Sometime I say to myself, "Why am I still married?" I mean none of us are perfect and I'm not easy to be around most of the time, but my husband Mike gives new meaning to the commercial that says, "We repair what you're husband fixed." If you've read my blogs before you know that I have mentioned some of the horrors I have survived because Mike can't ever find his "round to it." I just keep telling myself that a lot of people have it so much worse, but that only helps for about 5 seconds. See, I was used to having things repaired as soon as they tore up when I was living at home with my Mom. My Dad, Jack, could fix anything even though he was born with only one hand. After his passing in 1971, my grandfather Tom was the go-to man, but he never could do things on his own so that's when my cousin, Glen Rigsby came to the rescue. They worked well into the night to fix washing machines, water leaks, stopped up pipes, and anything wrong with our cars. Mom and I fixed several things on our own. We moved furniture, mowed the lawn, had the oil changed in the car, took out the trash, fixed the commode, repaired broken objects with Krazy glue, hammered nails, painted the house and all kinds of stuff that most women don't ever have to do. If we couldn't fix it, we had someone lined up who could and we insisted it be fixed ASAP. You would think that after all these years I would be used to the fact that my husband never, ever finishes anything he starts, but the older I get the less patience I have.
I have never had the virtue of patience. If I could have done anything about it, I would not have waited 9 months to have my children. That's too long to wait on anything. I don't know, sometimes I think my days must be longer than Mike's because I get twice as much done as him. Mike's latest project has gotten way out of control. Not many people know about this not even my Facebook friends because I've tried to not mention it. March 31 of this year was Easter Sunday. My son Neil brought his sons, Camden and Gray down for the day. We all got together at Kyle's house for dinner. What I remember most is that is was the day that Mike tore our main bathroom apart. Ever since we built our house in 2003, I noticed that the shower was leaking. Years went by with me asking Mike if he would take time to check out why the shower was leaking. His reply was always, "I will." Once there was small mushrooms growing in the tile grout. Then I noticed that the floor was starting to sag and the foundation on the outside of the house was wet. Mike still said, "I'll check it." After ten years he finally "looked" at it and agreed that we had a leak and was going to need a new shower. The shower Mike installed when we moved in wasn't installed correctly so all the water was flowing out the bottom of the shower onto the floor. You would think that would be apparent to anyone, but obviously it didn't bother Mike one bit.
Mike along with Kyle's help, took the shower out and threw it away. He took up the ceramic tiles, which was easy because they had come loose from the floor and most were cracked anyway. All was left was the sink and the commode. He put plywood over the hole where the floor was and that was it. Yes, I said that was it. I tried not to keep bringing it up, but I couldn't help it. April, May came and went with no activity. In June Mike thought he could make me happy by saying he had went by a few places in London and looked at tile. Seriously, that was supposed to suffice? He even brought brochures home. Then he put it all on me. He said I needed to go pick out my tile. I did, went to Lowe's as soon as I could. Mike met me there, I showed him what I liked and we left. We didn't buy anything, we just looked. I tried to get him to hire the guy in London to come and do the whole job. He gave an estimate on materials, labor tax etc. To me it would have been a dream come true to have someone who knew what they were doing come to the house and actually fix my bathroom in less than a week. If it took longer, I would have still be over the moon because at least he was trying.
In June, my cousin came down from Ohio to visit for the weekend. It really didn't matter to her that we only had a bathtub that she would be sharing with us. I tried to keep the door to the other bathroom closed hoping she wouldn't have to go in there and see the mess. Sometime in July, Mike announced he was getting someone he knew to come and look at the bathroom. That person came and looked and left. I talked Mike into calling him back after a couple of weeks and beg him to come and lay the tile. Sometime in late July, that guy came. He worked one day and left. I didn't see or hear from him again until August. My cousin came back for another visit and we still shared a bath. She's too good of a person to say anything, but she agreed it needed to be fixed. Ironically, the man showed up the weekend she was her. He woke her up early hammering. He actually laid a few tile that day. A week or so later he came back and laid some more tile. He finished his work in two days. Once he got started, things went smoothly.
September went by with Mike pretending to do a little work every other day. He would go in the bath with a measuring tape and come back out five minutes later or he would go in there with a piece of pipe and glue for five minutes. Anyhow, what I'm getting at is that it's now October 3 and I still don't have my bathroom fixed. Mike got tired of me making him clean the tub everyday so he found some old fixtures, put them up so he can at least take a shower now. I wanted a nice shower door, but that's never going to happen so I am the highest bidder on ebay for one slightly used shower curtain with stars on it. The boards are still there and I'm sure a wild animal will be coming in out of the cold any time now. My plan there is to hire the Turtleman and hopefully make my big break into TV where I will denounce men until they cancel my show. It also doesn't smell too good in there and I'm afraid to ask what the smell is. In my mind, I had things pictured just the way I wanted the room to look, but now I'll be happy just to have a floor. I pray everyday that nothing else will ever tear up because it will stay torn up for the rest of my life. Actually, my car doesn't have a radio. All it needs is an antenna, but Mike told me back in June that he would fix it. And, the kitchen sinks leaks so bad that you get your feet washed while you are washing dishes, but he's going to get a new faucet.....when, not in my lifetime.
I know when you have a house or a car or even a lawn mower, that things tear up. I expect that. What I don't expect is for them not to get fixed. I thought writing this would make me feel better, but I'm madder than ever now. Why am I still married?
Stories about four generations living in rural Ky.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
A Hot August Wedding
I've been told that my wedding was quiet entertaining. Everyone that was present on that hot, humid day back on August 30, 1975, is still willing to talk about what an interesting event it was. I was one of the main players in this program, but I was so busy just getting through it that I didn't even notice some things. Of course Mike doesn't talk much, never did and probably never will, but he did say he wished we had eloped. We didn't elope and I for one am glad we didn't. What would people have to talk about if we had?
I met Michael Childress in February, 1975. I had just gotten out of a courtship with other man and didn't think I was ready to jump back into another one, but I did. I was 17, lived at home with my mother. My grandparents lived next door. My grandmother had bought herself a new car, a 1974 Gremlin. It was bright yellow. She said I could drive it when ever I wanted. When I found myself single for the first time in over a year, I was looking forward to just hang out with my friends and cruise the loop from McKinney's Tire to the turn around just below Dolly's Dairy Freeze. I was now old enough to be trusted with Granny's car. Mom and Granny set a curfew of 11:00 on weeknights, midnight on weekends. That must have been the standard hours, because everyone in my class was up town cruising or attending a football or basket game at the same time. On February 25, my best friend, Rhonda and myself had gone to the Kiwi for supper. After we ate, we drove through town and met Mike and his cousin, Benny several times. It was dark and cold outside, so we just waved at each other and continued to cruise. Back in those days everybody knew everybody and who was dating who. I don't remember giving Mike a second thought that night and he says the same about me. Rhonda and I were just about home on Brindle Ridge, when we met a car driving really slow. I slowed down too so I could see whose car it was. Rhonda recognized the green Monte Carlo, "Stop!" she said "let's talk to them awhile." So I stopped right in the middle of the road. Mike drove on a little farther but backed up along side my georgous Gremlin. We traded "Hi's" and" what are you doing." (Mike won't admit it, but I believe he was driving past my house that night because he already had me in mind.) I figured it wasn't a good place to just stop in the middle of a busy road, so I asked Mike and Benny to turn around and come back to my house. We sat and talked to them until my grandpa started blinking the porch lights, which was his sign for me to get back in the house. I always got in fast because once I didn't go fast enough and Grandpa came outside in his underwear. Mike asked me to meet him at the last basketball game of the regular season the following week. Of course I met him and that's where it all began.
I fell for Mike by the third date. He was my complete opposite and I think that's what attracted me to him. You never knew what he was thinking. He asked me out for every weekend, but I still wasn't sure if he even liked me. One of his friends had a locker below mine and he kept telling me things Mike had said to him about me. He was our "go between." When I was in school, Mr. Saylor always made sure that the girls got the upper lockers. Probably because our dresses were so short he figured we would reveal too much if we had to kneel down and he was right. Wow, those dresses were really, really short. Anyhow, I dated Mike all spring and by June, I no longer doubted whether Mike liked me or not. He had given me his class ring and in those days sometimes that was as good as wedding ring. He didn't come right out and ask me to wear his ring, but rather said he had gotten some paint on it and could I clean it up. I worked hard on that ring and when I showed him how clean I had gotten it, he said, "just keep it." Not very romantic, but I barely knew what romance was anyhow.
July 25, 1975, Mike gave me an engagement ring. It was a surprise. He worked in Louisville at General Electric so I only got to see him on weekends and usually not until Saturday because he worked on Friday nights. This particular night, he surprised me by showing up at the house and then really surprised me with the ring. I had been engaged once before and Mom wasn't happy when I showed her my engagement ring that time, but this time with Mike, she was happy. She's always been a good judge of character.
Mike had traded his green Monte Carlo for a brown one. I remember it was the biggest car ever. He let me drive it sometimes, but I was scared to death. I felt like I was driving an army tank. Mike and his brothers and cousins all liked cars, especially Corvettes. Mike had a '66 little red corvette, www.motorera.com as the song says. He wouldn't drive it if it rained and he washed and waxed it continually. It had these huge, wide tires on the back and Cragar cragarwheels.com wheels. All the guys wanted those kind of wheels in those days. It was a hard top, but had a soft top too. It was so much fun that summer to ride around town in that car. Everybody stared at us when we drove around. The older folks thought it was the ugliest car ever, but the younger people thought it was cool. I never got to drive it because back then I couldn't drive a stick shift. We managed to do a lot of living in the six months since we met. We fished, visited, road around every old dirt road in the county while listening to Bachman Turner Overdrive on an 8 track tape that Mike had bought at Western Auto. We did a lot of "partying" that summer too. When I think back on it, it was a party at all, more like a group meeting. The news would travel fast that everybody was meeting either at "The Cross" or "The Tunnels." Both locations were off Hummel road just a few miles from town. I'm still Facebook friends with so many of the people who were at the "parties" every weekend. Sometimes we talk about the things that occured during a party. We never got into any trouble with the police and even though we were all young, most under 20, we seemed older. We valued each others friendship and we always had each other's back. Most of us told our parents where we would be if they needed us. Some of the couples were married. That summer of 1975 was the best time of my life.
Mike and I couldn't wait to say, "I do." We set a date of August 30 which was a little over a month and didn't give us much time to plan. Our wedding was small, I had a maid of honor and a bridesmaid. Mike had his best man and an usher. Mom made the dresses for the girls and the guys rented those dusty blue tuxes that were popular then. Me, Mom, Anna Lee and her Mom, Faye Rigsby all drove to Lexington to buy my dress. I got money for a graduation gift and used that to buy my dress. I bought it at McAplins, which was a department store located in the Lexington Mall. I bought a size 2 and still had to have some alterations. Total cost of the dress was $127.00. Mom gave Mike her wedding ring to give to me. Rhonda and I spent a couple days buying candles, making rice bags, that was before it was determined that rice was bad for the birds, so I had real rice. A little lady in her 90's made my Cake and only charged $25.00. My grandpa had gotten really sick, he was dying with cancer. My granny stayed by his side at Berea hospital for 60 days. When I started planning my wedding, I planned to have the ceremony in mom's back yard hoping that grandpa would feel like being there. We got folding chairs from one of the funeral homes, I hired Mrs. Ruth Fain, who owned Mt. Vernon Florist, to coordinate things. The hardest part was meeting with the minister, Bro. Raymond Flynn. I was expecting the "you are too young" speech, but it didn't come. We had picked out an apartment close to Mike's brothers, Lee, Phil and Bobby all worked at General Electric with Mike. Granny gave us a couch, and a dinette set. I took my bedroom suit from home as well as several knick-knacks. Rhonda had us a household shower so we had a lot of nice gifts like towels, sheets and kitchen appliances.
Mike had a lot of nieces and nephews. It was hard to pick who we wanted to be in our wedding because we didn't want to make someone feel bad. I ended up having his niece, Stephanie, for my flower girl and two six year old nephews. Brent was the ring bearer and Scott carried the train on my dress. Both had matching blue tuxes also. Mike's brother, Petey was the best man and Mike's good friend, Glen Hammond was the usher. Rhonda was my maid of honor, while Patty Taylor {Kirby} was my bridesmaid. I asked my friend since grade school, Kathy Pope (Reynolds) to play the wedding march on small organ since we couldn't find a real piano. Mike's sister, Shanda handed out the rice bags. My cousins, Anna Lee and Kaye Rigsby kept the guest book and a combo of sister-in-laws and friends served the cake.
