Charmed...

There are certain possessions that we all have in life that mean much more to us than their value.  Items that "in a fire" you would grab. 

Besides Lita, I have a few things I would try to save in case of an emergency.....  the framed baby outfit I wore home from the hospital when I was born, a quilt made from my parents clothes when they were children both of which were Christmas gifts from mama and daddy.

I would try to grab family photos and my "important documents" box, but before any of those other "things" in my life (excluding Lita) I would reach for the charm bracelets.

In my living room, in a special place of honor are two framed charm bracelets, costume jewelry that means more to me than anyone else.  These charm bracelets belonged to mama and ma-ma.

When I was a very young child I used to spend a lot of time with ma-ma and gramps.  We had kind of a routine that included continuous pampering and exploration of my imagination and creative personality. 

Ma-ma was the perfect homemaker, she could bake, cook, clean, sew, garden, arrange flowers, craft, she could do it all and she loved having a little one tugging at her apron strings offering to "help."  I love pulling those apron stings, so we were a perfect pair!

One of my favorite things to do with ma-ma was to have her tell me stories,  stories from the charm bracelet. 

Ma-ma's charm bracelet was gold and from my childhood memory it had what seemed like hundreds of charms.  Each charm held a significance, the sewing machine, the thimble, a head for each child and grandchild, a replica of her brother's Bronze Star, Virginia, Puerto Rico, Florida;  all remembrances of trips taken through the years. 

For a young boy filled with an unquenchable imagination, that bracelet and the stories that were told about each charm could entertain for hours.

Many years later, when ma-ma died, I knew there was one thing I really wanted, I wanted that bracelet.  I hadn't seen it in years and when I mentioned it no one knew where it was. 

Through the days of purging ma-ma's belongings someone found the charm bracelet and gave it to me.  As an adult, it wasn't as impressive as it was when I was a child, you could see some of the charms were missing and it was tarnished, but just seeing that bracelet brought back a flood of memories and times spent with my grandmother that I would never be able to replace. 

Mama's bracelet was different.  Mama's bracelet was silver and only had 5 charms on it... one for daddy, one for Tom, one for Sam, one for me and one for herself.  Four male heads and one female.

On the front of each charm our name and birth date was engraved.  On the back of Tom's was his death date.

Somewhere through the years mama lost her charm bracelet she would mention it from time to time and how much it meant to her. 

One year, when I was about 16, I knew exactly what I wanted to give mama for Christmas.  I had worked all summer and saved some money and knew that this would be the year I was able to give her the special gift.

When we open our Christmas gifts each year, we try and hold one back for the grand finale as we know it is going to be the "special gift" for that year.  This was my first year able to give the "special" gift. 

I planned for weeks, I got mama's gift, I made sure everything was perfect and on Christmas Eve, I proudly put that gift under the tree. 

As we unwrapped the gifts my excitement built and for the first time, this year the excitement really wasn't for what I was receiving, but what I was giving.

When the time finally came and all the gifts but one were opened, I proudly handed mama her beautifully wrapped package.  I sat nervously beside her and as she unwrapped the package, our small family watched in anticipation.

When the package was opened, there it lay a silver charm bracelet, just like the one she had year's before.  Five heads, each engraved, a simple gift that meant more to my mama and I than any expensive gadget could.  To this day, the most special gift I have ever given anyone.

Mama and I both cried.

Through the years mama wore that bracelet everywhere and she made sure not to lose it.  She added three more heads through the years, Donna, Chelsea and Zack. 

When mama passed, there was one thing I wanted.  Before I left Clayton on my way back to Florida after that horrible/wonderful week, I went to mama's jewelry box and collected the charm bracelet.

Not long after I got my grandmother's bracelet, I decided to have it framed.  I lived in Atlanta at the time and had a friend who was a framer, he made sure that it got the attention it deserved and did a beautiful job with the presentation. 

After mama died it took me almost a year to have her bracelet framed.  It hurt too much to think about finalizing it and putting the bracelet behind glass. 

Finally, as the 1 year anniversary of mama's death approached I took it out and went to my local framer.  I carried ma-ma's bracelet with me to show the framer what I wanted. 

Thankfully, the framer saw the importance of this project and gave it his attention and dedication.  We picked out a frame that complimented ma-ma's.  After finally, pulling together the strength to take the bracelet to the framer, I waited with nervous anticipation for it to be completed.

When I got the call that my frame was completed, I went to pick it up with excitement.  When I saw the frame opened, again I cried, just like the first time I saw it opened and just like the first time, I knew my mama was right beside me admiring the bracelet as well.

