Ma-ma died in 1994, some days, like today, it seems like yesterday. I still want to pick up the phone just to hear her voice.
Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo! She was a southern lady to the core of her being, with a mischievous grin that could light up the room.
I was my ma-ma's baby, the youngest grandchild. She doted on me like there was no tomorrow. After Tom died and mama was still recovering from her own car accident I spent a lot of time with ma-ma, it brought up incredibly close.
I remember taking a bath in the big sink in the kitchen, or drinking coffee with ma-ma at the kitchen table. Truth be known, I was actually drinking milk with a drop of coffee, but still to me I was drinking coffee with my ma-ma.
Ma-ma was quite the seamstress, she made all of the grand children's "fancy" clothes, she even made Sam's prom suit. She would sit at her old Singer sewing machine in the wooden cabinet and sew for hours. That old sewing machine now sits in my living room, to most people it is just an old piece of furniture, to me, it is memories; a prized possession from a woman who helped shape my life. Inside the old cabinet still lays her threads, needles and thimbles, just waiting for her to open back up and get to work.
She was also a great cook, but baking was her real forte. Her passion for baking was passed on to me at an early age. We would make sugar cookies, pound cakes, Christmas candies and pies. Rarely did she make a sweet that she didn't leave just enough in the bowl for me or the other grand kids to feast upon, there is nothing like raw dough and the pleasure of standing in her kitchen licking a bowl clean is something that will never leave my mind.
Ma-ma's other passion was flowers, she had beautiful roses and dahlias and African Violets. Her green thumb created one of the most beautiful gardens in the area.
There wasn't much domestically that ma-ma couldn't do and if she couldn't do it she would watch "The Nancy Welch Show" to get tips to make it happen. Nancy Welch was the pre-cursor to Martha Stewart and on more than one occasion ma-ma would quote her as an authority.
One of Sam's favorite lines to use on me is that I am the sensitive child. It's true I am, but the line originated with ma-ma. On one of the many occasions when Sam was picking on me, she came to my defense and told him to leave me alone, "Ken is a sensitive child." While at the time I wasn't too thrilled with the title, today I can't think of a greater moniker.
She could make us all laugh with just a simple phrase and she could make you shake in your boots when she would insist that you go out in the back yard and pick your own hickery for a punishment you would receive for doing something wrong. Ma-ma was 5' of dynamo!
As her health began to fade she lost her ability to do the things she loved. First the sewing and then the baking, but the flowers remained. Up until her death she had beautiful African Violets on her back porch that she and gramps tended to.
Her death was drawn out and painful, not just for her but for those of us who loved her, we didn't want to watch this vibrant soul suffer any longer. The week before she died she was in Emory Hospital in Atlanta, I am thankful she was there because after college I had moved to Atlanta and was able to spend time with her.
The night before she died, I sat beside her and held her hand. I helped her drink her liquid dinner and I told her how much I loved her. The next day, around lunchtime mama called to tell me she was gone.
I miss that sweet gentle soul, that 5' of dynamo. But I am thankful that I was able to learn from her, today some of the same passions she held mean the most to me. I don't ever bake a cake that I don't think of her when I am licking the bowl, and while my garden looks nothing like hers, I think she would approve.
I still miss my ma-ma....... just like it was yesterday.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The Shining Cross
People ask me from time to time, why I call my hometown God's Country. It began as a joke between Sam and I. When I moved to Florida and I would tell him about some of the shenanigans going on here, he would shoot back with a quick "we don't have those problems here in God's Country."
For me, God's Country is a place of idyllic beauty. Where the people care for each other, the seasons each bring forth rich balance and a simplistic peace flows like a river through the land. Basically, my hometown is as close to God's Country as I have ever known.
Nestled in the north Georgia mountains this beautiful utopia has thrived for many years. This earthly God's Country isn't perfect, the problems found in all society are there, but there is something about that place that gives me peace. It is like the mountains that surround the land insulates it from many of the troubles found just over the ridge.
Overlooking God's Country stands Black Rock Mountain. At the very top the land has been designated a State park and people come from far and wide to hike, camp and admire the beautiful scenery from its look out.
As I was growing up, Black Rock Mountain was a beacon for family picnics, camping trips and Easter Sunrise, but in mind the true beacon of Black Rock was the lighted cross.
Standing atop the mountain and off to the side of the state park was a beautiful lighted cross, standing 40 - 50' high. Each night at sunset, the cross would illuminate as if to protect those beneath it for the night. The cross on Black Rock Mountain was a symbol, not necessarily a religious symbol, but a symbol for the community.
