have ever passed thru, memorials for the American Revolution, Spanish American War, The War of 1812, Civil War, WW1, WW2, Korea and others. These memorials represented events before or shortly after my birth and my only personal relationship to them was the fact that my father, uncles and ancestors were involved in them and I was proud of them for it but I don't think I ever really understood what that meant.
     Upon arrival, I saw a scaled down replica of the real memorial in Washington, D.C., it was accurately assembled across the outfield of the local baseball field. There were American flags attached to the chain-link fence in the background and there were smaller American flags at various points at the base of the memorial - these were placed there by people who knew someone whose name was  engraved on the wall. There were vehicles from many Georgia counties and several from out of state, there were buses from senior centers and churches, cars, pickup trucks and motorcycles filled the parking lot. Most of the people were in their seventies like me, others were older.  They walked with canes and sat in wheelchairs, they were bent over with age and stood tall with pride, they had grey hair, they were bald, they were overweight and thin but they came to this special place to honor the memory of someone special to them from long ago.
     There were volunteers to help you find the one name, out of the more than 58,000 names engraved on the wall, that meant something special to you, maybe he was a loved one or maybe a good friend. I didn't know of anyone who was killed in the war except for my second cousins' husband but I didn't know him and have forgotten his name so I just wandered around. We looked at the exhibits and pictures of young men who never grew old and will never be forgotten.
     My thoughts went back to the 1960's, it was a turbulent time and the Vietnam War was unpopular to say the least, I remember hearing the stories of soldiers returning home and being spit on or called baby killers. It didn't happen to me but it did happen.
     There were several times that my outfit was told we would be going into combat only to stand down at the last minute, we were scared but we put up a front for each other because we were still just kids who didn't want their buddies thinking bad of them. Years later I would wonder what it was like to be in combat not knowing if the next bullet whizzing overhead might have my name on it. I developed a deep respect for the men who were "in country", I remembered watching tracer rounds cross the night skies from afar, those men in the darkness were probably scared but like me they didn't show it for fear their buddies might think bad of them, so they did their job and scratched another day off their short timers calendar in the morning.
     So here I was walking beside a black granite wall with over 58,000 names engraved on it, the names of Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines, men and women many no more than teenagers who never had a chance to grow up, others were older but not by much, all were gone way too soon. War is an old mans game, young men are the pawns. I was over whelmed with sadness for these strangers, I tried to hold back tears as I gazed upon row after row of names of young men that I could proudly call my brothers and wondered why me and not them, why did I get to grow up, raise a family and grow old - why ?
     As I walked around Kay was beside me, she held my hand or touched my shoulder and for a while as I drove away she sat quietly. We have been on many day trips around the state, usually I drive and ask Kay to pick a direction, she has picked well. Today was different, I knew beforehand where we were going, I wasn't sure I wanted to go and once I got there I was filled with sadness for what the memorial meant and joy for what it meant to men and women of my generation especially those of us who were there.
     Thank you Kay for taking me on a journey to the past, thank you for loving me.