Today those two bracelets sit in a place of honor in my living room.  On a small table, two pieces of costume jewelry that mean the world to me.

Aunt Beck

We all have one, a favorite Aunt or Uncle, favorite cousin, for me that is my Aunt Beck. 

Aunt Beck is mama's older sister by just a couple of years.  The two of them were very close, which may explain my connection to her.  Aunt Beck turned 80 this month, a milestone worthy of celebration and a milestone worthy of reflection.

In many ways Aunt Beck and I are very similar.  We are the children who flew the coop, moved away from home and settled on the beach.  We connect through the sand between our toes. 

As a child some of my fondest memories were of Aunt Beck's house in the Summer or on Spring Break.  Our family would pile into the stationwagon and take off for a week at the beach, a week at Aunt Beck's house.

Now, the house we were visiting wasn't only Aunt Beck's, Uncle Larry and Melissa lived there too, a dog or hamster was often included in the mix. 

Aunt Beck has lived in Fernandina Beach, Florida for all of her adult life.  She and Uncle Larry moved there not long after they were married. 

For me, Fernandina Beach was paradise, little did I know that until the fancy people found it in the 80's that it really wasn't all the rage until a name change made it Amelia Island.  Mama used to joke with her friends that we had been going to Amelia Island before anyone even knew what Amelia Island was.

Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa had a quiet house, everything neat and put away in its place.  That was until the Rumsey clan would arrive with three boys, insatiable appetites and a boisterous energy that was difficult to tame. 

We would visit Aunt Beck a couple of times each year, wreaking havoc on her peaceful existence each time we came. 

Two or three times each year, Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa would make their way to God's Country for a visit.  You could almost see the culture shock on their faces when they arrived and soon realized they had left the melodic symphony of the ocean for the hectic chaos found on Old Buncomb Road. 

They usually stayed with Ma- ma  and Gramps when they came, about 30 miles from our house.  I think they probably needed a safe place to retreat to. 

Our visits to Aunt Beck's house were for the beach.  When Aunt Beck and her family came to God's Country it was usually for the visits to those "cute little shops on Main Street." 

Mama and Aunt Beck loved going in and out of the shops on Main Street when she came.  The same shops that mama only occasionally would walk into during the rest of the year would become a magnetic force for mama and Aunt Beck during those visits. 

Aunt Beck has always held a special place in my heart.  Her dry sense of humor, devilish grin and zest for life are what attracts me. 

As I have grown from childhood to adult life, Aunt Beck has become a force in my life.  When I was thinking of moving to Florida, she was one of the people I spoke with. 

My concern was that I wouldn't be able to be home when I "needed" to be there if I lived 12 hours away.  Aunt Beck assured me that if I were to be happy in MY life I needed to follow my dreams and that the rest would take care of itself.  She was right.

Aunt Beck is the person who guided me through my first few holidays away from home, and she was a role model for me to see how you can create a "Florida family" while never forgetting your real family. 

When Aunt Beck married Uncle Larry she .....GASP.... left the Baptist Church and became a Methodist.  During my search for faith, I did the same.  Aunt Beck helped me realize it isn't about the family tradition of a denomination.  It isn't about what faith you grew up in, what it is about is the path of faith you grow into.

After I moved to Florida, Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry continued their visits to God's country.  Melissa was now married with her own children and Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry were now traveling to help take care of Ma-ma and Gramps as they made their long journey to heaven. 

After ma-ma and gramps passed, not long after Uncle Larry's health began to fail and he passed before Christmas just a few years ago.

When it came time for me to make my next visit to God's Country, I asked Aunt Beck if she would like to go with me.  Her house was almost perfectly half way in a 12 hour drive.  Aunt Beck accepted my invitation to ride with me and this began a whole new adventure in our relationship.

I picked her up just off the I95 exit.  Ground rules were set from the very first trip.... meet me at McDonald's just off of 95.  I will drop you off at the same location on the way home.  For the most part that has been our routine for several years now.

The other rule I set was, don't go to sleep and talk to me while we drive.  I can assure you THAT rule has NEVER been broken!

From the time Aunt Beck sits down in the passenger seat until we arrive in God's Country we talk.  We talk about anything and everything.  She kids me and I kid her, she knows that we will stop 2 maybe 3 times tops on the road.  She doesn't complain she just makes sure to take care of everything during these brief stops.