I was raised to respect the cross for the Christian symbol of Jesus dying for my sins, but for others it had different personal significance.
Every night that cross would light up and it could be seen from miles away, a lighted cross shining as a beacon for those below. During the Christmas season, the cross would change. From Thanksgiving to New Year's, the cross would become either a Christmas tree or star, honestly I don't remember which, I just remember it would change.
Immediately after the New Year it would change back to that beautiful cross.
That cross on the top of Black Rock was a symbol for our town, one that gave us pride and shown as a light for all those who saw it.
Sometime in the early 70's the State of Georgia was sued over the cross on top of Black Rock. The cross had to come down because it was viewed as promoting the Christian religion on state land. I am a firm believer in the separation of Church and State, however as is often the case, the cross on Black Rock and the citizens of God's Country became the victims of someone trying to make a point and serving their own agenda instead of the public at large.
I don't know, but I am sure the person who brought the suit probably wasn't a resident of the town, but someone who heard about it or saw it passing through and decided they were offended by what it stood for.
For many years, we were without our cross. Somehow the nights seemed darker without that light standing guard over our town. The town went on, it didn't crumble, but when you looked to the mountains there was always something missing.
About a year ago, mama told me that the cross was back on Black Rock. I couldn't have been more happy.
This summer when I made my annual trek to God's Country, one of the things on my to do list was to see the cross. I had heard it was even more magnificent than it was when I was young.
Because of the torrential rains and flooding when I was there, I didn't get out much and a nighttime drive to see the cross was out of the question.
On the morning I left to come back to Florida the rains had subsided and a heavy coating of fog coated the countryside. As I was making my way down Smith Hill leading to the highway home, there it was.... the cross.
Caressed by a blanket of fog, the cross illuminated the landscape.
The cross now stands on land that is privately owned so as not to interfere with any one's "personal liberties," but it stands and it glows!
That cross that for so many years burned with radiance, was dark and now glows again, the cross still stands.
I got a sense of peace driving out of town that morning after seeing the cross. Once again the beacon had returned and it shined brighter than ever.
For me, God's Country is a place of idyllic beauty. Where the people care for each other, the seasons each bring forth rich balance and a simplistic peace flows like a river through the land. Basically, my hometown is as close to God's Country as I have ever known.
Nestled in the north Georgia mountains this beautiful utopia has thrived for many years. This earthly God's Country isn't perfect, the problems found in all society are there, but there is something about that place that gives me peace. It is like the mountains that surround the land insulates it from many of the troubles found just over the ridge.
Overlooking God's Country stands Black Rock Mountain. At the very top the land has been designated a State park and people come from far and wide to hike, camp and admire the beautiful scenery from its look out.
As I was growing up, Black Rock Mountain was a beacon for family picnics, camping trips and Easter Sunrise, but in mind the true beacon of Black Rock was the lighted cross.
Standing atop the mountain and off to the side of the state park was a beautiful lighted cross, standing 40 - 50' high. Each night at sunset, the cross would illuminate as if to protect those beneath it for the night. The cross on Black Rock Mountain was a symbol, not necessarily a religious symbol, but a symbol for the community.
I was raised to respect the cross for the Christian symbol of Jesus dying for my sins, but for others it had different personal significance.
Every night that cross would light up and it could be seen from miles away, a lighted cross shining as a beacon for those below. During the Christmas season, the cross would change. From Thanksgiving to New Year's, the cross would become either a Christmas tree or star, honestly I don't remember which, I just remember it would change.
Immediately after the New Year it would change back to that beautiful cross.
That cross on the top of Black Rock was a symbol for our town, one that gave us pride and shown as a light for all those who saw it.
Sometime in the early 70's the State of Georgia was sued over the cross on top of Black Rock. The cross had to come down because it was viewed as promoting the Christian religion on state land. I am a firm believer in the separation of Church and State, however as is often the case, the cross on Black Rock and the citizens of God's Country became the victims of someone trying to make a point and serving their own agenda instead of the public at large.
I don't know, but I am sure the person who brought the suit probably wasn't a resident of the town, but someone who heard about it or saw it passing through and decided they were offended by what it stood for.
For many years, we were without our cross. Somehow the nights seemed darker without that light standing guard over our town. The town went on, it didn't crumble, but when you looked to the mountains there was always something missing.
About a year ago, mama told me that the cross was back on Black Rock. I couldn't have been more happy.