Birthing A New Generation

     Way back in the annals of civilization families were large and women had their  babies at home and if they were lucky they had the help of neighboring wives to assist them. The families were large because the labor force that was needed to work the farms most people lived on, women gave birth at home because there were no hospitals to go to and few Dr's if any to attend to them. Giving birth was often difficult and many babies and mothers didn't survive, I have visited the grave of my Great Grandmother who had previously given birth to five kids, the sixth baby ( a girl ) died a month after birth followed a month later by her mother and in the same graveyard is my Aunt who died at birth.
     Well times have changed thru the ages, families have become smaller mainly due to the cost to raise a child to adulthood  ( about $250,000 in 2015 ) and the labor requirements are no longer needed to run the farm as few people live on farms now days. Today women give birth to their babies in hospitals assisted by a host of doctors and nurses, even Dads are a part of the process. Though modern science has made many improvements in birthing as far as the medical aspects go nothing has changed in the process itself. There are easy births and difficult ones, some go on for hours while others are over with in mere minutes and they still say that the first one is the most difficult.
     Take my own birth for instance, bear in mind this is all hearsay because I don't remember it but I was reminded many times of the difficulty my mother had giving birth to me. I was the first of five kids in my family, the year was 1947, the hospitals were few and far apart, the doctors still made house calls and birthing at home in your own bed still occurred. In my case there was no hospital but there was a sanitarium which was a kind of scaled down hospital that had Drs and nurses so I was born in a sanitarium a few miles north of Gallatin, Tn.. I am told the labor was long and painful and in the end mom not only had a bouncing baby boy she also developed something called pleurisy an ailment she never let me forget about. That is about all that I can say about my birth except that after my birth my other four siblings were a piece of cake.
     Fast forward about 33 years, after trying to get pregnant for the past 13 years Linda and I were successful. Linda was as happy as any expectant mother could be, she beamed with pride, I on the other hand was scared to death. Her pregnancy was somewhat uneventful, she went to work every day, came home, ate dinner and went to bed. Being pregnant is not an easy task for a woman, it takes a lot out of them and Linda was no different. I used to joke and tell people that she slept for the whole nine months - I wasn't too far wrong. When the time came for Danny to greet the world Linda and I were watching t.v. and she kept getting up to use the bathroom and after about the third trip she came back in saying she thinks her water broke. Now when the water breaks it usually means it is time to get in the car and go to the hospital but rather than rush into anything Linda calmly went and packed a small bag of clothing and then took a shower, we arrived at the hospital about 45 minutes later ( the hospital was only two miles away ).
     They took Linda in to the preparation room and called her Dr who happened to be Hungarian and spoke with a somewhat heavy accent. Soon after his arrival he came out to the waiting room and started telling me that there was a minor problem, it took me a few minutes to comprehend what it was he was trying to tell me. At last he held up an x-ray picture which showed that Danny had at the last minute flipped back upright and was not in the correct head first position and no amount of persuasion was going to turn him around so they were going to have to perform a Cesarean Section. I didn't know if he was just telling me or asking me for permission, all I could say was OK, fathers like me were the reason the delivery room was off limits. About 30 minutes later the Dr returned and told me in his heavy accent that I had a baby boy, he pointed to his surgical gown to show me a rather large wet spot and explained that all of Danny's parts were working. My firstborn arrived in this world July 10, 1980. After seeing my son thru the window of the nursery I walked beside Linda as they rolled her to her room from recovery, still a little groggy all she wanted to know was " is he beautiful ?" my answer was " of course ".
     There is a sidebar that needs to go along with this story. Danny was the only boy in the nursery and he had a head full of thick black hair long enough that the nurses wanted to tie a blue ribbon in it. The next day I returned to see my family and was talking to Linda when one of her friends came in, I took the opportunity to look in the nursery to see Danny. There was an older couple looking thru the glass at there new granddaughter who was obviously upset about something as she was loudly crying and kicking the air, they were marveling over how pretty and precious she was.  The nurses rolled Danny next to the little girl and he laid there sound asleep, and not meaning to brag, he was the most beautiful baby there. The older couple now turned their to Danny and started saying how precious he was. Moments later their son walked in, they told him how beautiful their granddaughter was and how much they adored her and how happy they were, they shook his hand and hugged him proudly, then the lady told her son that she wanted him to get started on another one and she wanted it to look just like this one ( she was pointed to Danny ). As proud as I was I couldn't help but say something so I put my hand on the other guys shoulder and told him good luck, it took 13 years to get this one right.
     Two years later we found ourselves in the family way again. Linda didn't get much sleep this time as she had a toddler to take care of but she didn't seem to mind, she was devoted to Danny. Things were going well until about seven or eight months into the pregnancy. It was one of those times when life jumps up and throws a wrench into the works, I got word that the company was shutting down my operation but had acquired another company in California and wanted me to transfer out there, in retrospect this was one move I should have turned down - but I didn't. I went to California and got the job and even went back to get acquainted with the people and that is where I was when Linda went into labor, by the time I got home the next day Clay had arrived.
     Once again this is hearsay but it was Linda who told me and she never lied. To preface the story, Linda had a Cesarean Section with Danny and due to her age and and the prior c-section she would have to undergo another c-section with Clay, she was prepared. A date was set for the procedure and life went on normally until one night her water broke and a neighbor took her to the hospital where the nursing staff took her to be prepped for a c-section. During the preparation the nurse looked down and saw that Clay had a foot sticking out which was not a good sign. Linda was rushed to the delivery room, it was too late for a c-section, Clay was going to be a natural breech birth, the boy was going to come out feet first which he did on August 24, 1982. It was a hard birthing for Linda but I think she would have done it all over again for Clay, he was her baby and held a special spot in her heart.
     I must confess that in the beginning I wanted a baby of my own but for various reasons it did not happen, I was even told that I could not father any kids because of a low sperm count. We or maybe just I resigned myself to not having kids, I had nieces and nephews and friends who had kids and that seemed to be enough. Linda on the other hand looked into adoption  and was on the verge of telling me that we were next on the list when she found out she was pregnant, the news while welcoming  struck fear into my heart. I was too old to be a new father, to set in my ways for any change but by the time Danny was crawling I was putting him on my shoulder walking him around the neighborhood showing him off to all we met.
     Now I have Grandchildren of my own, they are growing like weeds and change every time I see them. MJ and Matthew were both c-section babies and I expect their mother will someday regale them with her stories.
     I am sure modern medicine will continue to evolve in the future and make giving birth completely safe for both mother and baby but the birthing process will be the same as it has been for thousands of years, there will be difficult births and easy ones, some will last for hours while others will be over in mere minutes. The fathers will be proud, the mothers will smile with happiness as the circle of life goes on.
   
