May memories

Bring on the cake because it’s time to celebrate. At least it is for me. Big things happened this first week of May many years ago. It is only fitting and proper I share them with you.
My beloved granddaddy was born May 4, 1916. He would have been 95-years-old. Unfortunately he died Father’s Day in 1997, but I was able to enjoy him for a good 12 years.

Granddaddy introduced me to the joys of watching wrestling, eating honey suckles straight from the vines and being a member of the Bug Zappers Club (an elite society). I remember how he used to always make and eat carrot salad. Yuck! I love Granddaddy, but to this day I still hate that dish. Mayonnaise, raisins and carrots do not belong together.

Many a day after school I would hear him calling out my favorite nickname (10 points for knowing it). Daycare for me consisted of hanging with grandparents. No wonder I was spoiled rotten. I wasn’t his first grandchild (who is that?) or his last (my brother), but I was definitely in the Fave Five. Although I miss him dearly, his memory is always inside of me.

Also, yours truly (and the fantastic Cee) graduated from the wonderful University of Florida May 5, 2007. It’s great to be a Florida Gator and even greater to be a Gator grad.

College was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. How can I forget walking through McDonald’s drive-thru at 2 a.m. with three other random strangers? You can’t just make things like that up. You have to live it.

My history of journalism class introduced me to the work of one of my favorite authors, Carl Hiaasen. I learned how to grow tomatoes in world herbs and vegetables. If nothing else, college helped solidify my career ambitions. There’s nothing like working full-time as a newspaper intern, for free, to help you realize your calling.

Some days working and playing in the real world makes me nostalgic for those carefree college days. I really had it made back then. The only jobs I had to worry about were being a student full-time, working in the art museum gift shop part-time and taking care of my first betta fish, Vendy.

Let’s pop some ginger ale (not a champagne drinker here) and raise a toast for my May memories. Here’s to good times of the past.

The Rotten Cousin

Only one word can describe me as a child: rotten. I was the brat of the family for the longest time. I grew up mainly around my paternal family. Many of us went to the same church or schools and lived close to each other. My rottenness wasn’t to everyone. Oh I could be so sweet and innocent to my grandma, aunts and uncles. It was my cousins who had to deal with all my misdeeds.

Not too long ago I had an in-depth conversation with Ma Dukes about my rotten years. She knew I was pretty terrible as her child, but didn’t know of just how bad my cousins got it from me too. I was the family tattle tale if any of my cousins said or did something I didn’t like. One year at Christmas the big cousins wouldn’t let me play The Game of Life. I whined to our grandma who promptly fussed at them for keeping me out of the game.

There were also two older cousins I always had to bother. I called one stupid all the time and hit another (for no reason other than pure evilness). Only because I was little girl saved me from a few well-deserved beat downs. But I wasn’t mean to all my cousins. A few others just probably thought I was annoying for always following them underfoot.

Ma Dukes said it’s a wonder any of my cousins still talk to me today because of my behavior. It was hard being one of the youngest cousins in a big family. No one takes you seriously (until you kick them). I was just an “innocent” bystander in the cousin hierarchy. Little cousins are supposed to be bad.

Now I’m a big cousin, but most of my little cousins aren’t interested in me. I was away in college while most were born, and they all seem to adore my younger brother. However, they did take revenge for their parents at my graduation party by all jumping on my back. Guess I deserved it. But no one is beating up on me or calling me names. Unlike my older cousins I will fight a rotten little child.

Chronicles of Life… tea time memories

Complaining is a semi-professional hobby of mine because I do it quite a bit. Sometimes it’s necessary, like when I visit my parents and complain about them never having any food. Maybe they’ll actually listen one day and stock the fridge and pantry with stuff I can pilfer.


Knowing when to complain is an important skill, but so is knowing when to give a compliment. Therefore let the records show I think Celestial Seasoning’s tea is wonderful. Recently, I bought a package of peppermint tea to aid me during one of my many sick days. I’ve realized there’s nothing better than an herbal tea during the “ick.” Also tea holds a special sentimental value for me.

My granny and I used to always have a weekly tea time when I was growing up. Tea time involved several elements. The tea had to be sweetened in a particular manner. Granny didn’t use regular sugar but sugar cubes. I thought those were the coolest things in the world, especially when she asked, “one lump or two?” Next came the snacks, Pepperidge Farm cookies: Chessmen for her, Pirouette for me and Milano for the both of us. Then we would sip tea, eat cookies and watch TV shows such as “Murder She Wrote,” “Matlock” or “Perry Mason.”

Tea time varied. Sometimes it was early evening on a school day before my mom picked me up. Or it was at night during one of the many sleepovers at my grandparents’ house. No matter the time it was always fun. I enjoyed the tea, but spending time with my granny was even better.

Granny had a strong affinity for any of Celestial Seasonings herbal teas. We drank everything from lemon zinger to Mandarin orange spice and raspberry zinger. None can quite compare to peppermint. Granny enjoyed the teas so much she once wrote the company a letter of praise. They responded with a thank you letter and coupons for more tea. Score one for Granny.