Driving up the road Aunt Beck tells me stories about the good ole days when she and mama were in High School.  How their circle of friends used to congregate at my grandparents house and how Gramps would pile all their friends into his car and take them places.

We have talked about faith and Church news and business more than most people I have ever spoken to.  Sometimes we even talk politics.

Several years ago, after mama's health began to fade Aunt Beck made a comment driving up the road, "Ken, once ma-ma and gramps started getting sick I always made sure I took all the clothes I may need for a visit because you just never know."  In that very instant I knew exactly what she was saying and it was in that instant that I began to prepare myself for the inevitable loss of mama.  Since that trip I always make sure to have "all the clothes I may need" because you just never know.

In February when we knew mama was making her final journey home, I called Aunt Beck at 11AM and told her I would be picking her up at 5, she was ready and in the car.  We didn't talk as much on that trip, I assume for fear that we would both breakdown, but we did talk about the important stuff.

During that final week in Georgia, Aunt Beck was there every step of the way and she was the one who alerted us all that mama was gone..... I think mama planned it that way.

The trip back to Florida after mama passed was difficult, in many ways even harder than the drive up.  On the way back we talked a lot about mama and the week we had just lived through, about mama's service, we talked about daddy and Sam and the grandkids and Donna, we talked about everyone. 

We talked about how hard it would be not to be able to pick up the phone and talk to mama, after all Aunt Beck had been through it already.  We talked about birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and just regular days and how they would be hard.  But we also talked about the memories that we would carry with us, the memories that would make us smile and the memories that would bring a warmth to the heart. 

When Aunt Beck got out of my car that day, I cried, she cried.  There was no way to hold back the tears, they were going to come and we both knew it, the thing I didn't know would happen was that when I got back in my car to finish my drive home I had a strong sense of peace, I reflected on memories and my heart grew warm.  Aunt Beck has a knack for teaching big lessons without ever trying, she did it again on that day.

In June I decided I was going to God's Country for Father's Day.  It was my first visit home since mama passed and when I decided to go I invited Aunt Beck to go, she said yes.  I was dreading the trip and I think she was too, but we both knew one trip had to be the first, so it may as well be now. 

As usual we got into the car and took off.  Since the first time Aunt Beck rode to God's Country with me, she has talked about how pretty the backroads are through Georgia.  I am not the kind of guy who likes the back roads, I want to get on the Interstate and go, she likes to take her time and enjoy the scenery.

On this trip Aunt Beck threw down the ultimate guilt trip.  "I would love to go on those back roads just one more time, this may be my last trip and I sure would love to see that pretty scenery."  I insisted that I was NOT going on the back roads.  For the next three hours I insisted that I wasn't going on the back roads until we reached Statesboro, Ga and she broke me.

I got off the interstate and made my way through Statesboro.  I hadn't been there since I graduated college and thought it would be fun to reminisce for a bit.  We drove into town, I showed her my college dorm and then we got onto the main road that I thought would take us home.

We were now on those back roads that she had longed for, I was going 35 mph and losing my patience, plus I was getting lost.  We drove around in circles for about an hour until we finally got onto the road that we both agreed was the right road for us to be traveling during this excursion into the back roads of Georgia. 

The trip home was about 2 hours longer than it should have been, but we saw cotton fields and antebellum houses.  We saw the Wal-Mart that Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry used to always stop at on their journeys up and down the road.  We reminisced and stepped back in time on those old 2 lane roads through Georgia.

Our visit home was much better than either of us expected, it was a wonderful family visit, it was hard without mama being there but it was our new normal and I am glad Aunt Beck was there to be a part of it.

Aunt Beck has lived 80 years, she has accomplished a lot in that time.  She has kept that devilish grin and dry sense of humor for all these years.  She has nurtured, she has loved and she has taught.  Aunt Beck has become more important to me each and every year, I love her and wish for many more trips together to God's Country.  Although one thing is for sure... she HAS taken her last trip through on the back roads with me driving, that is until she guilts me into it again!

The Phone Call That Changed My Life....

Right after the 1996 Summer Olympic Games I needed a change of pace.  Atlanta had been in the spotlight since 1990 when the Games were awarded and for those years we had all been gearing up for what was to come.

At the conclusion of the Olympics there was a tremendous let down, sadness and depression throughout the city.  There was a feeling of now what?  I had the same feeling on a more personal level. 

Working in the special events industry, the Olympics were the epitome of a career for most people, here I was at 32 thinking, ok, what now?  I needed a new adventure.