   
     

The Last One

                                                             The Last One


     Getting older means change, change in your life style because you are not as good as you once were and change because some things are just not as important as they used to be or some things become more important than others. Whatever changes Linda and I were experiencing in the spring of 2005 had come to a head, we had reached that point in our life that we knew we needed to make one more change. We had a 15 year old house that needed a lot of work and it still would not be the house we wanted so the obvious answer was to sell it.
      Over the last 38 years of marriage we had owned seven homes and accumulated some 27 + addresses so a condition of sale was that the new house was to be the last house we would own, the one that we would be carried out of feet first. So in June of 2005 we found a new home that would be the last one.
      We bought a house that Linda liked, it was smaller, one level and had trees in the yard. It was just the two of us and one loud and irritating bird that Linda loved so we downsized. The bird got sick and died suddenly so we rescued Licking Lizzy, a black Lab / Cocker mix. Lizzy was one of the first projects that I undertook in our new home, we used to laugh and tell people she was our $3000 dog, the rescue group charged us about $50 but I had to install a chain link fence around the yard, lay 13 pallets of sod and install a storm door with a doggy door, Lizzy is now working on 13 or maybe 14 years old and she may yet out live me. Over the next few years Linda planted shrubs and flowers and I built her a covered deck on the back so she could sit and watch the birds, squirrels and Lizzy. It was her domain, her kingdom, she was deserving of the happiness it brought her.
     We had good times there and many memories were made, things were as they should be. We were happy but then life caught up with us and kinda got in the way. Turns out this was Linda's last house and after she passed the house took on a new feeling so to speak, nothing was the same anymore and though Linda was no longer there the memory of her was everywhere.
     Once again my life changed, I had been kicked in the gut and didn't know which way to turn so I sought the help of people who were walking down the same path.
     I met Kay in a grief support group, Wayne her husband of 35 years had passed away from cancer a week before Linda. Over time we became close and fell in love and eventually married, some thought it was too soon for that but then they were not walking in our shoes so they had no understanding of our feelings and would not until the time came for them to walk their own path of loneliness and despair.
     Kay had similar feelings towards her house that I had for mine so she sold it and after a long search we purchased a fixer upper that took us about a year before we could move in to it and we are still putting the final touches on the inside. The main thing is that it is "our" house and though we still think of our loved ones often the memories we make now are ours.
     Now it was moving time, a time to let go of a life that will never be forgotten only moved in to the shadows of memories from long ago. Just as Kay did when she sold her house, I cleaned out things that wouldn't fit into the new house, things that no longer fit into my life. I decided to give the kids the things that belonged to Linda that I was holding as an inheritance and then we moved into our new home.
     Well, I sold the house on Solomon Dr. the other day. It was hard to leave it behind but somehow I don't think Linda would mind.
     Ironically this new home is also the last one , the one they will carry us out of or at least carry me out seeing as how I am older than Kay. Until the final day comes for either of us to be carried out we will make a new life for ourselves. It is our life now filled with memories of the past and hopes for the future. Past memories occasionally rise up giving us moments of sorrow or happiness but we have each other to love and hold on to.
     To the naysayers I say - one day you may find yourself in similar circumstances, I hope that you find a pathway that makes you happy.