I had Mike try his wedding band on just to be sure it fit. Well, it didn't. Rather it fit, if he could ever get it over his knuckle. The day of the wedding, I coated his ring with vaseline hoping it would just slide over those huge knuckles. Granny and Grandpa's little grocery was closed that afternoon. We had cousins from Ohio staying with us it was a very exciting time. Grandpa was too ill to be there. Granny left him just long enough to attend the wedding then went back to his side. He passed away that September and probably never realized that I had gotten married.
Since my dad had passed away four years earlier and Grandpa was too sick to be there, I chose my cousin, Glen Rigsby, to walk me down the aisle. He was waiting on me right outside the kitchen door. We had to walk around one of grandpa's storage buildings to get to the section of yard designated for our nuptials. Kathy played "Here Comes the Bride" but it didn't sound the same on the table top keyboard we had borrowed. Mrs. Fain had a beautiful decorated arch with a wedding bell hanging, unbeknownst to him, right above Bro. Flynn's head. I do believe that Glen was more nervous than I was. When we got halfway up the aisle, I heard the guests start to laugh. I looked forward at the wedding party and they too were laughing. My Uncle Albert Rigsby, who couldn't hear well, said, "Well, there goes the tail end of it." That brought even more laughter. I looked at Glen and he was as puzzled as me. I looked up at Mike and he was sweetly just looking at me. Ahhh. Out of the corner of my eye, a dog I had never saw before nor ever saw again, was walking slowly around the keyboard. He was sniffing around and for a fleeting moment I thought he was going to hike his leg, but thank goodness he didn't. He walked out of the yard never to be seen again.
It took a few minutes for us to gather ourselves and get back to getting married. Bro. Flynn started his service and what seemed like five minutes later, he was still talking. I found out afterward, that Glen was sure that the preacher had gotten mixed up and was going to marry Glen and Me. Finally, he got around to the part we've all heard before. He asked, "who gives this bride in marriage?" After threatening to not do it, mom stood up and said, "I do." Then came the rings. Rhonda handed Mike my ring which slipped right on the right finger, we had worried we would mess that part up. Petey handed me Mike's ring which I had coated in vaseline. Apparently he had twirled around his nervous fingers for awhile because all my vaseline was gone. Sure enough, the ring went as far as Mike's knuckle and stuck there. Another pause fell over the crowd. Mike slowly took his right hand, which I had just let go of, and pushed the ring over his knuckle. This brought a smile to Bro. Flynn's face. He pronounced us husband and wife, we kissed, everyone clapped and that was the ceremony. The preacher announced that the reception was to be held in mom's house and added that by the looks of the cloud he had been looking at the whole time, we were about to have a storm.
We were so caught up in the moment that we didn't notice that the skies had gotten darker. We made it to mom's house just as the storm hit. The pretty arch that Mrs. Fain had worked so hard on, blew over. Kathy had to hurry and get the organ inside. The chairs needed folded before they got wet. It was mayhem for a few minutes. It really got interesting when everyone there, around 80 guests, had to fit into mom's tiny house. We cut our cake and drunk our punch in front of a packed house. The lightening and thunder added a musical ambience to everything. We got changed and were ready to leave, but it was still raining. We braved the weather anyhow. As soon as I stepped out the door, Scott, Mike's nephew, hit me in the face with a rice bag. He didn't know he was supposed to open up the bag and just throw the rice. Then several more children decided to do the same thing. It was like dodging bullets along with the rain drops to get to the car. One good thing about the rain was that it washed at least two cans of shaving creme off the cars windshield. What a mess. We drove toward Mt. Vernon with a long convoy of friends and family following blowing car horns full blast. By the time we got to Knoxville, TN, the rain had finally stopped. I tried not to cry, but I felt so bad for Mom. I hated to leave her all alone. Granny was back with grandpa, the company left and she was left all alone to clean up the mess. Momma never liked to be alone. I slept with her every night since my dad died. I had actually slept with her the night before I got married. I guess I made my first decision as a married woman somewhere on I-75 headed south. That was to concentrate on the man I loved and ask God to take care of Momma.
Of course in 1975 we had no phones. We had one in our room, but didn't have the money to use it. We missed everybody so much that we only spent one night in TN. We wanted to come home and see what everybody was doing. All of Mike's siblings were together for the first time in years so they had all gone bowling after the wedding. It was Labor Day weekend so we all got together at Mike's brother Cork's trailer and had a big party. We played every 45 record we owned and a few 33's. We danced, laughed, hugged and stumbled with everyone until daylight. That night, the night before we were going to our tiny apartment in Louisville, I slept in mom's bed, but instead of mom, I now shared the bed with my husband.
That has been 38 years and two children ago. We've lost so many loved ones since then. We've had people marry into the family and then "un-marry" the family. The number of nieces and nephews we have has grown to too many to count. Grandpa, Granny, Mike's sweet mother, Tessie, his father Pete, brothers, Bobby and Phil, and the man who gave me away, Glen have all passed. Mom married again after 19 years alone. Times have been good, but there's been some trying ones too. Bro. Flynn is still alive and preaching. We see him from time to time and he always tells about standing under the bell watching a huge thunderstorm brew. One mystery has never been solved, where did that dog come from and where did it go?
I met Michael Childress in February, 1975. I had just gotten out of a courtship with other man and didn't think I was ready to jump back into another one, but I did. I was 17, lived at home with my mother. My grandparents lived next door. My grandmother had bought herself a new car, a 1974 Gremlin. It was bright yellow. She said I could drive it when ever I wanted. When I found myself single for the first time in over a year, I was looking forward to just hang out with my friends and cruise the loop from McKinney's Tire to the turn around just below Dolly's Dairy Freeze. I was now old enough to be trusted with Granny's car. Mom and Granny set a curfew of 11:00 on weeknights, midnight on weekends. That must have been the standard hours, because everyone in my class was up town cruising or attending a football or basket game at the same time. On February 25, my best friend, Rhonda and myself had gone to the Kiwi for supper. After we ate, we drove through town and met Mike and his cousin, Benny several times. It was dark and cold outside, so we just waved at each other and continued to cruise. Back in those days everybody knew everybody and who was dating who. I don't remember giving Mike a second thought that night and he says the same about me. Rhonda and I were just about home on Brindle Ridge, when we met a car driving really slow. I slowed down too so I could see whose car it was. Rhonda recognized the green Monte Carlo, "Stop!" she said "let's talk to them awhile." So I stopped right in the middle of the road. Mike drove on a little farther but backed up along side my georgous Gremlin. We traded "Hi's" and" what are you doing." (Mike won't admit it, but I believe he was driving past my house that night because he already had me in mind.) I figured it wasn't a good place to just stop in the middle of a busy road, so I asked Mike and Benny to turn around and come back to my house. We sat and talked to them until my grandpa started blinking the porch lights, which was his sign for me to get back in the house. I always got in fast because once I didn't go fast enough and Grandpa came outside in his underwear. Mike asked me to meet him at the last basketball game of the regular season the following week. Of course I met him and that's where it all began.
I fell for Mike by the third date. He was my complete opposite and I think that's what attracted me to him. You never knew what he was thinking. He asked me out for every weekend, but I still wasn't sure if he even liked me. One of his friends had a locker below mine and he kept telling me things Mike had said to him about me. He was our "go between." When I was in school, Mr. Saylor always made sure that the girls got the upper lockers. Probably because our dresses were so short he figured we would reveal too much if we had to kneel down and he was right. Wow, those dresses were really, really short. Anyhow, I dated Mike all spring and by June, I no longer doubted whether Mike liked me or not. He had given me his class ring and in those days sometimes that was as good as wedding ring. He didn't come right out and ask me to wear his ring, but rather said he had gotten some paint on it and could I clean it up. I worked hard on that ring and when I showed him how clean I had gotten it, he said, "just keep it." Not very romantic, but I barely knew what romance was anyhow.
July 25, 1975, Mike gave me an engagement ring. It was a surprise. He worked in Louisville at General Electric so I only got to see him on weekends and usually not until Saturday because he worked on Friday nights. This particular night, he surprised me by showing up at the house and then really surprised me with the ring. I had been engaged once before and Mom wasn't happy when I showed her my engagement ring that time, but this time with Mike, she was happy. She's always been a good judge of character.
Mike had traded his green Monte Carlo for a brown one. I remember it was the biggest car ever. He let me drive it sometimes, but I was scared to death. I felt like I was driving an army tank. Mike and his brothers and cousins all liked cars, especially Corvettes. Mike had a '66 little red corvette, www.motorera.com as the song says. He wouldn't drive it if it rained and he washed and waxed it continually. It had these huge, wide tires on the back and Cragar cragarwheels.com wheels. All the guys wanted those kind of wheels in those days. It was a hard top, but had a soft top too. It was so much fun that summer to ride around town in that car. Everybody stared at us when we drove around. The older folks thought it was the ugliest car ever, but the younger people thought it was cool. I never got to drive it because back then I couldn't drive a stick shift. We managed to do a lot of living in the six months since we met. We fished, visited, road around every old dirt road in the county while listening to Bachman Turner Overdrive on an 8 track tape that Mike had bought at Western Auto. We did a lot of "partying" that summer too. When I think back on it, it was a party at all, more like a group meeting. The news would travel fast that everybody was meeting either at "The Cross" or "The Tunnels." Both locations were off Hummel road just a few miles from town. I'm still Facebook friends with so many of the people who were at the "parties" every weekend. Sometimes we talk about the things that occured during a party. We never got into any trouble with the police and even though we were all young, most under 20, we seemed older. We valued each others friendship and we always had each other's back. Most of us told our parents where we would be if they needed us. Some of the couples were married. That summer of 1975 was the best time of my life.
Mike and I couldn't wait to say, "I do." We set a date of August 30 which was a little over a month and didn't give us much time to plan. Our wedding was small, I had a maid of honor and a bridesmaid. Mike had his best man and an usher. Mom made the dresses for the girls and the guys rented those dusty blue tuxes that were popular then. Me, Mom, Anna Lee and her Mom, Faye Rigsby all drove to Lexington to buy my dress. I got money for a graduation gift and used that to buy my dress. I bought it at McAplins, which was a department store located in the Lexington Mall. I bought a size 2 and still had to have some alterations. Total cost of the dress was $127.00. Mom gave Mike her wedding ring to give to me. Rhonda and I spent a couple days buying candles, making rice bags, that was before it was determined that rice was bad for the birds, so I had real rice. A little lady in her 90's made my Cake and only charged $25.00. My grandpa had gotten really sick, he was dying with cancer. My granny stayed by his side at Berea hospital for 60 days. When I started planning my wedding, I planned to have the ceremony in mom's back yard hoping that grandpa would feel like being there. We got folding chairs from one of the funeral homes, I hired Mrs. Ruth Fain, who owned Mt. Vernon Florist, to coordinate things. The hardest part was meeting with the minister, Bro. Raymond Flynn. I was expecting the "you are too young" speech, but it didn't come. We had picked out an apartment close to Mike's brothers, Lee, Phil and Bobby all worked at General Electric with Mike. Granny gave us a couch, and a dinette set. I took my bedroom suit from home as well as several knick-knacks. Rhonda had us a household shower so we had a lot of nice gifts like towels, sheets and kitchen appliances.
Mike had a lot of nieces and nephews. It was hard to pick who we wanted to be in our wedding because we didn't want to make someone feel bad. I ended up having his niece, Stephanie, for my flower girl and two six year old nephews. Brent was the ring bearer and Scott carried the train on my dress. Both had matching blue tuxes also. Mike's brother, Petey was the best man and Mike's good friend, Glen Hammond was the usher. Rhonda was my maid of honor, while Patty Taylor {Kirby} was my bridesmaid. I asked my friend since grade school, Kathy Pope (Reynolds) to play the wedding march on small organ since we couldn't find a real piano. Mike's sister, Shanda handed out the rice bags. My cousins, Anna Lee and Kaye Rigsby kept the guest book and a combo of sister-in-laws and friends served the cake.
I had Mike try his wedding band on just to be sure it fit. Well, it didn't. Rather it fit, if he could ever get it over his knuckle. The day of the wedding, I coated his ring with vaseline hoping it would just slide over those huge knuckles. Granny and Grandpa's little grocery was closed that afternoon. We had cousins from Ohio staying with us it was a very exciting time. Grandpa was too ill to be there. Granny left him just long enough to attend the wedding then went back to his side. He passed away that September and probably never realized that I had gotten married.