For years I had held a love affair with the beach.  Immediately after the Games I took a trip to Florida, by myself just to unwind.  What I found in Florida was the beginning of my "now what" because within weeks I was packing my bags and moving to sunny South Florida, West Palm Beach to be exact.

The beginning of this adventure was going to be huge, I was moving to a place where I knew no one.  I would either thrive or fumble on my own. 

I had gotten a piddly job working for a catering company to help me find my way.  I hated working at the catering company, but loved south Florida, I knew that once I found a job I could enjoy I would be set.

A couple of months after my arrival, mama, daddy and gramps came for a visit to see my new home.  A few months later mama and daddy came again, they could tell I was happy here and even though it was too far from God's Country for their taste they were supportive of my move.

At the end of June I had gathered up enough days to take a vacation.  I packed my bags, hopped a plane and headed home, to see my family.  The plan was to spend the Fourth of July holiday with family and then come back to WPB for work...... that was "the plan!"

It had been a while since I had been to God's Country and not long after I arrived mama told me she had one job she needed me to do while I was home.  I told her of course and she said that "one of the screens had come off the upstairs window and she needed me to put it back on."  Simple enough.

The next day, July 1st I decided it was time to re-attach the screen.  Mama and daddy didn't have a ladder and I decided I didn't need on.  Without saying anything to anyone, I went into the upstairs bathroom, opened the window and climbed out onto the roof.

I put the screen back into place and then it happened.  I felt myself slipping, when I began slipping I jumped.  When I hit the ground I landed on both feet, but immediately knew something was wrong from the pop I heard when I landed.

Intense pain surged through my body and all I could do was yell for daddy.

Mama first and then daddy made their way to the front lawn, finding me in a heap writhing in pain.  What did you do was their first question, their second question was WHY????

I let them know quickly that this wasn't the time for a long drawn out talk, we needed to get to the hospital pronto.  Daddy and I got into the car and made our way to the hospital, leaving mama at home to, well.... call everyone she knew to tell them that Ken was hurt.

By the time we made it to the emergency room, my foot was swollen and burning with pain.  I knew this was more than a sprain, this was something serious.  I had never had a broken bone, but was pretty sure I had one now.
Not long after daddy and I arrived at the hospital, Sam and mama made their way in.  After checking out my foot, the doctor told us his recommendation was for us to go to a Regional Hospital about 40 miles away as they could give me better care.

An ambulance was offered, but we decided to load me into the backseat of mama and daddy's Oldsmobile and head south.  By this time I had been given a shot for pain, so I was drifting, the backseat of the car as opposed to an ambulance was just fine with me.

We met a doctor at the Regional Hospital and he advised that I had broken my heel.  My heel???  Who breaks a heel?  Evidently I do!

Not only did I break it, the impact of me on the ground basically made my heel explode inside my body, it was in lots of pieces.

So now we know what is wrong, how do we fix it and fix it fast, I have to be back in WPB in less than a week.  As if my day wasn't already bad enough the doctor had some more news for me.

The swelling in my foot was so great that he couldn't do surgery until it had subsided, this meant I would be going home and icing my foot to get the swelling down.  Ok, ice the foot, we will see you tomorrow..... ummmm, NO..... we will see you on the 7th.  The 7th!?!?!?  That is a week away.

Yes, I would be coming back in one week for surgery.  The instructions from the doctor, keep my foot elevated and iced for a week.  Yes, iced for a week!

That is exactly what I did, for one week, day and night I kept ice on my foot.  I slept and lived on a sofa bed in the living room.  The 4th of July came and went, no fireworks for me and finally the morning of the 7th arrived.

Mama, daddy and I made our way to the hospital, surgery was scheduled for early afternoon.  I would be in the hospital for a day or so, depending on how well I did.

When we got to my assigned room, mama told the nurse that she would need a blanket as she would be staying in my room with me.  "Now mama that is silly, I am a grown man, I can stay here by myself, you go home with daddy."

My direction fell on deaf ears, mama was going to stay and I was just going to have to like it.

After surgery I woke up in the big hospital room.  I soon found out that the surgery was a success, I was now the recipient of a bone graft, 7 screws and a metal plate which made up my heel.

At some point during the night I woke up, in horrible pain.  The first face I saw was mama, she was bent over my bed, stroking my head, offering me water.... I was really glad she stayed!

The next morning the nurse came into my room bright and early, she advised me that I had to pee. 

I told her I didn't need to pee, and she advised me that my needs didn't matter, I HAD to pee. 