Those memories all came back during my latest tea time, and I began to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So I followed Granny’s example and sent Celestial Seasonings a message via their Web site (thank you modern technology). They received a gushing compliment on how great their tea was umpteen years ago, how it still tastes just as good today and how drinking it brought back fond memories of tea time with my granny. Celestial Seasonings sent me an automated e-mail response with a “thank you for your comment” message the next day, but I didn’t think too much about it. Then a few days later I got a package in the mail from the company. Along with a response letter were packets of peppermint tea and coupons. Score one for me.

These days, I’m making tea for one. Granny is gone, and as much as I would like to complain about it, I won’t. Instead I’ll just sit back, have a spot of tea and remember those fun times. I have our memories, some free tea and coupons. That’s worth a compliment or two. Celestial Seasonings is the tea of my memories.

Chronicles of Life … Dueling Memories

Not so long ago, I was one of the best duelers in the West. At least I was in my mind. Granted, I’ve never actually been there. For me, the West was at my grandparents’ house. There I fought many a battle. My granddaddy often played the villain in our imaginary town, and I was the sheriff. We would fight for the title of “Quickest Draw in the West.”


“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” someone would say. “I challenge you to a duel!”

Granddaddy would count out “One, two, three,” and yell, “Now draw!” We both would respond with a loud, “Bang!” as we pointed our weapons (fingers, random objects and of course toy guns).

“Oh you got me!” one of us would yell.

Sometimes Granddaddy would draw first and get me. More often than not, I got him, because I was the quickest draw. Or at least he let me think I was. Dramatics would ensue with his death drop. And oh what a drop Granddaddy could do. He always managed to fall into his favorite chair. Some days he played possum, and would jump up saying I missed him. The duel would have to start anew. After checking to see if he was really gone, I would gallop off into the sunset (actually the kitchen) on my faithful steed Widow Maker.

Now Widow Maker was no ordinary horse. For one thing, she had the head of a horse and the body of a broom. You know those old school stick horses. Nonetheless, I loved Widow Maker to death. Granddaddy would share tales of all the riders Widow Maker took down. She turned many a wife into a widow. Only I was able to calm Widow Maker enough to ride her.

It’s funny how I should think of Widow Maker and those duels after all these years. That was well before my brother was born. I probably was 5 or 6 at the most. Just today, my mom sent me a text message asking if I remembered Widow Maker. Indeed I did. Those fun times with Granddaddy and Widow Maker first came back to my mind on Sunday. While leaving the library, I noticed someone had this giant rocking horse on the back of a truck. Immediately I thought of Widow Maker, Granddaddy and those duels.

These days, I don’t find myself in many duels. My best dueling opponent ever has gone to Heaven. And Widow Maker has long since gone out to pasture. Actually, I think my granny took her to the glue factory. She didn’t like Widow Maker for some reason. Once while cleaning up the house, Granny told Widow Maker to get her behind out the way (in not such nice terms).

I’ll always have the precious memories of my dueling days. And the title of “Quickest Draw in the West.” Don’t believe me? In the words of yesterday, “I challenge you to a duel! One, two, three. Now draw. Bang!”

Chronicles of Life ... Pennies From Heaven

We all probably grew up hearing the saying, “See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck. See a penny, let it lay, and bad luck you’ll have all rest of the day.” However, luck is not a concept I buy. My Granny used to tell me Christians have no need to believe in luck. There is no such thing as good or bad luck. Only blessings and favor from God.


So no, I don’t say good luck. I say best wishes. I’m blessed, not lucky. Yes, I break mirrors without the slightest thought. I cross paths with a black cat quite frequently. I pay no mind to stepping on cracks. I’ll walk under a ladder in a heartbeat, if it’s the quickest route. And a severe rain storm calls for opening an umbrella inside before heading out to face the elements. The only thing I actually do is pick up pennies.

I saw a penny on the ground while walking into Wal-Mart Monday, and I picked it up. But luck has nothing to do with it. Instead it reminds me of a story I once read in a Dear Abby column. A reader sent in a letter saying when you see a penny on the ground it means someone you love in Heaven is thinking of you and wants you to know it. I remember reading this while still in elementary school. I put the story in the back of my mind, until it one day became of use to me.

Sometime later my granddaddy died, which tore me up. I was 12, and that was my first real experience with death. Not long after he died, I saw a perfectly clean penny on the ground. This reminded me of the letter. So I picked up the penny and thought about my granddaddy missing me as much as I missed him. For once I didn’t cry or feel sad. Now I was hooked on the penny legend.

Over the years, several loved ones have died. Each death is never easy, but finding the pennies help provide me with some comfort. When I find a penny, I simply look up and say, “I miss you too,” to whoever sent it. Each penny is attributed to the latest loved one that died.