Since my dad had passed away four years earlier and Grandpa was too sick to be there, I chose my cousin, Glen Rigsby, to walk me down the aisle. He was waiting on me right outside the kitchen door. We had to walk around one of grandpa's storage buildings to get to the section of yard designated for our nuptials. Kathy played "Here Comes the Bride" but it didn't sound the same on the table top keyboard we had borrowed. Mrs. Fain had a beautiful decorated arch with a wedding bell hanging, unbeknownst to him, right above Bro. Flynn's head. I do believe that Glen was more nervous than I was. When we got halfway up the aisle, I heard the guests start to laugh. I looked forward at the wedding party and they too were laughing. My Uncle Albert Rigsby, who couldn't hear well, said, "Well, there goes the tail end of it." That brought even more laughter. I looked at Glen and he was as puzzled as me. I looked up at Mike and he was sweetly just looking at me. Ahhh. Out of the corner of my eye, a dog I had never saw before nor ever saw again, was walking slowly around the keyboard. He was sniffing around and for a fleeting moment I thought he was going to hike his leg, but thank goodness he didn't. He walked out of the yard never to be seen again.
It took a few minutes for us to gather ourselves and get back to getting married. Bro. Flynn started his service and what seemed like five minutes later, he was still talking. I found out afterward, that Glen was sure that the preacher had gotten mixed up and was going to marry Glen and Me. Finally, he got around to the part we've all heard before. He asked, "who gives this bride in marriage?" After threatening to not do it, mom stood up and said, "I do." Then came the rings. Rhonda handed Mike my ring which slipped right on the right finger, we had worried we would mess that part up. Petey handed me Mike's ring which I had coated in vaseline. Apparently he had twirled around his nervous fingers for awhile because all my vaseline was gone. Sure enough, the ring went as far as Mike's knuckle and stuck there. Another pause fell over the crowd. Mike slowly took his right hand, which I had just let go of, and pushed the ring over his knuckle. This brought a smile to Bro. Flynn's face. He pronounced us husband and wife, we kissed, everyone clapped and that was the ceremony. The preacher announced that the reception was to be held in mom's house and added that by the looks of the cloud he had been looking at the whole time, we were about to have a storm.
We were so caught up in the moment that we didn't notice that the skies had gotten darker. We made it to mom's house just as the storm hit. The pretty arch that Mrs. Fain had worked so hard on, blew over. Kathy had to hurry and get the organ inside. The chairs needed folded before they got wet. It was mayhem for a few minutes. It really got interesting when everyone there, around 80 guests, had to fit into mom's tiny house. We cut our cake and drunk our punch in front of a packed house. The lightening and thunder added a musical ambience to everything. We got changed and were ready to leave, but it was still raining. We braved the weather anyhow. As soon as I stepped out the door, Scott, Mike's nephew, hit me in the face with a rice bag. He didn't know he was supposed to open up the bag and just throw the rice. Then several more children decided to do the same thing. It was like dodging bullets along with the rain drops to get to the car. One good thing about the rain was that it washed at least two cans of shaving creme off the cars windshield. What a mess. We drove toward Mt. Vernon with a long convoy of friends and family following blowing car horns full blast. By the time we got to Knoxville, TN, the rain had finally stopped. I tried not to cry, but I felt so bad for Mom. I hated to leave her all alone. Granny was back with grandpa, the company left and she was left all alone to clean up the mess. Momma never liked to be alone. I slept with her every night since my dad died. I had actually slept with her the night before I got married. I guess I made my first decision as a married woman somewhere on I-75 headed south. That was to concentrate on the man I loved and ask God to take care of Momma.
Of course in 1975 we had no phones. We had one in our room, but didn't have the money to use it. We missed everybody so much that we only spent one night in TN. We wanted to come home and see what everybody was doing. All of Mike's siblings were together for the first time in years so they had all gone bowling after the wedding. It was Labor Day weekend so we all got together at Mike's brother Cork's trailer and had a big party. We played every 45 record we owned and a few 33's. We danced, laughed, hugged and stumbled with everyone until daylight. That night, the night before we were going to our tiny apartment in Louisville, I slept in mom's bed, but instead of mom, I now shared the bed with my husband.
That has been 38 years and two children ago. We've lost so many loved ones since then. We've had people marry into the family and then "un-marry" the family. The number of nieces and nephews we have has grown to too many to count. Grandpa, Granny, Mike's sweet mother, Tessie, his father Pete, brothers, Bobby and Phil, and the man who gave me away, Glen have all passed. Mom married again after 19 years alone. Times have been good, but there's been some trying ones too. Bro. Flynn is still alive and preaching. We see him from time to time and he always tells about standing under the bell watching a huge thunderstorm brew. One mystery has never been solved, where did that dog come from and where did it go?
Saturday, August 17, 2013
My Fifteen Minutes of Fame
.Growing up during the late 60's and 70's, I remember the Vietnam War more than I want to. Every night on the evening news Walter Cronkite would give a report on the war, including the number of dead. The numbers always made me think we were winning this terrible war, but now I know poor Walter just reported what he was told to.
Along with coverage of the war, the television also reported other stories that made an 11 year old girl like myself terrified that we were all going to hell in a hand basket. The year 1968 is the year I remember most for constant unrest. April of that year, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis, TN, June 1968, Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed in Los Angeles while campaigning for President of the United States. The funeral trail was shown on television for what seemed liked weeks, and August 1968 saw riots in the streets of large cities during the Democrat and Republican conventions.
I had uncles that had been soldiers in World War II, Korea and one in 3 wars, so a solider held a special place in my heart. I wore a bracelet engraved with the name of a Prisoner of War everyday. Every solider I saw on television reminded me he was some one's son, grandson, brother, cousin and boyfriend. A lot of home town boys served in Vietnam. Every week the local newspaper ran a column with the names of those young men who had been drafted. By 1975, I had met my soul mate, Michael Childress. I was 17, he was 21 and had a draft card. The draft started in 1969 and lasted until 1972. Mike was 1-A which meant there was a good chance he would have to go to war. By the time we had met, the war was in it's final stage and Mike didn't have to go to war. The War in Vietnam lasted almost 20 years. It started on Tuesday, November 1, 1955 and ended Wednesday April 30, 1975.
Years later, in the spring of 2002, I was working as the Accounts Payable Clerk for Rockcastle Co. Schools in Mt. Vernon. I shared an office with Sue Rowe, who was the Payroll Clerk. Sue was planning on attending her 35th. Brodhead High School Class reunion. She had been in contact with some of her classmates who asked her to prepare a memorial for a classmate that had been killed in Vietnam. Sue asked if I had time could I help her find some pictures and info. on David Chaney from a little wide spot in the road named Bloss. During my lunch breaks, I checked on the World Wide Web, as we called it back in the day, for anything about David Chaney. Right away I found a web site, http://thewall-usa.com/. I typed in all I knew about David, which was just his name and state. From there I was directed to a page that listed his name, David Glenn Chaney, age 20, born March 7, 1950, was a protestant and was single. Sue made a nice poster with included David's picture and the personal information I had found on the web including that he had died on August 31, 1970 in South Vietnam. \
Several web sites invited the reader to leave a message so that a dead solider's family could read it. For some reason I felt lead to wright something on David Chaney's page. I can't remember the exact words, but I indicated that I worked with one of his classmates and was so sorry that he didn't make it home.
Jump forward to April, 2005. I had left the Accounts Payable job and was now working at Rockcastle County High School. I hadn't been in good health and when the job for an assistant to the director of the Youth Services Center, came open, I applied and was transferred. I had started working at RCHS as an Instructional Assistant in 1990. I knew what working at the high school entailed and I was ready for a change. Late in the day, I took the time to check my email before I went home. I saw that I had mail from a name that I didn't recognize. The e-mail started with, Hello Ms. Childress, my name is Tony Dodson. The letter went on to say that Mr. Dodson had served with David Chaney at the time of his death and the reason he had contacted me was in hope that I might be able to help him locate David's family members. Mr.Dodson went on to say that if I would give him a moment he had a story to relay to me. He had gotten my name from the posting I had made in 2002 on the Vietnam Veterans Virtual Memorial Wall. He told me a story about having attended a reunion along with several of his comrades the past summer. He said that himself along with five other men from the old army outfit, Troop A. 2nd. Squadron, 1st. Armored Calvary, met at least once a year. This was the outfit that David Chaney served with. The last reunion he had learned that a promise one of the men from the unit, Richard "Reverend" Hines, had made to David 35 years earlier hadn't been fulfilled. He said he would send me more details via another e-mail. Mr. Dodson went on to ask if I could find a phone number or address of any of David Chaney's family members. He along with 5 others needed closure and if they could talk to family members they felt they could complete their task.
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I sat at my computer reading the e-mail over and over. I got the attention of other workers in the office with me and none of us could hardly believe what we were seeing. Really? Seriously? Someone living in Philadelphia that had been in the Vietnam War had contacted me asking for help? It was almost too mind boggling to be true, but yet it was.Tony's second e-mail had arrived. It stated that David had bought a Bowie Knife at the Western Auto store in Mt. Vernon in 1969. He had told his buddy, "Reverend" the story about how he intended to use the knife when he went deer hunting that fall. When Deer season came around, David was already serving in the United States Army. David was a shy, soft-spoken solider, but had became good friends with all his war buddies, especially, "Reverend". He had told "Reverend" about buying the knife back home. He also told "Reverend," "If something happens to me over here, please get this old knife back to my family in Kentucky. I don't want it left over here." When Tony and members of the Blackhawk Squadron had last met, "Reverend" felt it was time that he told David's story as well as ask for help. He had never forgotten his promise, yet after 35 years, he had kept it a secret.
I hadn't known David Chaney, but I did know one of his brothers, Stanley. Stanley Chaney was a year ahead of me in school. He often sat with my cousin, Kaye and myself at the home basketball games. I had lost contact with him through the years, but a look in the phonebook shown me that Stanley was still in the area. I called his number, and the number of his cousin, Judy Chaney Bullock with no answer. The next day I started calling again. I called the number of Steve Chaney and Woo Hoo someone answered. It was Steve's wife, I explained who I was and asked if Steve had a brother named David that hadn't came home from the war in Vietnam. "Yes, she said. Let me tell Steve." Steve Chaney came to the phone. He was a very soft spoken man. I could tell he was apprehensive of me and my strange phone call. I went on to tell the story about Tony Dodson contacting me via e-mail regarding the memorial post I had written. Steve listened quietly on the other end of the phone and when I asked if I could give him Tony's phone number, he said, "yes, I'd sure like that." Can you imagine how Steve Chaney must have felt?
On April 18, I sent an e-mail to Tony Dodson letting him know that I had made contact with David Chaney's family and had given Tony's number to Steve Chaney. I got mail back thanking me for helping us old Jungle Rats out of what was becoming a dead end street. He said when he got the call from Steve he was floored. He passed on Steve's phone number and address to the others and a a ceremony was planned at the graveside of David Chaney. He finished by saying, "God is good. The Lord truly works wonders."
The guys kept me in the "loop" as far as plans were going. It was going to be hard to get everyone together at the same time, but they would be having a ceremony soon. The Chaney family, along with friends from church and the local honor guard handled all the plans.
On Saturday, July 23, 2005, myself, my friend Sue Rowe who was David's classmate, along with a host of family and friends met in the hot Kentucky sun at the McKiney Cemetery. I had no idea what a day I was going to have. Rick Anderkin, Editor of the local newspaper, The Signal, along with reporters and cameramen from the Lexington television channels and reporters from the Lexington Herald-Leader. I couldn't wait to met the Calvary members. I wanted to put faces with the e-mails. Finally, a van pulled up and six of Amercia's Finest stepped out. Seven members from American Legion Post #71, (Rockcastle Co.), marched toward the grave carrying the American flag and the MIA, missing in action, flag. One flag was held over David's grave during the service. A band student from the high school played Taps. The six soldiers joined arms and marched over to David's grave. They knelt down in a circle and prayed. They prayed for David Chaney, prayed for the others that hadn't made it home with them, prayed for a time gone wrong and for forgiveness for taking 35 years to fulfil a promise. When they cried, everyone cried. If I live to be 100 I don't think I will have ever seen anything as moving as what I witnessed that day.
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Reverend stood up and faced the somber crowd. Out of his back pocket he pulled a worn scabbard holding a Bowie Knife. "I made a promise," Reverend said softly, "and I'm here to keep that promise." He then placed the knife into the hands of Dennis Chaney, David's brother. The ceremony continued with spoken prayers, an Eulogy, prayers and the presentation of the flag that had been held over David's grave that day, to Chaney family members.