My bladder had not done anything since my surgery, she was getting off in an hour and she would be back in 30 minutes, if I had not pee'd she would insert a catheter and I WOULD pee.

I had never had a catheter, but I knew I didn't want one, so for the next few minutes I drank as much water as I could stand and eventually pee'd a few drops.

When she came back in she laughed and told me "I thought you would see it my way!"

In a couple of days I went home, back to the sleeper sofa.  My return to WPB had come and gone, now I was in recovery land on the sofa in my childhood living room for God only knew how long......

To Be Continued......

(Side Note, thank you all so much for the notes and gentle pushes in person you have given me to continue the Blog.  In all honesty, since mama died it has been a chore, but I am going to continue and thank you all for encouraging me to do so!)

The Harvest of Thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. There is no pressure for the perfect gift, it isn't about one single person, it is just a celebration of thanks.

The food, friends, family all combine to make Thanksgiving a special time.

As I have grown older, my Thanksgiving celebrations have changed. Since, moving to Florida I have always had to work the day after Thanksgiving, so travelling to Georgia has been out of the question. Now, I celebrate this special holiday with my Florida family, a collection of friends who have blessed my life in unimagined ways.

It is sad not to be with my family in Georgia on this holiday, but I know that they hold a special place in their hearts for me as they sit to enjoy the harvest of love they feast on at Thanksgiving.

As much as I loved those Thanksgiving celebrations in God's Country before moving to Florida, and as much as I love the ones I take part in here, my favorite Thanksgiving memories are from my early childhood, in a place called Rochelle, Ga.

Rochelle, is a tiny town in south-western Georgia, approximately 60 miles from Macon. Not much happens in Rochelle, it is an agriculture community that thrives on pecan fields. Rochelle is where we lived the first year of my life.

We moved away from Rochelle, before my first birthday, but it has always held a special place in our hearts.

During our time in Rochelle, our family became part of a close-knit circle of friends the Hudsons, the Horns, the Mashburns, Whitworths, Conners, Reeds and others, an extended family much like the one I have created in Florida.

We had a special bond with the Hudsons, Newt, Gracie, Randy, Dixie and Suzanne.

For years after moving to God's Country, we would travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving. Mama and daddy would pack up the car after school let out on Wednesday and we would travel into the night to our friend's in south-Georgia. A standing invitation was held for us at Newt and Gracie's house and we would revel in being there.

Newt was the County Extension Director and later became a State Legislator. Randy, their son, is the splitting image of his father in personality and actions.

Gracie was a combination of Paula Deen and Rose Kennedy. The loud, hilarious, protective matriarch of the family. Dixie is as much like Gracie as anyone could imagine.

Suzanne, the perfect combination of her father's quite dignity and her mother's rambunctious zest for life.

To me, Gracie was the funniest, kindest, most loving person I have ever known. She had an infectious laugh that would echo through the house, a love that was as poignant one on one as in a crowd, and a simple elegance that would capture every eye when she walked into a room.

Arriving in Rochelle for Thanksgiving meant one thing.... joy! Unbridled joy!

We would drive up to the Hudson house late into the evening and be engulfed in hugs, kisses and laughter that would last long past the time we returned to God's Country.

Without delay preparations would begin for the Harvest of Thanks that would be presented the next day. A table filled with turkey, ham, beef, fish, vegetables, salads, cakes and pies of every combination and most of all love.

My favorite memories of Gracie have nothing to do with the meal preparation, but special times sharing the bench of her organ, laughing and singing to her concert that in my mind was performed just for me.

Located in the den of the house was Gracie's organ, no music in sight, but the most important piece of furniture in their house in my young mind.

To this day, I recall asking repeatedly "Gracie, will you play the organ for me?" After some simple coaxing, she would always pull off her apron, take me by the hand, place me on the bench along side her and begin to play. Gracie played by ear, and in my mind she performed like the best of the best at Carnegie Hall.

I would sit along side Gracie and the rest of the family would join us in the den. She would play, she would sing, she would laugh and we would all join in. Those moments spent with Gracie are some of the most treasured of my life, I will never forget that time for as long as I live.

Mama and Gracie would continue preparations for the feast long into the night. Potatoes peeled, oranges crushed, cakes baked and a continuous round of basting the turkey throughout the night, this was a meal prepared with love for all those who would sit together the following day.

