WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

I cried again this morning, Lord.

I know you heard my prayer.

But Lord, I’m not at peace today

I still need for you to care.

I cry for what might have been,

The years that we have lost.

While searching for the rainbow

We paid an enormous cost.

We took our eyes off the prize

And through the years we stumbled,

When all that time we might have been

More grateful and much more humbled.

Now I sit in quiet solitude and

Think about our past,

Still yearning for what we lost

And remembering the cost.

MORAVIAN STAR AND BROKEN PINKIES

Losing your eyesight and ultimately your independence, is a terrible thing at any age.  It forces you to take a hard look at your circumstances and make some hard choices for your future.  And it’s especially hard when you live alone with no family close by.

My sweet little Momma had made a new life for herself when she left the hometown where she grew up, married, and raised me and my brother.  She had become accustomed to having lots of people her age around her that loved her, had become active in the church, volunteering at the nursing home, visiting her friends, shopping, and her favorite, going out to eat with her friends.  She had been diagnosed with macular degeneration earlier in the year, but I don’t think any of us realized the extent of the disease.  When she didn’t see a stop sign, crossed through the intersection and drove into someone’s front yard, it was time.  Change was imminent. 

Teresa had driven Mom to Virginia for a visit so she knew we had the perfect situation for her to live with us having her own bedroom, bath, and the “run” of the house downstairs.    She also knew it meant she would have to give up her “ride.”  Now, Momma wasn’t one to stay home if she could drive.  She’d get in her car, put that Grenada in drive, and whiz downtown or wherever she wanted to go, for that matter.  She nabbed a couple of concrete pillars at Covington Square when she could see good.  She earned her nickname,  “Fireball Roberts.”  (Only old racing fans will appreciate that one)   

And so it was, that my brother, daughter, me and Sol, packed every little piece of newspaper clipping, sermons on cassette tape, several hymnals, old sheet music, trinkets, art supplies, and a recent gift of a beautiful glass Moravian Star.   Oh, and her shrouded in a plastic bag, completely decorated Christmas tree with the handmade ornaments from the “home” residents where she lived.  We loaded up a U-Haul van and off we went to her new home in Blackstone.  The Moravian Star went missing during the move.  Mom pilfered through boxes for years looking for it.

Momma was thrilled to be able to live with us.  She decided that her job was going to be that of chief cook and bottle washer.  She didn’t know I knew it, but she did this because she ate her main meal at noon.  We had always eaten ours at night.  So, if she cooked, she had some assurance that she would be fed on time.  That worked out well for her and made her feel good that she could contribute to the household.   I loved it.  I could spend my mornings in the yard, planting and replanting, going to club meetings, playing bridge, or whatever, and Sollie could come home at lunch since he was just two miles away, straight shot.

Now Mom was about the most resilient 80-year-old I have ever seen.  She could fall, roll over on her all fours, and walk her way back up to a standing position really good.  It’s amazing that in all her life, she only broke two bones.  One day, as I’m hoeing in the tansy (which I hated ‘because it had an awful smell), sweat dripping from me like a faucet, and I look up to see Mom coming down the walkway towards me.   She yelled that dinner was ready, and promptly toppled over on the walkway.  I see her when she stumbles, throw down my hoe, and start running through the tansy patch towards her hoping to catch her, but instead stumbled on my own big feet and did a number plowing through that black dirt.  The fall wasn’t pretty.  I rooted up the dirt with my face and snout looking like a hog in a pen.   So, there we were, both of us sprawled out in the yard, stunned.  I yelled for her to stay put until I could get up and then slowly crawled and scratched my way over to her.

After we laughed a few minutes, we decided we better see if we could get up.  She was the first up and she helped me.  Now, we’re both looking all over ourselves to see if we were ok, and decided that the only thing that hurt was our little pinkie fingers.  I called Sollie who came in two minutes and took us to the local clinic where they x-rayed our hands.  Yep.  We both broke the same finger on the same hand.   We sported our splints on our pinkies for several weeks.  My pinkie is still crooked to this day!  Hers was straight.  We made the local newspaper the next week, after young Billy came over and took our picture, sitting in the porch swing holding up our left hands, for his Dad’s paper.   Young Billy is now the Mayor of the town, and Editor of the paper.  His Dad and Mom were great friends of ours.  She and I did a great “fall” together while practicing on the set of a Rotary Musical production a few years later.  I ‘bout broke my leg trying to break the fall for her!  Ah, what precious memories…. But, more changes are on the horizon.

STRANGERS ON GOSPEL HILL

We came as total strangers.  Local folks had no idea of our background, education, or financial status.  They went out of their way to welcome us to town.  The “money pit” was in the older neighborhood, “Gospel Hill,” but to us, it was a mansion where we could live out our dreams.  Our immediate neighbors were friendly and polite to us, salt of the earth.  It proved to us, that people don’t always judge a person by the color of their skin or social status in life, (which we already knew) but sometimes small towns have a way of scrutinizing a person’s background before they form a valid opinion of their worth.