The "Reverend" later took the time to tell reporter Jim Warren the story of how he became caretaker of the knife. He also remembered the day that David had died. He was in a lead tank that bore the brunt of an ambush in the Song Mao AO in II Corps. Another solider was also killed with David. The Chaney family indicated that upon hearing of David's death and later during their grief, they wondered what happened to the knife. They came to the conclusion that it must have been destroyed along with David and the tank. Having that knife back in the hands of brothers Steve, Stanley, Dennis and sister, Twilia Leuning was the final step in the healing process for the Chaneys and the Blackhawk Squad members, especially Richard Hines. He had pulled David out of the burning tank somehow and then kept the knife close to him, probably never intending to give it back. He wanted to keep part of David with him and did until he told his secret in 2004. At first Tony and the others had wanted to return the knife to the family privately, but when word was spread by the family here in our small community, it soon turned into a full fledged memorial ceremony. One of the local boys, Bobby Phelps, had gone through basic training with David but wasn't in the same squad. Bobby was there when he was needed and that was to escort the body of David Glenn Chaney back to the hills of Kentucky.
After the graveside service, we all met at the community center for a wonderful home cooked meal. I bounced around having my picture taken with the soldiers and talking with them like I had known them all my life. They had came from all over the U.S. Richard Hines, St. Helen, MI, Larry Drummond, Overland Park, Kansas, Randy Teal, Ocean Springs, MS, Vic Reyes, Berwyn, IL, Tony Dodson, Philadelphia, PA, Jon Kosteck, New Haven, IN. They recognized me as the angel who made it all happen. I didn't feel like an angel, I just felt lucky. The soldiers fighting during the war had all been dear to me, now they had wonderful names and faces that made them even dearer. Time has passed and I often wonder where they all are and how they are doing. For some reason, I can't make myself look them up on the Internet. I'm sure it would be easy, but I guess I want to leave things just like they were that day: peaceful.
(Visit this website for more information: Bowie Knife Fights, Fighters & Fighting Techniques. . .: Soldier's Bowie Knife Returned to Family
Along with coverage of the war, the television also reported other stories that made an 11 year old girl like myself terrified that we were all going to hell in a hand basket. The year 1968 is the year I remember most for constant unrest. April of that year, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis, TN, June 1968, Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed in Los Angeles while campaigning for President of the United States. The funeral trail was shown on television for what seemed liked weeks, and August 1968 saw riots in the streets of large cities during the Democrat and Republican conventions.
I had uncles that had been soldiers in World War II, Korea and one in 3 wars, so a solider held a special place in my heart. I wore a bracelet engraved with the name of a Prisoner of War everyday. Every solider I saw on television reminded me he was some one's son, grandson, brother, cousin and boyfriend. A lot of home town boys served in Vietnam. Every week the local newspaper ran a column with the names of those young men who had been drafted. By 1975, I had met my soul mate, Michael Childress. I was 17, he was 21 and had a draft card. The draft started in 1969 and lasted until 1972. Mike was 1-A which meant there was a good chance he would have to go to war. By the time we had met, the war was in it's final stage and Mike didn't have to go to war. The War in Vietnam lasted almost 20 years. It started on Tuesday, November 1, 1955 and ended Wednesday April 30, 1975.
Years later, in the spring of 2002, I was working as the Accounts Payable Clerk for Rockcastle Co. Schools in Mt. Vernon. I shared an office with Sue Rowe, who was the Payroll Clerk. Sue was planning on attending her 35th. Brodhead High School Class reunion. She had been in contact with some of her classmates who asked her to prepare a memorial for a classmate that had been killed in Vietnam. Sue asked if I had time could I help her find some pictures and info. on David Chaney from a little wide spot in the road named Bloss. During my lunch breaks, I checked on the World Wide Web, as we called it back in the day, for anything about David Chaney. Right away I found a web site, http://thewall-usa.com/. I typed in all I knew about David, which was just his name and state. From there I was directed to a page that listed his name, David Glenn Chaney, age 20, born March 7, 1950, was a protestant and was single. Sue made a nice poster with included David's picture and the personal information I had found on the web including that he had died on August 31, 1970 in South Vietnam. \
Several web sites invited the reader to leave a message so that a dead solider's family could read it. For some reason I felt lead to wright something on David Chaney's page. I can't remember the exact words, but I indicated that I worked with one of his classmates and was so sorry that he didn't make it home.
Jump forward to April, 2005. I had left the Accounts Payable job and was now working at Rockcastle County High School. I hadn't been in good health and when the job for an assistant to the director of the Youth Services Center, came open, I applied and was transferred. I had started working at RCHS as an Instructional Assistant in 1990. I knew what working at the high school entailed and I was ready for a change. Late in the day, I took the time to check my email before I went home. I saw that I had mail from a name that I didn't recognize. The e-mail started with, Hello Ms. Childress, my name is Tony Dodson. The letter went on to say that Mr. Dodson had served with David Chaney at the time of his death and the reason he had contacted me was in hope that I might be able to help him locate David's family members. Mr.Dodson went on to say that if I would give him a moment he had a story to relay to me. He had gotten my name from the posting I had made in 2002 on the Vietnam Veterans Virtual Memorial Wall. He told me a story about having attended a reunion along with several of his comrades the past summer. He said that himself along with five other men from the old army outfit, Troop A. 2nd. Squadron, 1st. Armored Calvary, met at least once a year. This was the outfit that David Chaney served with. The last reunion he had learned that a promise one of the men from the unit, Richard "Reverend" Hines, had made to David 35 years earlier hadn't been fulfilled. He said he would send me more details via another e-mail. Mr. Dodson went on to ask if I could find a phone number or address of any of David Chaney's family members. He along with 5 others needed closure and if they could talk to family members they felt they could complete their task.
I sat at my computer reading the e-mail over and over. I got the attention of other workers in the office with me and none of us could hardly believe what we were seeing. Really? Seriously? Someone living in Philadelphia that had been in the Vietnam War had contacted me asking for help? It was almost too mind boggling to be true, but yet it was.Tony's second e-mail had arrived. It stated that David had bought a Bowie Knife at the Western Auto store in Mt. Vernon in 1969. He had told his buddy, "Reverend" the story about how he intended to use the knife when he went deer hunting that fall. When Deer season came around, David was already serving in the United States Army. David was a shy, soft-spoken solider, but had became good friends with all his war buddies, especially, "Reverend". He had told "Reverend" about buying the knife back home. He also told "Reverend," "If something happens to me over here, please get this old knife back to my family in Kentucky. I don't want it left over here." When Tony and members of the Blackhawk Squadron had last met, "Reverend" felt it was time that he told David's story as well as ask for help. He had never forgotten his promise, yet after 35 years, he had kept it a secret.
I hadn't known David Chaney, but I did know one of his brothers, Stanley. Stanley Chaney was a year ahead of me in school. He often sat with my cousin, Kaye and myself at the home basketball games. I had lost contact with him through the years, but a look in the phonebook shown me that Stanley was still in the area. I called his number, and the number of his cousin, Judy Chaney Bullock with no answer. The next day I started calling again. I called the number of Steve Chaney and Woo Hoo someone answered. It was Steve's wife, I explained who I was and asked if Steve had a brother named David that hadn't came home from the war in Vietnam. "Yes, she said. Let me tell Steve." Steve Chaney came to the phone. He was a very soft spoken man. I could tell he was apprehensive of me and my strange phone call. I went on to tell the story about Tony Dodson contacting me via e-mail regarding the memorial post I had written. Steve listened quietly on the other end of the phone and when I asked if I could give him Tony's phone number, he said, "yes, I'd sure like that." Can you imagine how Steve Chaney must have felt?
On April 18, I sent an e-mail to Tony Dodson letting him know that I had made contact with David Chaney's family and had given Tony's number to Steve Chaney. I got mail back thanking me for helping us old Jungle Rats out of what was becoming a dead end street. He said when he got the call from Steve he was floored. He passed on Steve's phone number and address to the others and a a ceremony was planned at the graveside of David Chaney. He finished by saying, "God is good. The Lord truly works wonders."
The guys kept me in the "loop" as far as plans were going. It was going to be hard to get everyone together at the same time, but they would be having a ceremony soon. The Chaney family, along with friends from church and the local honor guard handled all the plans.
On Saturday, July 23, 2005, myself, my friend Sue Rowe who was David's classmate, along with a host of family and friends met in the hot Kentucky sun at the McKiney Cemetery. I had no idea what a day I was going to have. Rick Anderkin, Editor of the local newspaper, The Signal, along with reporters and cameramen from the Lexington television channels and reporters from the Lexington Herald-Leader. I couldn't wait to met the Calvary members. I wanted to put faces with the e-mails. Finally, a van pulled up and six of Amercia's Finest stepped out. Seven members from American Legion Post #71, (Rockcastle Co.), marched toward the grave carrying the American flag and the MIA, missing in action, flag. One flag was held over David's grave during the service. A band student from the high school played Taps. The six soldiers joined arms and marched over to David's grave. They knelt down in a circle and prayed. They prayed for David Chaney, prayed for the others that hadn't made it home with them, prayed for a time gone wrong and for forgiveness for taking 35 years to fulfil a promise. When they cried, everyone cried. If I live to be 100 I don't think I will have ever seen anything as moving as what I witnessed that day.
Reverend stood up and faced the somber crowd. Out of his back pocket he pulled a worn scabbard holding a Bowie Knife. "I made a promise," Reverend said softly, "and I'm here to keep that promise." He then placed the knife into the hands of Dennis Chaney, David's brother. The ceremony continued with spoken prayers, an Eulogy, prayers and the presentation of the flag that had been held over David's grave that day, to Chaney family members.
The "Reverend" later took the time to tell reporter Jim Warren the story of how he became caretaker of the knife. He also remembered the day that David had died. He was in a lead tank that bore the brunt of an ambush in the Song Mao AO in II Corps. Another solider was also killed with David. The Chaney family indicated that upon hearing of David's death and later during their grief, they wondered what happened to the knife. They came to the conclusion that it must have been destroyed along with David and the tank. Having that knife back in the hands of brothers Steve, Stanley, Dennis and sister, Twilia Leuning was the final step in the healing process for the Chaneys and the Blackhawk Squad members, especially Richard Hines. He had pulled David out of the burning tank somehow and then kept the knife close to him, probably never intending to give it back. He wanted to keep part of David with him and did until he told his secret in 2004. At first Tony and the others had wanted to return the knife to the family privately, but when word was spread by the family here in our small community, it soon turned into a full fledged memorial ceremony. One of the local boys, Bobby Phelps, had gone through basic training with David but wasn't in the same squad. Bobby was there when he was needed and that was to escort the body of David Glenn Chaney back to the hills of Kentucky.
After the graveside service, we all met at the community center for a wonderful home cooked meal. I bounced around having my picture taken with the soldiers and talking with them like I had known them all my life. They had came from all over the U.S. Richard Hines, St. Helen, MI, Larry Drummond, Overland Park, Kansas, Randy Teal, Ocean Springs, MS, Vic Reyes, Berwyn, IL, Tony Dodson, Philadelphia, PA, Jon Kosteck, New Haven, IN. They recognized me as the angel who made it all happen. I didn't feel like an angel, I just felt lucky. The soldiers fighting during the war had all been dear to me, now they had wonderful names and faces that made them even dearer. Time has passed and I often wonder where they all are and how they are doing. For some reason, I can't make myself look them up on the Internet. I'm sure it would be easy, but I guess I want to leave things just like they were that day: peaceful.
(Visit this website for more information: Bowie Knife Fights, Fighters & Fighting Techniques. . .: Soldier's Bowie Knife Returned to Family
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Are We There Yet?
It's summertime and that means vacation time. Due to circumstances beyond any one's control, we didn't take our usual family vacation to Destin, Florida this year. I had a "stay-cation" when two of the grandchildren were gone to the beach two weeks ago. I started thinking about vacations that I've been on and realized I'd been on some dooseys.