After a long night, preparations would again begin early in the morning. After a full breakfast, daddy, Newt, Tom, Sam and Randy would make their way to the Hudson's farm, a sprawling pecan orchard with grazing cows and catfish ponds. I stayed behind, tugging on Gracie's apron strings just enjoying the time with this lady I loved so much.

By lunchtime, the house was filled with all the other families who had been a part of our life in Rochelle. Providing their own dishes, there was easily enough food for the entire state and more laughter in one confined place than should be allowed.

We would gather together as time for the feast approached and Newt would lead us in prayer. All holding hands, families intermingled.... an extended family of love.

A Harvest of Thanks!

I treasure those times in Rochelle, the memories of those days still impact me some 30 years later.

As I grew older we didn't travel to Rochelle for Thanksgiving anymore. Ma-ma and Gramps were getting older and it was important for us to stay closer to God's Country, but that extended family still holds a special place in my heart.

We lost Gracie a few years back, I had not seen her in many years when she died and I regret that, but I know she loved me and I know she knew I loved her. She will always hold a special place in my heart and I look forward to sitting at her side again some day as she serenades the angels in heaven on her organ.

Yes, Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, a time to tell those important to you that they are loved.... a time to give thanks!

5' of Dynamo

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.

First Born

Tom was the oldest, born May 7th, 1953. Died six days short of his 17th birthday, May 1st, 1970.
If I am truthful, I have to admit, I don't remember Tom. His death occurred 3 days after my 6th birthday. He was in a car wreck, a single car accident. From what I understand he lost control on a curved road and veered off the road and down an embankment.

After the accident Tom was taken to Greenville Medical Center in Greenville, SC. Surgeries were performed, but to no avail.

As Tom lay in one hospital bed in South Carolina, mama lay in another in Georgia. Just a year earlier mama and ma-ma had been in an accident that left them both mangled and broken. Mama had several surgeries after that wreck and was recuperating from her most recent, when Tom had his accident.

Daddy was a hero during this time, he travelled back and forth between the two, but spent most of his time with Tom as mama was stable.

Throughout High School Tom played football, he was a running back. Daddy was his head coach. As Tom's condition worsened it wasn't apparent which of his faculties he still had control over. After consulting with Doctor's daddy found a way to communicate with Tom. He held both of Tom's hands and would call out football plays. It was Tom's responsibility to squeeze Daddy's hand on the side he should run.

Tom died soon after that final game between he and daddy.

In the days that followed, all of God's Country came to our sides to comfort my family. It isn't every day that a High School Senior with such promise dies. It isn't every day that a High School Senior and son to two respected teachers dies. Tom's death shook our small town to the core.

I don't have a lot of memories about the days leading up to Tom's death, but I do have memories that have lasted for almost 40 years of the days that followed.

I remember being sent to my neighbors house to play when Sam and I returned home from Church that Sunday morning.

I remember being called back to the house a short time later and daddy taking Sam and I into our bedroom to tell us Tom was dead. I don't remember what was said, I just remember my daddy holding Sam and I.

I remember mama being wheeled into the funeral home on a hospital stretcher. I remember seeing Tom and crying. I remember my Aunt Beck held me until I saw my kindergarten teacher and then she held me and let me cry.

The funeral was held in an overflowing Clayton Baptist Church. My only memory from that day was sitting beside Sam, at one point I looked up at him and a single tear was streaming down his face, that is a memory that has been ingrained with me forever.

A child's death could destroy many marriages and families. I won't say our was unharmed because that would be a lie, but our family stayed together. The Spring of 1970 was the most bitter of my life and it is one that I have the least memories of ever.

During the months that followed Tom's death we marked our first Christmas without him, we watched as his classmates went back to school and then graduated. We marked birthdays and holidays and every day in between. Mama and Daddy have marked those same dates on the second year, 5th year, 8th year, 12th, 16th, 20th, 25th, 28th, 30th and this May they will mark the 40th.

Mama and Daddy mark Tom's death with quite reverence and dignity, but I know they mark the date and all the other dates they wish he were here for.

For me, Tom became an oil painting that hung over our sofa. From time to time someone would mention his name and something he had done and we would all smile, but for the most part Tom wasn't discussed in our house for many years.

Several years ago, I felt like it was time for me to know about Tom. I had been told how much he loved his baby brother, how we doted on me, what a great athlete he was, how smart he was, but I never really knew him, so I decided it was time for me to meet my brother Tom.

Mama and Daddy were coming to Florida on a vacation and I told them before they came that I wanted to talk about Tom. One night during their stay, the three of us sat on the balcony of their condo overlooking the ocean. For hours we talked about Tom, we laughed and we cried, but after that night I knew my brother.