This summer when I made my annual trek to God's Country, one of the things on my to do list was to see the cross. I had heard it was even more magnificent than it was when I was young.
Because of the torrential rains and flooding when I was there, I didn't get out much and a nighttime drive to see the cross was out of the question.
On the morning I left to come back to Florida the rains had subsided and a heavy coating of fog coated the countryside. As I was making my way down Smith Hill leading to the highway home, there it was.... the cross.
Caressed by a blanket of fog, the cross illuminated the landscape.
The cross now stands on land that is privately owned so as not to interfere with any one's "personal liberties," but it stands and it glows!
That cross that for so many years burned with radiance, was dark and now glows again, the cross still stands.
I got a sense of peace driving out of town that morning after seeing the cross. Once again the beacon had returned and it shined brighter than ever.
UPDATE:
One of my readers, Marianne Wilson, just sent me this photo of the cross on Black Rock. Now you can see for yourself how magnificent it is. Thanks Marianne!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Surrogate
When someone important in your life passes away, no one can take their place. For all time there is a hole in your heart that can't be filled. Although I was only a youngster, Tom's passing left me with such a hole that today leaves me wondering what could have been.
After Tom died, our family was in turmoil. Mama still faced surgeries and health issues, Sam was without his big brother and daddy did his best to create a normal life for his boys all while going through his own grief, it was a challenge.
For me, life basically moved on. Grief isn't something a six year old grasps easily. While my family was grieving a special teenager stepped in and took me under his wing, in part to fill his own hurting heart, but more importantly to make sure a young kid didn't get lost in the shuffle, acting in many ways as the big brother I had lost.
Tim was Tom's best friend. They had been friends since we moved to God's Country. Tim was the high school quarterback, Tom the running back. They shared a bond.
Tim had always been a part of my life since I can remember. Around the house with Tom.
In the summer after Tom died, Tim took me on as his little buddy. In my eyes he had one of the best jobs in all of God's Country, he was the lifeguard at the private country club Kingwood. His day was spent hanging out by the small pool, catching rays and visiting with the guests and locals who would stop in for a plunge in the nice cool waters of the pool.
Our house was on the way to work for Tim and at the beginning of the summer after Tom died he started stopping by each day to "take me to work with him." I remember how exciting it was for me to pile into Tim's prized Mustang each morning. I always thought the foot-shaped gas pedal was one of the coolest things I had ever seen.
During that summer, Tim would stop by each day to pick me up. He taught me to swim in that pool, how to measure the chlorine levels and would let me throw chlorine in the pool.
Around lunchtime each day, Tim and I would make our way up to the top level of the gazebo overlooking the pool and it was there that he became my surrogate big brother. Each day, just the two of us, would sit and have our lunch together. We would talk and although I have no idea what we talked about, I like to think that those moments allowed him to move past his grief, of losing his best friend, and helped me understand and move on as well.
Tim has always remained close to our family. After high school he went away to college, got married, had kids and became a respected football coach and teacher. I know Tom would have been proud of him for that.
For my part, I moved on, made my way in life and hopefully have made those who love me proud. I know Tom would have liked that also.
I haven't seen Tim since mama and daddy's 50th Anniversary party. I never got the chance to tell him thank you for taking a little kid under his wing and I never had the opportunity to say thanks for being a surrogate.
I hope Tim knows that long before he got a degree in education he was already teaching. His classroom only consisted of one student, but he made a huge impression on that kid many years ago. Tim taught me life lessons under that gazebo, he also taught me kindness and compassion, a gesture as simple as taking a little buddy "to work with you" each day can shape a person's life, for that I know Tom would have been proud of Tim and for me I am forever grateful.
Thank you Tim, for stepping in as a surrogate, for teaching me about life and for making your best friend proud.
After Tom died, our family was in turmoil. Mama still faced surgeries and health issues, Sam was without his big brother and daddy did his best to create a normal life for his boys all while going through his own grief, it was a challenge.
For me, life basically moved on. Grief isn't something a six year old grasps easily. While my family was grieving a special teenager stepped in and took me under his wing, in part to fill his own hurting heart, but more importantly to make sure a young kid didn't get lost in the shuffle, acting in many ways as the big brother I had lost.
Tim was Tom's best friend. They had been friends since we moved to God's Country. Tim was the high school quarterback, Tom the running back. They shared a bond.
Tim had always been a part of my life since I can remember. Around the house with Tom.