When I was growing up, I don't remember anyone going on vacation. My family didn't. Once we went to Ohio to visit my aunts and uncles, but I don't think that counts as a vacation, that was more like a family visit. Anyhow, the first time I stayed in a hotel/motel was when I was in the 8th. grade at Brodhead Elementary School. Every year the 8th.graders got to go on a overnight field trip to Mammoth Cave, Ky. Despite having an earache, I still had fun. My next trip was right after I graduated from high school. I was 17, had just met the love of my life and thought I knew it all. I was good friends with one of teachers from school and her friend. We planned a trip to Daytona Beach, FL. It was going to be my first trip to the ocean. I still remember riding in the back seat of the biggest car ever, coming up over a small rise and there it was...the Atlantic Ocean. I was in love. We spent a week there. I was introduced to a whole other lifestyle. I ate my first Mexican meal, went to my first night club, walked out on the pier, and a lot of other stuff that I have long since forgotten. That was June 1975 before Mike and I married in August that year. The next year, 1976, Mike, my mom, and myself drove to Sarasota, FL then across the state to Jacksonville. ,The Gulf of Mexico was and still is so much prettier than the Atlantic, that's my opinion. The sand is whiter, the water is bluer and the towns are smaller. We drove my mom's 1973 Matador. It had four doors, no air conditioning and a very touchy break pedal. Mike drove the whole trip and never did get used to the brake. Mom and Me had whiplash when we got home. The heat about killed us. Even driving down the road with four windows down didn't help keep us cool. To this day I think that's the most Mike has ever driven.
Mike's brother, Lee, has always loved to restore old cars. In 1980 he invited several of us to travel to Memphis, TN for a car show. He had a pick-up truck with a camper top. It was another hot vacation. Up front rode Lee, Mike, and brother Cork. In the back was 10 of us. Can you imagine riding 6 hours cramped in the back of a camper with nine people? When I think about it, we were like the illegal aliens that come into America in the back of trucks. I'm sure the conditions are the same. Also in the back of the truck, we had all our luggage. Once you got stuffed in, you had to stay there until we made a stop, which was only once. Childress men don't like to stop for anything. I was 23 years old, but I think that trip was when I developed arthritis. We finally made it to Memphis. We had reserved one motel room for all of us. Sleeping that night was interesting. We took both mattresses off the beds, put them in the floor so we had four beds. Some slept on the mattress, some slept on the box springs, and the younger ones slept in the truck. I remember that I slept with my head against the door. No one could go in or out unless I moved. Every time I would get situated, someone had to go outside. I finally slept a couple hours. The trip was great despite the riding and sleeping arrangements. We saw Graceland, and took a bus tour of the city. Did you know that Memphis, TN has the most churches in the US? Well, it did in 1980. We all about died from heat exhaustion. I remember seeing a thermometer that read 106 degrees. A good time was had by all.
Riding in the back of a pick-up truck must have been my only mode of travel in the early 80's because I remember another vacation where I rode in the back of a truck. In 1983, my cousin, Anna Lee was married to a man whose children lived with their mother in South Carolina, not far from Myrtle Beach. Neither Mike nor I had been there so when they asked us to go along with them to gather his children and bring them back to Brodhead for the summer, we said yes. Kyle was almost 5 and Neil was about 19 months old. The trip down there was ok since it was just Anna Lee, Kyle, Neil and myself, but coming home was going to be more crowded since we would have two more children. Again, we rented just one room. It was on the beach, but just my luck it rained the whole time we were there. The day we were to come home, the sun finally came out. Also, we had to go to the jail house in the town of Myrtle Beach to bail Anna Lee's hubby out of jail. They don't allow peeing in the parking lot down there. Anyhow, our ride home included a smelly dirt bike. It's a wonder we didn't die from gasoline fumes. This was not one of my favorite vacations.
In 1985, we borrowed Mom's big Matador car again. This time Mike and I planned on taking the boys to Disneyland. Mike was afraid that the boys, mostly Kyle, would open the back door while we were driving so he wired them shut. It was another warm weather trip with no air and two wiggly boys. We had a good time despite getting lost from each other at Disneyland and Mike getting pulled over by the police because the kids didn't have their seat belts on. So, we were good parents taking our kids to Disneyland although Neil says he doesn't remember one minute of it.
Jump ahead to 1998, this is when my cousin, Kaye and our friend Rita and me took the trip of a lifetime up the East Coast. Rita and Kaye had it all planned out. We rented a car in Lexington, stashed our cooler filled with hot dogs, cheese and diet cokes in the back seat and away we went. This time the car had air and I had the whole back seat to myself. Our first stop was Washington, DC. We rode the subway to the mall where we saw the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Monument, the Vietnam Wall and other monuments. From there we walked to Ford's Theater where Abe Lincoln was assassinated and the house where he died. We ate at the Hard Rock Cafe which was right beside the Ford Theater. My favorite part of DC was Arlington Cemetery. We visited the graves of president Kennedy and his brother Bobby. We watched the Changing of the Guard at the tomb of the Unknowns which brought tears to my eyes. We went through Arlington House which had belonged to General Robert E. Lee. After a couple days there we moved on up the coast. We spent the night in Mystic, CT. Kaye loves lighthouses so we tried to see as many of them as we could. We were in a Lighthouse Museum somewhere in Connecticut, just browsing when the curator told us to leave because we hadn't paid. We didn't even know you had to pay. Oh well country girls go to the city what can you expect. New England was beautiful. We saw covered bridges in Vermont, lost ten dollars a piece in Atlantic City, New Jersey, decided there was nothing to see in New Hampshire so we by-passed it. We also stayed clear of Boston, Mass. and New York City. We spent two days on Cape Cod, took a ferry to Martha's Vineyard where we took a tour in a purple bus driven by an old hippie. We went as far as we could on the Vineyard. The dude in the purple bus let us get off at the Gay Head Lighthouse to take pictures. It was beautiful there. We then visited Newport, RI. We saw all the mansions and the church where JFK and Jackie got married. At one of the mansions we were too cheap to take the tour, but wanted to take pictures. Kaye stopped the car while I crept through the landscaping to take a picture for her. She got us in trouble two more times with that camera. Once in a casino in Atlantic City where she took a picture of a bunch of men playing blackjack and again in the church where the Kennedys married. Someone loudly told us we were not to take pictures. Our next stop was Niagara Falls. We arrived there late at night and stayed at the worst motel ever. It was so small that the three of us barely fit in. We wanted to see the falls at night because it has different colored lights shinning on it. We were told by the people at the motel that we could just walk across the street to the falls, so we put our stuff away and headed out in search of the falls. Well, of course that wasn't as easy as they said. We went in the opposite direction. We were walking in the darkest part of town, no street lights and no traffic. We got scared and headed back the way we came. We finally found the falls at 11:58, 2 seconds before they turned the lights off. What luck. The next day we saw the falls on the US side and then drove over into Canada. I wanted to ride the boat that goes up to the falls, but Rita and Kaye wouldn't go with me. Big chickens. Canada is so clean and so green. Buffalo, New York is not much to look at. From there we drove over to Cleveland, Ohio to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and then home. We had visited 14 states and 2 countries in 8 days. That was before Map quest or GPS systems so needless to say we got lost everywhere. I've taken a lot of vacations with Kaye and Rita. Sometimes we even let mom go with us. We've been to Cocoa Beach, FL a couple times to watch our boys play baseball. Shelley Parkerson and Rita's sister, Sherry Cash Spragens were along for those trips. Shelley and I kept the bunch entertained with our versions of almost every song ever written.
In 2003 we started the Childress Family Vacation Series. A bunch of us would spend the week in Destin, FL. The women in one condo while all the men stayed in the condo next door. We made this arrangements because every year it seemed one of our boys was bringing along a girlfriend. It just looked better if the young lady could tell their parents that they were in separate condos from the guys. It was on one of these trips to Destin that Mike and I came sooo close to a divorce. He doesn't really like to travel, but he just goes to keep me happy. One year my brother-in-law had to leave a day early because he had to be at his job. Mike decided that he should go with him, but he didn't bother to tell me. He sneaked into our condo early Saturday morning, left me some money on the night stand and left. He left me to do all the hard work, load the car and drive 10 hours home. If my sister-in-law, Tracey hadn't been riding with me I would have been like the little piggie and cried all the way home. We've managed to keep the tradition of a family vacation going, but the family has grown so much it's hard for every one's schedules to work out. It gets harder every year for over 15 people to agree on where to eat.
My last trip was this past April when I went to Las Vegas, NV with my cousins, Anita, Cathie and Connie. Everyone needs to see both the ocean and Las Vegas in their lifetime.
I'm making plans for next summer's vacation already. I have a cruise on my "bucket list" too as well as a trip to San Francisco and someday Hollywood. Hawaii would be nice too.
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| Destin, Florida 2010 |
When I was growing up, I don't remember anyone going on vacation. My family didn't. Once we went to Ohio to visit my aunts and uncles, but I don't think that counts as a vacation, that was more like a family visit. Anyhow, the first time I stayed in a hotel/motel was when I was in the 8th. grade at Brodhead Elementary School. Every year the 8th.graders got to go on a overnight field trip to Mammoth Cave, Ky. Despite having an earache, I still had fun. My next trip was right after I graduated from high school. I was 17, had just met the love of my life and thought I knew it all. I was good friends with one of teachers from school and her friend. We planned a trip to Daytona Beach, FL. It was going to be my first trip to the ocean. I still remember riding in the back seat of the biggest car ever, coming up over a small rise and there it was...the Atlantic Ocean. I was in love. We spent a week there. I was introduced to a whole other lifestyle. I ate my first Mexican meal, went to my first night club, walked out on the pier, and a lot of other stuff that I have long since forgotten. That was June 1975 before Mike and I married in August that year. The next year, 1976, Mike, my mom, and myself drove to Sarasota, FL then across the state to Jacksonville. ,The Gulf of Mexico was and still is so much prettier than the Atlantic, that's my opinion. The sand is whiter, the water is bluer and the towns are smaller. We drove my mom's 1973 Matador. It had four doors, no air conditioning and a very touchy break pedal. Mike drove the whole trip and never did get used to the brake. Mom and Me had whiplash when we got home. The heat about killed us. Even driving down the road with four windows down didn't help keep us cool. To this day I think that's the most Mike has ever driven.
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| Me in Washington, DC 1998 |
Mike's brother, Lee, has always loved to restore old cars. In 1980 he invited several of us to travel to Memphis, TN for a car show. He had a pick-up truck with a camper top. It was another hot vacation. Up front rode Lee, Mike, and brother Cork. In the back was 10 of us. Can you imagine riding 6 hours cramped in the back of a camper with nine people? When I think about it, we were like the illegal aliens that come into America in the back of trucks. I'm sure the conditions are the same. Also in the back of the truck, we had all our luggage. Once you got stuffed in, you had to stay there until we made a stop, which was only once. Childress men don't like to stop for anything. I was 23 years old, but I think that trip was when I developed arthritis. We finally made it to Memphis. We had reserved one motel room for all of us. Sleeping that night was interesting. We took both mattresses off the beds, put them in the floor so we had four beds. Some slept on the mattress, some slept on the box springs, and the younger ones slept in the truck. I remember that I slept with my head against the door. No one could go in or out unless I moved. Every time I would get situated, someone had to go outside. I finally slept a couple hours. The trip was great despite the riding and sleeping arrangements. We saw Graceland, and took a bus tour of the city. Did you know that Memphis, TN has the most churches in the US? Well, it did in 1980. We all about died from heat exhaustion. I remember seeing a thermometer that read 106 degrees. A good time was had by all.
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| Lee and Gloria Memphis, TN |
Riding in the back of a pick-up truck must have been my only mode of travel in the early 80's because I remember another vacation where I rode in the back of a truck. In 1983, my cousin, Anna Lee was married to a man whose children lived with their mother in South Carolina, not far from Myrtle Beach. Neither Mike nor I had been there so when they asked us to go along with them to gather his children and bring them back to Brodhead for the summer, we said yes. Kyle was almost 5 and Neil was about 19 months old. The trip down there was ok since it was just Anna Lee, Kyle, Neil and myself, but coming home was going to be more crowded since we would have two more children. Again, we rented just one room. It was on the beach, but just my luck it rained the whole time we were there. The day we were to come home, the sun finally came out. Also, we had to go to the jail house in the town of Myrtle Beach to bail Anna Lee's hubby out of jail. They don't allow peeing in the parking lot down there. Anyhow, our ride home included a smelly dirt bike. It's a wonder we didn't die from gasoline fumes. This was not one of my favorite vacations.
In 1985, we borrowed Mom's big Matador car again. This time Mike and I planned on taking the boys to Disneyland. Mike was afraid that the boys, mostly Kyle, would open the back door while we were driving so he wired them shut. It was another warm weather trip with no air and two wiggly boys. We had a good time despite getting lost from each other at Disneyland and Mike getting pulled over by the police because the kids didn't have their seat belts on. So, we were good parents taking our kids to Disneyland although Neil says he doesn't remember one minute of it.