I will always remember that night as one of the most important in my life.

Tom's death broke us, be it didn't destroy us. Through it all we have persevered as a family....together.

I am grateful to mama and daddy, Sam, our grandparents, extended family and the family of God's Country for bringing us through.

I am sure Tom would be proud of all of us.

Strawberry Fields Forever

Daddy has always been interested in gardening. Both sets of my grandparents had gardens and today Daddy has two (he has always been an over-achiever!)

He enjoys the process of gardening. Laying it out, planting, weeding, harvesting and then freezing or canning what he has grown. I don't enjoy any of this!

God's country is ripe with gardens, the soil is good for growing most anything and the spring and summer weather are perfect.

One spring when I was in about the 7th grade, Daddy became enamored with strawberries. I don't know why they were his infatuation that year but they were. I don't even like strawberries, so for me it made no sense what so ever. Sam is the strawberry eater in the family, not me!

Strawberries need a lot of growing space, something we didn't have. However, daddy heard about a "pick-your own" garden in North Carolina that grew strawberries and decided that we should go up one afternoon after school and pick.

Being a typical pre-teen, the thought of being bent over in a field picking anything wasn't my idea of a good time. Being a typical pre-teen, I didn't have much choice about going. Daddy said we were going and we went.

After school, mama, daddy and I all piled into his two-tone Jeep Cherokee and headed to North Carolina on our strawberry picking adventure. As you can imagine I wasn't happy about going and was determined to make my displeasure known. I pouted, but to no avail, I WAS going strawberry picking and I was going to like it..... PERIOD, end of story!

Upon our arrival at the strawberry fields, we were each given a 1 gallon bucket. The owner advised us that we paid by the gallon. Looking out onto the fields, I decided to exert my independence and move to a far end of the field, far away from mama and daddy.

Daddy advised that we should be able to fill our buckets in about an hour, so to start picking and we would re-evaluate at the end of the time. I was bound and determined that I was not going to be bent over in that field of strawberries picking for an hour. I don't even like strawberries, let Sam come pick them, he is the one that likes them!

Off we went and I began filling my bucket, I picked and picked, cleaning off each plant I came across. Within about 20 minutes my bucket was filled, but I wasn't going to let anyone know, I was going to sit right here and soak up some sun.

I sat and waited until the hour had passed and began to make my way back to where mama and daddy were.

When I got back to the cash stand, I got THE LOOK. You know THE LOOK, it is that sideways glare that only parents have the ability to produce. THE LOOK is the worst thing a child can encounter, it means you have just ROYALLY messed up.

Being a typical pre-teen I asked the logical question "what?" After all THE LOOK deserved a response, didn't it?

After delivering my genius of a response, I looked down at mama and daddy's buckets and then back at mine..... uh-oh, now I knew what THE LOOK was for.

Mama and daddy both had overflowing buckets of beautiful red-ripe strawberries. Even for someone who doesn't like strawberries, I knew those were pretty.

Looking back at my bucket, I saw some pretty red berries, but mostly I saw half-ripe white plants that would eventually, if left on the vine, become something worth eating. For now, they were just unripened strawberries that were going to cost daddy money and not be used for anything.

Uh-oh, now THE LOOK made perfect sense. Daddy paid the man and we loaded back into the Jeep for a long ride home. Being a typical pre-teen, I thought I could make it all better by talking and making excuses, that didn't work well. I continued to get THE LOOK all the way home.

I don't quite remember how the story ended as sometimes it is just better to erase certain memories from your brain. I do know that this trip was my one and only visit to the strawberry fields.

To this day, if I am getting uppity Daddy only has to mention the strawberry fields and it shuts me down, no more uppity for me!

We laugh about my inept ability to harvest strawberries now, but at the time THE LOOK spoke loud and clear, thus ending my gardening adventures forever!

We're Going to the Elk's Lodge

My family is big on tradition. We follow the same routine for Christmas, birthdays were always a big deal, Thanksgiving dinner has been the same since I was a child and today I cook the same meal in my own home. I love the traditions that were set forth by my parents and in many cases their parents before them.

One such tradition was the Clark Family Reunion in Elberton each summer. Elberton is about an hour from God's Country, but it is where ma-ma and her brothers and sisters grew up. Known for its granite businesses, Elberton is a big producer of tomb stones. (Somebody has to do it!)

Ma-ma came from a big family and each year the descendants would descend on Elberton, The Elk's Lodge to be exact and reunion.