In the summer after Tom died, Tim took me on as his little buddy. In my eyes he had one of the best jobs in all of God's Country, he was the lifeguard at the private country club Kingwood. His day was spent hanging out by the small pool, catching rays and visiting with the guests and locals who would stop in for a plunge in the nice cool waters of the pool.
Our house was on the way to work for Tim and at the beginning of the summer after Tom died he started stopping by each day to "take me to work with him." I remember how exciting it was for me to pile into Tim's prized Mustang each morning. I always thought the foot-shaped gas pedal was one of the coolest things I had ever seen.
During that summer, Tim would stop by each day to pick me up. He taught me to swim in that pool, how to measure the chlorine levels and would let me throw chlorine in the pool.
Around lunchtime each day, Tim and I would make our way up to the top level of the gazebo overlooking the pool and it was there that he became my surrogate big brother. Each day, just the two of us, would sit and have our lunch together. We would talk and although I have no idea what we talked about, I like to think that those moments allowed him to move past his grief, of losing his best friend, and helped me understand and move on as well.
Tim has always remained close to our family. After high school he went away to college, got married, had kids and became a respected football coach and teacher. I know Tom would have been proud of him for that.
For my part, I moved on, made my way in life and hopefully have made those who love me proud. I know Tom would have liked that also.
I haven't seen Tim since mama and daddy's 50th Anniversary party. I never got the chance to tell him thank you for taking a little kid under his wing and I never had the opportunity to say thanks for being a surrogate.
I hope Tim knows that long before he got a degree in education he was already teaching. His classroom only consisted of one student, but he made a huge impression on that kid many years ago. Tim taught me life lessons under that gazebo, he also taught me kindness and compassion, a gesture as simple as taking a little buddy "to work with you" each day can shape a person's life, for that I know Tom would have been proud of Tim and for me I am forever grateful.
Thank you Tim, for stepping in as a surrogate, for teaching me about life and for making your best friend proud.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
It's Atlanta
As I watched the excitement this week in Rio, when they were awarded the Summer Olympic Games of 2016, I couldn't help but reflect back on a summer, not so long ago, when I lived in Atlanta and the same excitement exploded in the City, placing the capital of the South on the world stage.
I moved to Atlanta immediately after graduating college in 1986 and the City was just beginning to gear up for its bid to host the Centennial Olympic Games. Atlanta was considered a long shot with Athens, Greece the sentimental favorite. Other competing cities for the bid were Melbourne, Belgrade, Manchester and Toronto.
For years Atlanta pushed its bid, Olympic officials visited the city and the excitement of what could be pulsed through the veins of the city like an impeding Christmas morning. Those of us who lived in Atlanta knew what winning the Games could do for our town, transforming an otherwise sleepy metropolis into a bustling world-renowned focal point.
As the days grew near, leading up to the bid announcement, preparations were made and a grand victory announcement party was planned for downtown on the morning of September 18th, 1990.
In the days before the awarding, my family suffered a crisis, Aunt Laura Bea, was hospitalized and family was called to Atlanta as her status was not good. Aunt Laura Bea was ma-ma's sister, my great aunt, a sweet southern belle with a loving strength that kept us all in line. Cousins from around the country flew in to be with Aunt Laura Bea and during the time I reconnected with my cousin Dede from Houston who I had not seen since we were both children.
Dede and I hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends, a relationship that remains strong today.
On the night before the bid announcement I was visiting with the family when my cousin Tina, who also lived in Atlanta, mentioned that we should go to the announcement party together. I jumped at the chance to go to the event with Tina and we invited Dede to go along with us.
On the morning of the 18th, I met up with Tina and Dede before sunrise. The announcement would be made in Tokyo, many hours ahead of us, making it necessary for the announcement party to begin during the early morning hours.
Mass transportation was filled that morning, it seemed as though everyone was headed for Undergound Atlanta, the cities gathering spot and host of the Olympic announcement party. Arriving on the site, Dede, Tina and I found a spot on the plaza steps to be a part of the festivities.
As Juan Antonio Samaranch, President of the International Olympic Committee strode up to the microphone to announce the winners after the fifth and final round vote, the only two cities left in the competition were Athens and Atlanta. He took the stage and in one breath made the announcement, a hush fell over the crowd and Mr. Samaranch said "the International Olympic Committee has awarded the 1996 Olympic Games to the City of ...Atlanta!"
Hearing those words, the crowds assembled took one collective breath and then PANDEMONIUM! Underground Atlanta, the City of Atlanta and the entire United States erupted in a celebration that I had never experienced up until that time.