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| Vermont |
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| Me, Kaye and Rita at the Vietnam Wall |
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| Gay Head lighthouse Martha's Vineyard, MA |
Jump ahead to 1998, this is when my cousin, Kaye and our friend Rita and me took the trip of a lifetime up the East Coast. Rita and Kaye had it all planned out. We rented a car in Lexington, stashed our cooler filled with hot dogs, cheese and diet cokes in the back seat and away we went. This time the car had air and I had the whole back seat to myself. Our first stop was Washington, DC. We rode the subway to the mall where we saw the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Monument, the Vietnam Wall and other monuments. From there we walked to Ford's Theater where Abe Lincoln was assassinated and the house where he died. We ate at the Hard Rock Cafe which was right beside the Ford Theater. My favorite part of DC was Arlington Cemetery. We visited the graves of president Kennedy and his brother Bobby. We watched the Changing of the Guard at the tomb of the Unknowns which brought tears to my eyes. We went through Arlington House which had belonged to General Robert E. Lee. After a couple days there we moved on up the coast. We spent the night in Mystic, CT. Kaye loves lighthouses so we tried to see as many of them as we could. We were in a Lighthouse Museum somewhere in Connecticut, just browsing when the curator told us to leave because we hadn't paid. We didn't even know you had to pay. Oh well country girls go to the city what can you expect. New England was beautiful. We saw covered bridges in Vermont, lost ten dollars a piece in Atlantic City, New Jersey, decided there was nothing to see in New Hampshire so we by-passed it. We also stayed clear of Boston, Mass. and New York City. We spent two days on Cape Cod, took a ferry to Martha's Vineyard where we took a tour in a purple bus driven by an old hippie. We went as far as we could on the Vineyard. The dude in the purple bus let us get off at the Gay Head Lighthouse to take pictures. It was beautiful there. We then visited Newport, RI. We saw all the mansions and the church where JFK and Jackie got married. At one of the mansions we were too cheap to take the tour, but wanted to take pictures. Kaye stopped the car while I crept through the landscaping to take a picture for her. She got us in trouble two more times with that camera. Once in a casino in Atlantic City where she took a picture of a bunch of men playing blackjack and again in the church where the Kennedys married. Someone loudly told us we were not to take pictures. Our next stop was Niagara Falls. We arrived there late at night and stayed at the worst motel ever. It was so small that the three of us barely fit in. We wanted to see the falls at night because it has different colored lights shinning on it. We were told by the people at the motel that we could just walk across the street to the falls, so we put our stuff away and headed out in search of the falls. Well, of course that wasn't as easy as they said. We went in the opposite direction. We were walking in the darkest part of town, no street lights and no traffic. We got scared and headed back the way we came. We finally found the falls at 11:58, 2 seconds before they turned the lights off. What luck. The next day we saw the falls on the US side and then drove over into Canada. I wanted to ride the boat that goes up to the falls, but Rita and Kaye wouldn't go with me. Big chickens. Canada is so clean and so green. Buffalo, New York is not much to look at. From there we drove over to Cleveland, Ohio to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and then home. We had visited 14 states and 2 countries in 8 days. That was before Map quest or GPS systems so needless to say we got lost everywhere. I've taken a lot of vacations with Kaye and Rita. Sometimes we even let mom go with us. We've been to Cocoa Beach, FL a couple times to watch our boys play baseball. Shelley Parkerson and Rita's sister, Sherry Cash Spragens were along for those trips. Shelley and I kept the bunch entertained with our versions of almost every song ever written.
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| Momma and Kaye at Cocoa Beach, FL |
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| Niagara Falls 1998 |
In 2003 we started the Childress Family Vacation Series. A bunch of us would spend the week in Destin, FL. The women in one condo while all the men stayed in the condo next door. We made this arrangements because every year it seemed one of our boys was bringing along a girlfriend. It just looked better if the young lady could tell their parents that they were in separate condos from the guys. It was on one of these trips to Destin that Mike and I came sooo close to a divorce. He doesn't really like to travel, but he just goes to keep me happy. One year my brother-in-law had to leave a day early because he had to be at his job. Mike decided that he should go with him, but he didn't bother to tell me. He sneaked into our condo early Saturday morning, left me some money on the night stand and left. He left me to do all the hard work, load the car and drive 10 hours home. If my sister-in-law, Tracey hadn't been riding with me I would have been like the little piggie and cried all the way home. We've managed to keep the tradition of a family vacation going, but the family has grown so much it's hard for every one's schedules to work out. It gets harder every year for over 15 people to agree on where to eat.
My last trip was this past April when I went to Las Vegas, NV with my cousins, Anita, Cathie and Connie. Everyone needs to see both the ocean and Las Vegas in their lifetime.
I'm making plans for next summer's vacation already. I have a cruise on my "bucket list" too as well as a trip to San Francisco and someday Hollywood. Hawaii would be nice too.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Visiting Las Vegas
I have a Facebook success story. The main reason that I joined the social network site, Facebook in 2007, was that I wanted to make contact with friends and family that I had lost track of. I have been able to find about 50 high school classmates, some I hear from daily. It seems each year it gets easier to find someone because new people are logging on to Facebook everyday. I have also been fortunate enough to find a lot of family members on line. My father was from a big family which means I have a lot of cousins out there that I've never met. I have managed to locate several on Facebook and have become good friends with them. We share photos and stories often. It's funny that even though I've never met some of them, we are a lot alike. I look like some of them, I talk and think like some of them and we all have something in common. I would have never known this if it wasn't for Facebook. It's the big family reunion that I never had.
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| Me enjoying Las Vegas |
The problem with today's technology such as Facebook, email and texting is that the person reading your status, remarks, text is not sitting there with you and your remarks etc. may be taken wrong. When you are actually having a conversation with someone, you can tell if they are angry because their voice gets louder and their facial expression changes, but if you are just reading something that person wrote, you have no way of knowing how they felt when they wrote it. That's the one downfall that I have about today's communication. Now, for my success story:
Last year my mother and her first cousin, Helen turned 85. Momma's birthday is in March, Helen's is in May. Their mother's were sisters. They grew up together and stayed close all their lives. Helen lived in Dayton, Ohio with her husband, Ray and their three daughters. Momma and Daddy lived their lives here in Rockcastle Co. Every summer Helen's family visited us or we visited them. I can barely remember playing with my cousins, Anita, Cathie and Connie, but what I do remember about them was that I loved them a lot and was always so excited to have their company. After we all were married with families of our own, we didn't see each other as much. The sisters, my Granny and my Aunt Lois, talked all the time on the phone and made plans to visit. A lot of times Helen and Ray would stop and spend a day or two while on their way home from a vacation in Tennessee or Florida. When Granny died in 1982, it seemed like we just gradually stopped visiting. Then Aunt Lois passed away and the times together almost stopped completely. Momma and Helen always sent each other birthday cards and called ever so often to catch up, but I didn't see the cousins. We were married, raising children, working jobs all the things people do in this life. After Ray died, Helen traveled a lot. She moved to Florida then back to Dayton. Anita and her family scattered out all over the world. She lived in Portugal for a time when her husband Walter's work took them there. Cathie and her husband, Steve travel a lot to Arizona where they have a home. Seems like there was just a lot going on there for awhile. Momma kept track of where everybody was, but I didn't. I would ask Momma about them often just so I'd know what they were up too. I missed Granny, I missed Aunt Lois, I missed Helen and I missed my growing up years with my Ohio family, so when Momma got an invitation to Helen's birthday celebration last May, I was excited that Cathie had included her email address. Now maybe I could re-connect with them.
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| The Eiffel Tower |
I emailed Cathie right away, first to tell them that we wouldn't be able to come to the birthday party because Momma couldn't make the trip and I stressed how glad I was to have contact with them. I found all three of them and their extended families on Facebook. I was so excited to look at their photos. I saw their grandchildren and made sure they saw mine. I kept up with Helen's health and they kept up with Mom's. This whole last year we spent on Facebook playing catch up. Then we started talking on the phone a few times until the next thing you knew was that I had invited myself to Dayton to visit them.
Last August, Mike and I, armed with a map quest print out of how to get to Cathie's house, took off on a Friday afternoon to visit my Ohio cousins. They were expecting us and between the three of them, they had planned a fun reunion for us. We had never met Cathie's husband, Steve and hadn't saw Connie's daughter, Angel since she was a baby and she was now a mother to a beautiful daughter, Miranda. We met Angel's husband, Dwayne. We visited Helen and I was so glad to see how good she looked. We just barely scratched the surface on getting caught up. It may take years before that happens.
Awhile back, while I was suffering through the winter that would not end, Connie called me to invite me to go to Las Vegas with all of them. I haven't been any farther west than Memphis, TN so I really appreciated my cousins giving me the chance to see Las Vegas. Connie's birthday was April 28, mine was May 3 so that's when we went to Vegas. I drove to Dayton by myself to meet up with Connie and Anita on Monday afternoon. Cathie and Steve were going to met us in Los Vegas on their way back from Arizona. Connie and myself spent that night with Anita so we could all get up early on Tuesday morning because our flight was at 6:30 a.m. I have flown several times and I love it, but I never know what I'm doing. It's like I go into an "anti-plane" mode or something. Airports are usually very crowded and everyone is moving really fast, especially Atlanta's airport. If you survive that airport, you can survive anything. It didn't take Connie and Anita very long to figure out that I needed a care taker. It was too early in the morning for me to be very self-efficient. Those two had to help me with everything, especially with my huge suitcase that I had dubbed my "Smart Car", because it was almost the size of one. I had one carry on bag just for my shoes. To say I over packed would be a an understatement. We got our seats and settled in for the ride. The time came for the snack cart to make it's rounds so I ordered a Sprite. I had only taken a few sips when I spilled the whole thing in my lap. The cousins tried to help by getting napkins and speaking words or encouragement like, "It's okay. Don't worry about it. and I've done that before." My pants were still wet when we disembarked in Denver, CO. Besides having all my paperwork mixed up at the airport and poking along with my stuff, I also left my carry on bag in a restaurant at the airport in Denver. I remembered it just in time. It was still there when I went back for it. The final leg of the trip, I started speaking a foreign language that even I didn't know. My words were jumbled and I transposed them. I know this sounds like I was on drugs or drank more than Sprite, but I promise that wasn't the case. I'll just say what everyone else says when they act like an idiot, it's stress.
When we got to Las Vegas I thought I was going to die just on the way to the taxi. Pulling that "Smart Car" along with my purse and carry on bag had me breathless. I warned the cab driver that my suitcase was heavy. He acted all macho and said, "I'll get it." but I couldn't help but laugh when he first picked it up. Anita swore that she was repacking my stuff before the return trip and she did. She will have the job of packing for me from now on.
We were staying at the Bellagio, the hotel with the "dancing" fountains out front. I have been to casinos in Atlantic City, Ontario, and Indiana so I thought I knew what to expect, but the Bellagio was beautiful. It was decorated for spring with flowers and butterflies everywhere. There was marble that was so shiny it looked wet. I caught myself tip-toeing over it like walking on my momma's just- mopped floors. Our room looked out over several pools and courtyards. After resting for a minute, Anita and Connie took me to the casino. They knew what they were doing, but it took me awhile to catch on. I didn't have money to loose so I told myself I would only play $20.00 a day. My goal was just to win enough to buy myself a real Coach purse. One that didn't look like it came from the flea market. I was on my own for awhile so I used that time to get my bearings. The place was huge. There were restaurants, shops, and lounges everywhere. I watched the hi-rollers playing Black Jack, Poker etc. for awhile. I sat down at a slot machine that I thought I could stumble my way through and didn't waste no time in losing my $20.00. Somewhere in the massive room people were winning though. You could hear their squeals of delight every now and then.
The meals we ate were great. I probably gained 10 pounds in the 4 days I was there. People used to say meals were cheap in Las Vegas. I don't know what part of Vegas they were in, but it wasn't the part I was in. Cathie had rented a car, so one day we rode around so my cousins could show me the sights. The weather was perfect, 82 degrees and sunny. Happy people were everywhere. Strange looking people were everywhere too. I saw Elvis so many times that I hardly paid him any attention. I had been warned by my nephew not to take any of the brochures that were handed out on every corner, so I avoided them. One lady, about 75 years old, was walking around with a pink wig cut in a mullet style. She danced all over Vegas. One man with a beard was dressed up like a bride including a sign around his neck that read, "Bride to Be." These characters were mostly in the "old" part of Vegas.