I have determined this penny is from that same granny that taught me about luck. She died in February 2008. That was yet another hard death for me to take. There are good days when I don’t cry and bad ones that leaving me red in the face from sobbing. I miss her even more during the holidays. By finding that penny, I know she misses me too.

To some this is just a crazy old legend. And I’m crazy for even buying into it. But is it any crazier than believing in luck? For now, I’ll believe in pennies from Heaven. It’s nice to know you’re missed too. Now that’s something I can buy.

Chronicles of Life … crying spell

It hit me while writing my latest obituary. Around this time last year I was writing my first one, except it wasn’t for a stranger.
My grandmother died one year ago today.
Time does fly, but I still feel the lost as if it just happened
That was one trip to Jacksonville I didn’t want to make. Then I didn’t want to leave when it was time to return to Hartwell.
I thought the tears would never stop coming.
I felt like life couldn’t go on and wanted to wallow in a dark abyss of sadness for the rest of my life.
“I have no one left in this world,” I remember telling one friend.
She quickly reminded me of my massive family.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “What about all those people at your graduation?”
Yes, even in sorrow I am overly dramatic.
At that time it seemed like the end of my world. I was a bucket of tears.
Then I thought about how my mom probably felt. That made me cry 10 times worse.
She took care of my granny throughout her battle with dementia. That is no easy task.
A lesser daughter would have probably run away from it or crumbled under the pressure. She was able to handle it with no complaints.
My mom set aside her own tears on many occasion.
I decided I wanted to be strong for her if nothing else. Yes, I had my moment, but I was OK at the funeral.
Even now I want to be strong for my mother.
It was hard at first because everything reminds of my granny. Certain hymns, the color green, even Florence my peace lily (I got it from the funeral).
I still think about her today, but surprisingly I don’t necessarily get teary-eyed every time.
Mainly memories of her make me smile.
It was the same way when my granddaddy died. I cried during the whole funeral and thought I couldn’t make it.
Now I take pleasure and solace in the sweet memories.
I know my mom has her fair share of sad moments. So I tell her to just let it flow, whether she’s at work, out in public or by herself.
Sometimes the person that’s normally the rock needs to turn into the waterfall. M mom and I have switched roles in that sense.
I still do have my crying spells. You know the ones where you can barely breathe and start hiccupping.
I let the tears fall for however long.
Just Saturday I was cleaning my house and saw a copy of the funeral program and obituary. Instantly I went into hysterics.
So for two hours I vacuumed and cried, swept and cried and washed dishes and cried. I even took a break from cleaning to cry some more.
Then as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Kind of like Florida rain showers.
It’s funny how that happens. Maybe its part of the healing process.
*No tears were hurt in the making of this note.*

Chronicles of Life… Never say bye

Sometimes I still can’t believe they’re gone.
It’s been four months since I lost my granny. And Father’s Day this year officially marks 11 years since my granddaddy passed away.
The pain doesn’t sting as deep when they first died, but it still hurts … a lot.
I have my days when I can think about them without getting sad. But there are a lot more times when I cry, especially when thinking about my granny.
I see a lot of people in Hartwell with grandchildren. They usually are beaming with pride over the grands.
My grandparents were the same way. I was their angel.
I didn’t visit my grandparents, I practically lived with them. Their house was my domain.
It was the first place I was going to run away to when my mom told me she was pregnant with my brother (yeah , I didn’t take that news too well ).
Naturally you develop a closeness with your grandparents when you’re around them 24/7.
I guess that’s why losing them was so rough.
I’m definitely glad they’re not suffering anymore. But the selfish side of me wishes I still had them.
My granddaddy had no less that 20 other grandchildren. Most are old enough to be my parents.
He got to live through so much of their life. But that wasn’t the case for me.
He only got to see me finish sixth grade.
And although Granny made it to my high school graduation, she was a shadow of her former self.
Her complete essence was gone by the time I made it through college and to my first job.
Talk about a sharp pain.
I take to heart the words in Mariah Carey’s song “Bye Bye.”
“And you never got the chance to see how good I've done
And you never got to see me back at number one
I wish that you were here to celebrate together
I wish that we could spend the holidays together
I remember when you used to tuck me in at night
With the Teddy Bear you gave to me that I held so tight
I thought you were so strong
That you can make it through whatever.
It's so hard to accept the fact you're gone forever.”
No wonder I bawl for a good minute ever time I hear the song.
The sadness I’ve felt over other little trivial things in my life is nothing compared to that of losing a loved ones.
There are days I would give anything to have my grandparents back.
But each trip to Edgewood cemetery in Jacksonville reminds me that won’t be happening. And I have no desire to deal with ghosts.
Nothing will bring them back, and that’s just something I have to deal with.
But even though they’re gone, this isn’t goodbye forever. I know I’ll see them again someday soon.
Just like the Jackson Five I never can say goodbye. So I won’t say goodbye to my grandparents. I’ll just say “See you later.”