We hugged, jumped, clapped and cheered!
No work was done that day as people filed out of their offices and into the streets for a giant celebration. Tina, Dede and I toured the city, we walked from location to location and within an hour had our collector's edition newspaper with the headline.... "It's Atlanta!"
Leading up to the Olympic announcement I had been toying with the idea of moving. I knew that I would eventually wind up in Florida and the time seemed right to make that move. As the words rolled off Juan Antonio Samaranch's lips I decided in that instance to remain in Atlanta until after the Olympics. Living in an Olympic city is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I was determined to experience the next six years as a proud Atlantan.
The days party stretched long into the evening. Eventually Tina went home and Dede and I were joined by my friend Charlie. The three of us painted the town gold, we laughed and celebrated one magical day that will live in my memory forever.
Over the next few years, Atlanta moved forward and eventually hosted those Games. We didn't do everything right, but for the most part the Games were a huge success. The media wasn't too kind to the City, but as someone who was there, I will tell you the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games made me proud to be an Atlantan.
I moved to Atlanta immediately after graduating college in 1986 and the City was just beginning to gear up for its bid to host the Centennial Olympic Games. Atlanta was considered a long shot with Athens, Greece the sentimental favorite. Other competing cities for the bid were Melbourne, Belgrade, Manchester and Toronto.
For years Atlanta pushed its bid, Olympic officials visited the city and the excitement of what could be pulsed through the veins of the city like an impeding Christmas morning. Those of us who lived in Atlanta knew what winning the Games could do for our town, transforming an otherwise sleepy metropolis into a bustling world-renowned focal point.
As the days grew near, leading up to the bid announcement, preparations were made and a grand victory announcement party was planned for downtown on the morning of September 18th, 1990.
In the days before the awarding, my family suffered a crisis, Aunt Laura Bea, was hospitalized and family was called to Atlanta as her status was not good. Aunt Laura Bea was ma-ma's sister, my great aunt, a sweet southern belle with a loving strength that kept us all in line. Cousins from around the country flew in to be with Aunt Laura Bea and during the time I reconnected with my cousin Dede from Houston who I had not seen since we were both children.
Dede and I hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends, a relationship that remains strong today.
On the night before the bid announcement I was visiting with the family when my cousin Tina, who also lived in Atlanta, mentioned that we should go to the announcement party together. I jumped at the chance to go to the event with Tina and we invited Dede to go along with us.
On the morning of the 18th, I met up with Tina and Dede before sunrise. The announcement would be made in Tokyo, many hours ahead of us, making it necessary for the announcement party to begin during the early morning hours.
Mass transportation was filled that morning, it seemed as though everyone was headed for Undergound Atlanta, the cities gathering spot and host of the Olympic announcement party. Arriving on the site, Dede, Tina and I found a spot on the plaza steps to be a part of the festivities.
As Juan Antonio Samaranch, President of the International Olympic Committee strode up to the microphone to announce the winners after the fifth and final round vote, the only two cities left in the competition were Athens and Atlanta. He took the stage and in one breath made the announcement, a hush fell over the crowd and Mr. Samaranch said "the International Olympic Committee has awarded the 1996 Olympic Games to the City of ...Atlanta!"
Hearing those words, the crowds assembled took one collective breath and then PANDEMONIUM! Underground Atlanta, the City of Atlanta and the entire United States erupted in a celebration that I had never experienced up until that time.
We hugged, jumped, clapped and cheered!
No work was done that day as people filed out of their offices and into the streets for a giant celebration. Tina, Dede and I toured the city, we walked from location to location and within an hour had our collector's edition newspaper with the headline.... "It's Atlanta!"
Leading up to the Olympic announcement I had been toying with the idea of moving. I knew that I would eventually wind up in Florida and the time seemed right to make that move. As the words rolled off Juan Antonio Samaranch's lips I decided in that instance to remain in Atlanta until after the Olympics. Living in an Olympic city is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I was determined to experience the next six years as a proud Atlantan.
The days party stretched long into the evening. Eventually Tina went home and Dede and I were joined by my friend Charlie. The three of us painted the town gold, we laughed and celebrated one magical day that will live in my memory forever.
Over the next few years, Atlanta moved forward and eventually hosted those Games. We didn't do everything right, but for the most part the Games were a huge success. The media wasn't too kind to the City, but as someone who was there, I will tell you the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games made me proud to be an Atlantan.
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