We went back to the casino where I got out my allotted $20.00. I stumbled upon a machine that gave you two ways to win. One was by matching sevens, bars, like the usual slot machines, and then you could win a chance to spin a wheel where you could land on 20, 40, 100, 200 and 1000. I sat beside a really nice lady named Betty. We shared life stories while my money was going down the drain. Betty had several chances to spin the wheel, but she never got anything higher than 200. I also had several spins and just won enough to stay ahead. I was busy talking and never even noticed that my spin had landed me on 1000. Betty was more excited than me. Bells were ringing all over the place. I had spent $40.00 in two days and won 279.00. I cashed out, found Connie and Anita to tell them about my good luck and went to the room. I made arrangements with Cathie for her to take me to the Coach store the next day and she did. She even stopped at the famous "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign and took my picture. That night, we took a taxi to Fremont Street, which is the older part of Vegas. I loved the atmosphere there. Connie and I zip-lined over the street. That was so much fun, but didn't last long enough. I reminded myself of Momma riding the Beast at Kings Island. She loved to ride it with me, but she said she was afraid to scream because she was afraid she might loose her false teeth. I don't have false teeth and they made me take my glasses off, but I didn't see any reason to scream so I didn't. We paid as much for a picture of us on the zip line as we paid to ride the zip line, but I knew no one would believe me if I didn't have a picture.
We hated to leave Las Vegas, but the time had come. I still needed my care takers on the flights home. There was just too much stuff for me to keep up with. Our plane that was to take us from Denver to Dayton, had a flat tire so we had to sit about 30 minutes while it was being fixed, but other than that, things went fine. It was 12:30 a.m. when we got back to Dayton. I spent the night with Connie and headed back home the next day, which was my 56th. birthday and also Derby Day. It was cold and rainy on the drive home. I kept remembering the place I had just left the day before. The memory of the sunshine, the warm breeze, the sound of the fountains, and the happy people stayed in my mind all the way home.
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| Cathie, Connie, Me and Anita |
Me and my sister/cousins as we had started to call each other, made plans to get together again soon. They also said they were willing to go back to Vegas with me next year. Never once did they complain or even laugh at me when I acted like an uneducated redneck. I felt like they really enjoyed being with me as much as I enjoyed being with them. It was like we just picked up where we left off sometime in the 1960's. I am now looking forward to my sister/cousins visiting me soon. Since this Facebook encounter has turned out so good, I'm going to re-connect with 3 more cousins that I was close too. They live in Ohio also, but I am the older one this time. So Kelly Bell, Teresa Sparks and little sister, Amy, look out because Myrna is going to re-enter your lives like never before.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Company's Coming
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| Daddy and his sister Myrtle Lambert Webb |
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| Helen (seated) Anita, Connie and Cathie |
Sometimes Momma's cousin, Helen and her husband Ray Adkins, would visit. They had three daughters about my age. I would be so excited then that I'm sure I made Momma a nervous wreck. I played with Anita, Cathie and Connie although they probably would say I followed them around more than played. I idolized my older cousins my whole life. Looking back it seems like one day we were little girls not yet teenagers and the next we were grandmothers.
It was during one of Aunt Lois's visits that I did probably the worst thing in my life. Before she left, Aunt Lois would always say to me, "Don't you want to go home with me?" and would start telling me all the neat things we would do. I was only about eight years old and would have been crying for momma before we got to Berea, but I was determined to go home with her. Of course Momma and Daddy said no and tried to explain to me that I would have to stay away from them for a month because it would be that long before aunt Lois was coming back, but I had no understanding of time. Momma had a kitchen table with a green Formica top and green padded chairs and for some reason, I decided that if I cut those chairs then they would let me go home with Aunt Lois. I must have figured they wouldn't love me anymore and would just give up and give me to aunt Lois. Well, it didn't work, but it did get momma a new table and chairs. I should have been punished to the highest extent of the law, but I was only given a good talking to. If my parents thought that living with the shame of defacing my momma's property would be punishment enough for what I had done, they were right. To this day, I don't like to even think about being that mean and destructive.
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| Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Ed Coffey |
I still have cousins that I want to visit after having chatted with them on Facebook. Some are my cousins on momma's side of the family that I remember from when I was a child and others are from daddy's side of the family that I have never met. They are the grandchildren and great grandchildren of daddy's sister, Lula Thomas. Aunt Lulie died before I was born, but I know all about her through the stories momma has told me. After talking with her family, I realize that we all get our feisty streak from her. I enjoy reading Facebook posts from her family, because they are so much like me. As much as I treasure my family, it's sad that I have so many second cousins that I've never met. I am thankful that God has allowed me to seek them out and enjoy learning all about them. I am going to be busy in the months and years to come planning a meet and greet with all those cousins that share so many family traits with me. My generation dropped the ball when it came to visiting family, but we are making up for that misfortune by being friends on Facebook. I think this will work out fine because the bottom line is to enjoy your family. |
| Uncle Lon and Aunt Molly with Momma and Daddy |
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| Uncle Bentley Parkerson |
Sunday, June 9, 2013
I Know Why They Call It The Blues
This story is not easy for me to write if you read on you'll know why. I guess my battle with depression and sadness began when I was barely six years old. That was the year that I began school. I don't remember very much from that year except my teacher being told that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated and that I cried everyday. I wanted to be happy and have fun like the rest of my class, but I could not stop crying. I don't think I cried the whole school year, but when my second grade year began, so did another year of crying. I didn't like riding the school bus. I was the last one to board the bus and all the seats were taken. I can remember having to stand up the 3 miles to Brodhead Elementary and that sometimes I fell down when the bus turned a corner or stopped too quick. All the big kids made fun of me and no one offered to help. Momma tried driving me to school herself, but when I watched her drive off, I started crying again. Finally Momma and Daddy worked it out so I could ride to school with my grandmothers uncle and his wife, who was a school teacher. She didn't drive so her husband took her. He drove a red Chevrolet pick up like you see in the Old Navy store. By third grade, I started to enjoy school and did until I graduated in 1975.
In 1988 I was working as a hairdresser. I had my own shop in Mt. Vernon and had 2 ladies working with me. I had grown up in a country store that my grandparents owned, so working with the public came easy for me. I was married and had two sons in school. I thanked God everyday that they liked school and neither had cried like I had when I started school. I don't remember exactly when I started getting the "forever" blues, I guess that's another blessing from God. I think he takes away some of our bad memories because there is no use dwelling on them. My father had suffered from depression. He passed away from a heart attack when he was only 53. I was 13. My memory of him was that he was a very sad man that went to the Dr.s a lot. He actually had Electroconvulsive Therapy, shock treatments, that were the Cadillac of treatment for depression. After a treatment he didn't know who we were or where he was for days. Years later when a psychiatrist recommended ECT as a treatment for my depression, my mother was adamant that I not be given them and I choose not to have them. She said she could not go through with them again and I didn't want her to have to. I suppose that I inherited my incline for depression from him.
When I realized that my sadness was hanging around too long, I made an appointment to see my doctor, who was the same family doctor that had taken care of my dad. He didn't waste any time sending me to a doctor in Lexington. He said, "I watched your father battle depression and couldn't help him, but I won't do that with you." The psychiatrist I saw was supposed to be the best in Lexington. He diagnosed me with Clinical Depression, a broad term for different kinds of depression and prescribed a new anti-depressant drug called Prozac. I remember the first time I visited him how nervous I was. I also felt very vulnerable sitting in the waiting room with other troubled souls. When I was called back, I was amused that he actually had a couch in his office, but he didn't ask me to lie back on it. Within 2 weeks I could tell the medicine was working. The Dr. had me come to his office once a week for therapy. I found out through this therapy that I was also suffering from anxiety. I know that my whole life I had worried about something everyday, every minute actually. I was prescribed something for anxiety, thus started my long road on the medication treadmill. I've taken them all, but never really gotten anywhere, just like walking on a treadmill.
I continued to work and drive up to Lexington. I thought I was doing some better. One Saturday in November 1988, I was at work at the shop. I had been in a bad place for a few weeks, but that particular day I got worse. I didn't have a customer at the time so I was just sitting in my chair worrying. I started crying and shaking uncontrollably. My work mates called Mike, he and momma came to the shop to check on me. By then, I was in a total meltdown. I don't remember much after that. Someone called my doctors office and his answering service instructed someone to bring me to St. Joseph ER. I spent one night in a regular room and was beginning to feel a little better. The next day I was moved to the Behavioral Unit on the 6th floor. Ordinary people who are not suffering with any mental illness usually find this floor very disturbing, but to someone who is barely hanging on, it seemed like heaven. I was filled with the expectation that when I left this place all my worries and sadness would have gone away just like a case of the flu, I would be cured. The door locked behind me. Momma and Mike were briefed on what was going to happen next such as therapy, meds, visitations etc. I was told to empty my purse. When I did, the nurse took away my dental floss, compact, because of the mirror, tweezers, shoe strings and anything else I or anyone else could use as a weapon or a tool to harm myself. All that stuff was given to Mike to bring home. I was to wear my own clothes and shoes because it was a rule that I get dressed everyday. I could call home at times, but I had to get special permission. If I progressed enough I would be allowed to leave the floor, but not the hospital grounds. I was to stand in line with the other patients and be given my medication, which now included the drug Lithium and higher doses of Prozac and an anxiety drug. I had to attend group and individual therapy as well and was required to participate in all activities and meals. Everything was very structured. At first, I was the only one in my room, but during my stay roommates came and went. We could only take a shower and the shower stall didn't have a shower curtain. This was to ensure no one used the curtain rod to try to hang themselves. They also took my shoestrings to keep me and we weren't allowed razors. The men could shave under supervision, but the ladies had to give up the luxury of having smooth legs. I ended up staying 21 days there. I did earn the privilege of being able to go to other floors, so once a day I went to the nursery to look at the new babies and then down to the snack bar for a candy bar. Thanksgiving was during my stay and I was allowed a day pass to come home. I remember that I was ready to go back to the hospital early because I felt safe there and being home made me feel very anxious. After I was released in December, I had to do all my Christmas shopping. This worried me to death. No amount of therapy has ever helped my anxiety. I learned a lot in group therapy, but I am just not able to apply what I've learned to help myself. I've been to so many therapy classes in my adult life that I feel like I could teach a class.
I had missed out on several events in my son's lives while I was gone. Things like basketball games and school programs. Mom filled in for me and Mike did the housework. I had lost a lot of weight while I was gone because I couldn't eat in the dining room with the other patients. Almost all of them were a lot worse off than me. Some could barely feed themselves. One lady cried the whole time I was there. Some slept all the time only waking up to take more medication. We had a big room called the "day room" where we were allowed to watch TV. Sometimes there would be a battle over what station to watch. We were also allowed to smoke in this room. We weren't allowed a lighter so somebody had to keep a cigarette lit at all times. That was our only way of assuring we could light our cigarettes. I started chain smoking while I was there. Thank goodness I quit smoking cold turkey in 1990. The combative patients were isolated from the main floor, but we could hear their screams sometimes. Even with this nightmare going on around me, I still felt I belonged there. In my life thus far, I have spent a total of 37 days in 3 different hospitals for depression. The second time, both Momma and Mike were gone when I decided to exit this world by taking a large number of pills. After I took them, I laid down on my bed and waited. I fell asleep and dreamed of my boys. I dreamed they were crying for me. I woke up and came to the realization that I didn't want to die after all. I had to call my cousins Glen and Anna Lee Rigsby to take me to the hospital. I hadn't taken enough pills to do any permanent damage. I know God was with me that day.
Walking away and leaving me in a Behavior Unit has been very hard on my family, especially Momma. She cried every time she came and again when she left. The patients scared her and she was worried about me being there with them. They were almost all a lot worse than me. I saw the movie, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" when it first came out in 1975 at the drive-in and again last year on TV. I can relate to a lot of that movie. Sadly, it is a pretty good portrayal of a mental facility.
Today. after close to a hundred different medication changes and some therapy, I am getting by. I can't say I am well though. My life with depression is a chain reaction. My medication has side effects for which I have to take another medication. I now have Fibromyalgia, arthritis, asthma, high cholesterol, stomach and thyroid problems, muscle spasms, hearing loss, sleep apnea, obesity, memory loss to name a few. I deal with all these issues plus Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, anxiety and depression. I've been diagnosed with Clinical Depression, Major Depression, and Bi-Polar disorder, just according to what doctor I was seeing at the time. I really don't know which one I have, I looked them up and I could have them all three I guess that's why I'm so hard to treat.