Going into reunions I was never excited. As the youngest of the grand-children I didn't have a lot in common with my cousins. More precisely I was closer in age to many of the second cousins, which kept me in limbo. I was too young to hang with my peers and the younger kids were too young to do much, which left me clinging to ma-ma and mama most of the day.

Reunion would begin early in the morning. These gatherings were pot luck, so mama would get up early and start putting together her contribution for the meal. With mama's penchant for extreme cooking, she would usually prepare enough for a small army, when it comes to cooking for groups she has never understood the concept of everyone bringing something, she always wants to make sure there is enough just in case someone isn't able to bring their share.

Daddy wasn't much into these family reunions, but he would always go and put on a happy face. By the end of the day, daddy would be in full spirit and entertaining the masses with his stories.

By the time mama was finished preparing her dishes the four of us would load up the car and start our trek to ma-ma and gramps house, about 30 miles away. Like mama, ma-ma would over indulge in the cooking department as well. There was always homemade chocolate cake, usually fried chicken, okra, corn from the garden and peas. Ma-ma would prepare for days for the reunions, these events were what she lived for. Getting together with her brothers and sisters and showing off their families.

Sam and I would always get a lecture in the car. No fighting and be on your best behavior, we were NOT to embarrass ma-ma in front of her family.

Off we would go, gramps, daddy and me in the front seat, ma-ma, mama and Sam in the back. Dressed in our new reunion clothes, a Bonneville filled with enough food for a third world nation and two kids threatened within an inch of our lives to behave.

Elberton is about 30 minutes from ma-ma and gramps house, not a far journey, but when it is made in a car that is over packed and over stuffed by six people in dress clothes on a summer day with the sun beating through the glass it isn't always a pleasant trip. By the time we reached Elberton, we were all ready to get out of the car and stretch our legs.

Family reunions were held at the Elk's Lodge, a rustic old building just off the main road. Without fail, the first person we would always see standing out waiting for the family would be Uncle Chester. If gramps would have had a twin it would have been Uncle Chester, although they were only related by marriage the two men were the mirror image of each other. Tall, lanky, distinguished southern gentlemen of few words, impeccably dressed with a sly smile and twinkle in their eyes. Gramps and Uncle Chester were the kind of men people gravitated to, not to be entertained but to learn from.

After the parking lot greeting, Uncle Chester would help us unload and move into the Elk's Lodge. The interior of the lodge was exactly what you would imagine, one big open room with a kitchen in the back, a large rock fireplace, linoleum floors and dark stained panelling.

Aunt Laura Bea would be busily working when we came in. Setting up the buffet with her load of food big enough to feed an army, she would stop the pace of activity just long enough to greet us all with a hug and kiss, always stating what fine young boys Sam and I were.

Like ma-ma, Aunt Laura Bea was short in stature but big in personality. Like ma-ma, immaculately dressed and with a quick catch up story of where all her family was, what time they would arrive and who was bring what. Between ma-ma, Aunt Laura Bea and mama, the buffet was arranged and in place before anyone else could arrive to help.

Throughout the late morning and early afternoon, the other families would arrive. Our glamorous Aunt Frances and her family from South Carolina, the Virginia Clark's and the Maxwell's.

As the families arrived and the buffet grew to embarrassing proportions the sounds of laughter would echo through the Elk's Lodge. Cheeks were pinched, kisses exchanged, hugs enveloped us all and the Clark Family Reunion would be in full swing.

Like other traditions passed down from generation to generation, Uncle Chester would round everyone up when it was time for the feast. Families would encircle the room, all holding hands and Uncle Chester would bless the meal.

Mealtime would find one big family, all mixed together around long tables in fold up chairs, enjoying the foods of our ancestors and recipes from the current Southern Living magazine. Laughing, joking, catching up and reminiscing about the years past and ancestors lost.

After grazing for what seemed like hours, the families would then move to the front lawn, games were played, conversations took place and pictures were taken. Instamatic cameras would be pulled from every purse in the crowd and every configuration of family was photographed. First cousins, second cousins, immediate family, family with grand parents, grandparents with children, grandparents with grandchildren.... pictures, pictures and more pictures. Creating memories that would carry us through to the next year's reunion.

After a long day, after the last picture was taken, the lodge was cleaned and the last hug exchanged we would once again pile into the Bonneville. Stuffed bellies and empty dishes but most importantly complete, filled with shared moments, family traditions and the love of extended family.