Our first encounter with acceptance came from our Landlords, Danny and Gloria, who invited and took us to the beautiful old Crenshaw UMC and afterward to the local restaurant, Slaws, for the best home cooked food around.   They made sure we were introduced to everyone in both places on our first visit, where we were warmly welcomed. 

Later after we moved into our home, one of the local oil dealers, Mr. Robertson, made a special trip to see Sollie at his office.  He welcomed him to town, invited him to go to the Rotary Club with him the next week, and said he sure would like to have our business.  (Our steam heat was fired by fuel oil).  In a few days, his wife, brought over a baker’s dozen of homemade rolls.  We thought we had died and gone to Heaven!  Some of the best rolls anywhere, ever!

I mentioned to someone at church that I needed some mulch for my garden and asked where I might purchase some, and wouldn’t you know it, a few days later, I discovered a big pile of mulch in my yard that had been delivered and shoveled by this dear man, Richard Lee.  Richard was a jam up “stew master” for the Men’s Bible Class, who was forever doing good for somebody.    At Christmas, a whole box or oranges and some apples were brought by the local retired Dentist, Dr. Bradshaw.  One of the kindest men on earth who had been paralyzed by a stroke, but with his caregiver John, he always was spreading good cheer to anyone in any way he could.  I had met him and his wife while I was walking one day.  They invited me in and I immediately fell in love with them.  We received a plate of warm homemade cinnamon rolls from the dedicated “communion bread” maker for Crenshaw, who was a wonderful baker!   The Yancey’s owners of a local pharmacy delivered one of her famous Coconut Pound Cakes, greeting us and welcoming us to town.   

The old house did not have central air conditioning.  There were some small units in a couple of rooms, and one barely cooled the room it was in.  The weather that first summer was steamy and hot.  We sweated like hogs while we worked in the house sanding and painting, working our way up the stairs.   One day, a former AG at Fort Pickett, said he had a huge window unit just sitting outside in his barn, and he wanted us to use it if we could.  Would we?  You bet! 

It is impossible for me mention the names of every thoughtful gesture to us during our first few months in Blackstone.  What I can mention is, that we immediately knew we wanted to live right there in Blackstone and be part of this little piece of Heaven where pride in the community, love of neighbors, and businesses appreciated our business. What’s not to like about a community of caring and friendly people who make you feel like you belong?     

Junker to Scarlett O'Hara

The next ten years were the happiest years of our lives.  While we had moved away from family and friends, we were destined to enjoy new experiences and friends that made an impact on our lives forever.   Everything about our move was new.  New job, new home, new church, new opportunities, and a new life as a married couple of some 40 + years.   Now in mid-life, we were still young enough to enjoy travel, hard work became a pleasure, and new people and places were welcome changes. 

We worked together scrubbing, sanding, painting, wallpapering our new home.  It was huge and while we thought we had a lot of “stuff,” it looked like doll furniture in those rooms.  Always the “junker,” I quickly learned how and where to find the best bargains.  I shopped auctions, flea markets, estate sales, yard sales, consignment shops, and came home with treasures that only needed a little spiffing up to fit into that spot that was bare.   

Slowly, but surely, we went room by room.  I chose a vivid green climbing ivy wallpaper on white for the kitchen and painted the ugly birch cabinets white.  The floor was re-done in a black and white vinyl.  My new friend, Gloria, taught me to make Roman shades and how to save money by lining them with old sheets.  A local fabric weaving factory up the road in Crewe had an outlet where I found a small ivy print accented with little violets.  The oak table and chairs and antique china cabinet we already owned fit perfectly in the room.  It was beautiful.

The once yellowed walls in the living room became a vivid Geranium red and I shopped until I found just the right fabric of red on beige toile fabric.  From that I made beautiful swags and jabots for the tall, wavy glass windows.  The large foyer was papered with a subtle toile, pineapple print of neutral beige.   The color became a novelty for conversation in town since it was a rather new concept in paint at the time and everyone wanted to see it.  Or, maybe just curiosity to see what the crazy couple that bought the old place at auction had done with it.

The dining room, approximately 20 x 26 was huge!   We left it for a while because I loved the old Revolutionary print toile green on cream wallpaper and dark oak floors.  But, alas, eventually we had to redo the entire ceiling and some of the walls with sheetrock because of the crumbling and cracked plastered walls.  It eventually wound up with a magnolia print above the chair rail and a rich green paint below.  All woodwork in the house was painted a creamy ivory color.

The floor in the foyer, staircase and living room had been carpeted over the oak floors years before and we left it for the time being, eventually removing it and refinishing the floors to the beautiful patina that had been covered up.  A beautiful flea market find chandelier replaced the unimpressive foyer and dining room fixtures.  

The bedroom and bath were scrubbed and painted and the existing vintage drapes that I loved remained at the windows.  We spent the first year working and living in the downstairs area. Changes were on the horizon for the coming year, but we were optimistic for the future and never wavered in our decision to make this our home and hung a swing on the porch to prove our resident status.  I felt like Scarlett O’Hara!