In 1990, I had to sell my beauty shop. I think because that was the place I was when I had my first breakdown and I couldn't deal with that memory. I stopped working as a hairdresser in April 1990 and started work as an Instructional Assistant at RCHS in August 1990. I was doing much better then. I was finally on the right medication regimen. I didn't and still don't attend any therapy sessions because they just make me worse. I do better if I just bury my depression somewhere deep within myself and pretend it's not there. I could win an academy award for acting, because if you didn't know me, you'd never guess just how sad and troubled I am. I have had my feelings hurt so many times by well meaning people who say, "You don't have a reason to be depressed." or "You're not close enough to God. He will heal you if you will let him." I have been treated different by employers, co-workers and family members due to the stigma of mental illness. Unless you suffer with depression, you have no idea what it's like. No two people's depression is the same. It is a lifetime of hell for most. The TV ads say try this, you will get better, but I have found that to not be untrue. Some meds. do help the symptoms, but I know I will never be cured. Since it seems to be an heredity issue in my family, I worry about my children and grandchildren. I look for signs in them all the time.
This brings me to the present. I have been on the same meds for over 10 years and unfortunately they are either not working or the side effects are worse than the depression. My doctor is in the process of making some medicine changes, but I've tried everything out there and she says I don't have anywhere else to go. I am hoping for a new anti-depressant that has less side effects. I have no self confidence therefore I beat myself up all day long. In my eyes I never do anything right. I have cried for hours over something someone said that I took the wrong way. I dread everything even something as simple as going to the bank. I have to make myself attend family functions or go shopping. Mike does the grocery shopping and takes care of other things that I just can't bring myself to do. Very few things make me happy. The last thing I did that made me happy was years ago when me and several family members went canoing down the Rockcastle Co. River. Of course I have been excited when all four of my precious grandchildren came into this world, but activites that people do daily, I can't do. I always look forward to our yearly vacation at the beach, but when I actually get there, I keep waiting to start enjoying myself. I'm always glad to get back home.
Sadly after all these years, Mike and now the boys, have never really understood me or my depression. I think Momma does because I make the third family member she has had to help with depression. She had to quit school in the eighth grade to take care of the family because her mother was so depressed that she didn't get out of bed for over a year. Then she watched my dad suffer and now me. She says all of us have suffered differently. My grandmother did get well and with no medication. It's hard for me to realize that the granny I knew was ever the way Momma describes her. Daddy never got any better, even with the shock therapy. He had to quit work and draw disability only then to die at a young age. I do have one rock to hold onto in this stormy life, my friend Janice. When I started working at RCHS, she was the teacher I was hired to assist. We've been best friends since 1990. Having her is another gift from God. I'm convinced that in his goodness he doesn't want me to suffer so he sent Janice to me. It's ironic that I got out of the hospital in April 1990 and met Janice in August 1990. She knows and understands me so well. She's my own private therapist. She knows exactly what to say and how to talk me through the bad times. I don't always agree with what she tells me, but I always end up taking her advice.
This story is different from the other stories I have written. They were almost all happy and made us laugh. But along with the sunshine we have a little rain. To all things there is a season. My season is sometimes a dark, sad place. I try not to visit that place very much. I'd rather enjoy the sunshine.
In 1988 I was working as a hairdresser. I had my own shop in Mt. Vernon and had 2 ladies working with me. I had grown up in a country store that my grandparents owned, so working with the public came easy for me. I was married and had two sons in school. I thanked God everyday that they liked school and neither had cried like I had when I started school. I don't remember exactly when I started getting the "forever" blues, I guess that's another blessing from God. I think he takes away some of our bad memories because there is no use dwelling on them. My father had suffered from depression. He passed away from a heart attack when he was only 53. I was 13. My memory of him was that he was a very sad man that went to the Dr.s a lot. He actually had Electroconvulsive Therapy, shock treatments, that were the Cadillac of treatment for depression. After a treatment he didn't know who we were or where he was for days. Years later when a psychiatrist recommended ECT as a treatment for my depression, my mother was adamant that I not be given them and I choose not to have them. She said she could not go through with them again and I didn't want her to have to. I suppose that I inherited my incline for depression from him.
When I realized that my sadness was hanging around too long, I made an appointment to see my doctor, who was the same family doctor that had taken care of my dad. He didn't waste any time sending me to a doctor in Lexington. He said, "I watched your father battle depression and couldn't help him, but I won't do that with you." The psychiatrist I saw was supposed to be the best in Lexington. He diagnosed me with Clinical Depression, a broad term for different kinds of depression and prescribed a new anti-depressant drug called Prozac. I remember the first time I visited him how nervous I was. I also felt very vulnerable sitting in the waiting room with other troubled souls. When I was called back, I was amused that he actually had a couch in his office, but he didn't ask me to lie back on it. Within 2 weeks I could tell the medicine was working. The Dr. had me come to his office once a week for therapy. I found out through this therapy that I was also suffering from anxiety. I know that my whole life I had worried about something everyday, every minute actually. I was prescribed something for anxiety, thus started my long road on the medication treadmill. I've taken them all, but never really gotten anywhere, just like walking on a treadmill.
I continued to work and drive up to Lexington. I thought I was doing some better. One Saturday in November 1988, I was at work at the shop. I had been in a bad place for a few weeks, but that particular day I got worse. I didn't have a customer at the time so I was just sitting in my chair worrying. I started crying and shaking uncontrollably. My work mates called Mike, he and momma came to the shop to check on me. By then, I was in a total meltdown. I don't remember much after that. Someone called my doctors office and his answering service instructed someone to bring me to St. Joseph ER. I spent one night in a regular room and was beginning to feel a little better. The next day I was moved to the Behavioral Unit on the 6th floor. Ordinary people who are not suffering with any mental illness usually find this floor very disturbing, but to someone who is barely hanging on, it seemed like heaven. I was filled with the expectation that when I left this place all my worries and sadness would have gone away just like a case of the flu, I would be cured. The door locked behind me. Momma and Mike were briefed on what was going to happen next such as therapy, meds, visitations etc. I was told to empty my purse. When I did, the nurse took away my dental floss, compact, because of the mirror, tweezers, shoe strings and anything else I or anyone else could use as a weapon or a tool to harm myself. All that stuff was given to Mike to bring home. I was to wear my own clothes and shoes because it was a rule that I get dressed everyday. I could call home at times, but I had to get special permission. If I progressed enough I would be allowed to leave the floor, but not the hospital grounds. I was to stand in line with the other patients and be given my medication, which now included the drug Lithium and higher doses of Prozac and an anxiety drug. I had to attend group and individual therapy as well and was required to participate in all activities and meals. Everything was very structured. At first, I was the only one in my room, but during my stay roommates came and went. We could only take a shower and the shower stall didn't have a shower curtain. This was to ensure no one used the curtain rod to try to hang themselves. They also took my shoestrings to keep me and we weren't allowed razors. The men could shave under supervision, but the ladies had to give up the luxury of having smooth legs. I ended up staying 21 days there. I did earn the privilege of being able to go to other floors, so once a day I went to the nursery to look at the new babies and then down to the snack bar for a candy bar. Thanksgiving was during my stay and I was allowed a day pass to come home. I remember that I was ready to go back to the hospital early because I felt safe there and being home made me feel very anxious. After I was released in December, I had to do all my Christmas shopping. This worried me to death. No amount of therapy has ever helped my anxiety. I learned a lot in group therapy, but I am just not able to apply what I've learned to help myself. I've been to so many therapy classes in my adult life that I feel like I could teach a class.
I had missed out on several events in my son's lives while I was gone. Things like basketball games and school programs. Mom filled in for me and Mike did the housework. I had lost a lot of weight while I was gone because I couldn't eat in the dining room with the other patients. Almost all of them were a lot worse off than me. Some could barely feed themselves. One lady cried the whole time I was there. Some slept all the time only waking up to take more medication. We had a big room called the "day room" where we were allowed to watch TV. Sometimes there would be a battle over what station to watch. We were also allowed to smoke in this room. We weren't allowed a lighter so somebody had to keep a cigarette lit at all times. That was our only way of assuring we could light our cigarettes. I started chain smoking while I was there. Thank goodness I quit smoking cold turkey in 1990. The combative patients were isolated from the main floor, but we could hear their screams sometimes. Even with this nightmare going on around me, I still felt I belonged there. In my life thus far, I have spent a total of 37 days in 3 different hospitals for depression. The second time, both Momma and Mike were gone when I decided to exit this world by taking a large number of pills. After I took them, I laid down on my bed and waited. I fell asleep and dreamed of my boys. I dreamed they were crying for me. I woke up and came to the realization that I didn't want to die after all. I had to call my cousins Glen and Anna Lee Rigsby to take me to the hospital. I hadn't taken enough pills to do any permanent damage. I know God was with me that day.
Walking away and leaving me in a Behavior Unit has been very hard on my family, especially Momma. She cried every time she came and again when she left. The patients scared her and she was worried about me being there with them. They were almost all a lot worse than me. I saw the movie, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" when it first came out in 1975 at the drive-in and again last year on TV. I can relate to a lot of that movie. Sadly, it is a pretty good portrayal of a mental facility.
 | |
| Me and Kyle right after my first hospitalization |
Today. after close to a hundred different medication changes and some therapy, I am getting by. I can't say I am well though. My life with depression is a chain reaction. My medication has side effects for which I have to take another medication. I now have Fibromyalgia, arthritis, asthma, high cholesterol, stomach and thyroid problems, muscle spasms, hearing loss, sleep apnea, obesity, memory loss to name a few. I deal with all these issues plus Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, anxiety and depression. I've been diagnosed with Clinical Depression, Major Depression, and Bi-Polar disorder, just according to what doctor I was seeing at the time. I really don't know which one I have, I looked them up and I could have them all three I guess that's why I'm so hard to treat.
In 1990, I had to sell my beauty shop. I think because that was the place I was when I had my first breakdown and I couldn't deal with that memory. I stopped working as a hairdresser in April 1990 and started work as an Instructional Assistant at RCHS in August 1990. I was doing much better then. I was finally on the right medication regimen. I didn't and still don't attend any therapy sessions because they just make me worse. I do better if I just bury my depression somewhere deep within myself and pretend it's not there. I could win an academy award for acting, because if you didn't know me, you'd never guess just how sad and troubled I am. I have had my feelings hurt so many times by well meaning people who say, "You don't have a reason to be depressed." or "You're not close enough to God. He will heal you if you will let him." I have been treated different by employers, co-workers and family members due to the stigma of mental illness. Unless you suffer with depression, you have no idea what it's like. No two people's depression is the same. It is a lifetime of hell for most. The TV ads say try this, you will get better, but I have found that to not be untrue. Some meds. do help the symptoms, but I know I will never be cured. Since it seems to be an heredity issue in my family, I worry about my children and grandchildren. I look for signs in them all the time.
This brings me to the present. I have been on the same meds for over 10 years and unfortunately they are either not working or the side effects are worse than the depression. My doctor is in the process of making some medicine changes, but I've tried everything out there and she says I don't have anywhere else to go. I am hoping for a new anti-depressant that has less side effects. I have no self confidence therefore I beat myself up all day long. In my eyes I never do anything right. I have cried for hours over something someone said that I took the wrong way. I dread everything even something as simple as going to the bank. I have to make myself attend family functions or go shopping. Mike does the grocery shopping and takes care of other things that I just can't bring myself to do. Very few things make me happy. The last thing I did that made me happy was years ago when me and several family members went canoing down the Rockcastle Co. River. Of course I have been excited when all four of my precious grandchildren came into this world, but activites that people do daily, I can't do. I always look forward to our yearly vacation at the beach, but when I actually get there, I keep waiting to start enjoying myself. I'm always glad to get back home.
Sadly after all these years, Mike and now the boys, have never really understood me or my depression. I think Momma does because I make the third family member she has had to help with depression. She had to quit school in the eighth grade to take care of the family because her mother was so depressed that she didn't get out of bed for over a year. Then she watched my dad suffer and now me. She says all of us have suffered differently. My grandmother did get well and with no medication. It's hard for me to realize that the granny I knew was ever the way Momma describes her. Daddy never got any better, even with the shock therapy. He had to quit work and draw disability only then to die at a young age. I do have one rock to hold onto in this stormy life, my friend Janice. When I started working at RCHS, she was the teacher I was hired to assist. We've been best friends since 1990. Having her is another gift from God. I'm convinced that in his goodness he doesn't want me to suffer so he sent Janice to me. It's ironic that I got out of the hospital in April 1990 and met Janice in August 1990. She knows and understands me so well. She's my own private therapist. She knows exactly what to say and how to talk me through the bad times. I don't always agree with what she tells me, but I always end up taking her advice.
This story is different from the other stories I have written. They were almost all happy and made us laugh. But along with the sunshine we have a little rain. To all things there is a season. My season is sometimes a dark, sad place. I try not to visit that place very much. I'd rather enjoy the sunshine.
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