Go Set a Watchman

A few weeks back Go Set A Watchman was all over my FB newsfeed. Review after review talked about the fall of Atticus Finch. People ranted about the shocking discovery that Atticus was a closet racist, Jean Louise (nee Scout) was almost engaged to a member of the KKK, and everything in Maycomb, GA was coming crashing down.

I immediately locked down and said no way, no how am I reading this sacrilege. Atticus Finchis still atop the pedestal he's lived on since I was in 8th grade and I'm not going to do anything that might topple him. Scout, Jem, and Dill live on in my mind in those endless Georgian summers playing in the road, spying on Boo Radley, and reading to Mrs.Dubose as she battles morphine withdrawal. I have no desire to change any of that.

But then QM went and did the unthinkable. She bought the book.

My resolve crumbled like my Grandpa's sugar cookies.

The week before school started, I went back to Maycomb.

I've been digesting Go Set a Watchman for about 2 weeks now and I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about it. Points in the book seemed like an unnecessary sequel to Mockingbird. But since it was actually written first, I know that's not the case. Quite a few flashbacks to Scout's and Jem's childhood were scattered through the book making the original publisher's idea behind Mockingbird seem like the perfect choice. As a stand alone, I don't think I would have been impressed with the latest book.

Without giving too much away, Jean Louise comes home for 10 days in the summer and has her childhood ideals come crashing down around her. The point is that she needs to separate her personal identity from the identity she's created for herself in Atticus's shadow. She needs to find her own moral foundation and stop living on her father's. For that to happen Atticus cannot continue to live on the pedestal Scout has placed him on her entire life. She has to grow up and therefore grow apart.

The book touches on many of the ideas behind states rights that were still very prevalent in the south; the thought process behind segregation, the notion that equality was a pipe dream, and the divide between urban ideals and rural values. Because the book was originally written during the civil rights movement, I think it gives a perspective on segregation we often miss out on in public school history class. I think I better understand why segregationists fought to keep the status quo and why otherwise compassionate and intelligent Southerner clung so tightly to the idea. That's not to say I agree with their reasoning, it's just to say I understand it a little better.

A friend (who happens to be a retired English teacher/writer born and raised in Harper Lee's South)  stated she was unsure the book should have been published at all. After reading it, and somewhat enjoying it  for the nostalgia it produced, I'm inclined to agree with her. The book is a disjointed attempt at reconciling Harper Lee's Southern upbringing with her later life in New York. It's a book that, without the surety of making a lot of money on Ms. Lee's name alone, probably wouldn't have made it past the Free Kindle Book list.

All that said, I do not regret reading it and I did enjoy the book (even though my review seems to state otherwise). But if you're looking for the importance of To Kill a Mockingbird, I fear you'll be disappointed.

As for me, I choose Atticus Finch to remain a paragon of virtue in my imagination, regardless of his literary evolution.

And we even looked like grown ups.

Have you ever had The Best Weekend Ever? I have. But I'm cool like that. Don't beat yourself up if you haven't. Not everyone can be quite as cool as I am. Art can. But then no one is quite as cool as Art. Not even me.

Years and years and eons ago I went away to college. There I met some really awesome people. Then I decided not to return to that college the next year and within a year I had lost touch with the majority of the people I'd met and loved.

One person in particular stayed in my extended circle a bit longer than most of the others. His name will hence forth be Lane. Lane and I continued to talk on the phone on and off the summer after I left. To be entirely truthful my efforts to keep in touch with him stemmed from a bit of an unrequited crush. He and Art began talking and after many years, many conversations, and a few bumps in the rocky road of life became very close friends.

Unfortunately life gets in the way. Neither Art nor I had seen Lane in 17 years. And then he was engaged. And we both got invites. Perfect gifts were hunted. Perfect dresses laid out. Hours were spent on shoes and hair and foundational undergarments (if you do not understand the importance then you most definitely are male) and nail colors and trip arrangements and hotel reservations and child care arrangements.

Last weekend found Art and I fully dressed and made up in our very best in a hotel room 14 floors from the maze of streets that is down town Springfield, IL staring at each other with the sudden realization that we were about to lay eyes on Lane for the first time in 17 years. Not only that, but there was a decent chance I would see others I'd known "back in the day" and having never been to a class reunion, I wasn't sure how to deal with that possibility.

At one point Art said, "Do you think the bride is this nervous?" It was a good question. I had no answer.

Up to that point the day (and evening prior) had been packed full of hysterical laughter, random singing, car dancing, long conversations, driving, pictures outside The Circle K, and my brief but thorough check under the hotel beds for dead prostitutes (one can never be too careful).  As we wove our way to the wedding venue we were jittery. Much too jittery for a wedding that was not our own.

After a very brief ride in a parking garage elevator where I'm 99% sure someone had recently lived for an extended period of time....or had recently died...we found ourselves bravely trodding down the street pretending we do this every day.

Moments later it was all over. Lane was there. We were there. Hugs had been shared by all. And it was perfect. There was no weirdness. There was no awkwardness. It was just Lane and Art and Farmie chatting and waiting for the former to get married.

The wedding was lovely. Lovely is the perfect word for it. The groom looked like he was about to sprint down the aisle to hurry the procession along. The bride was stunning and sweet and looked like something out of a book on how to get married.

You know that amazing brooch bouquet everyone's been drooling over on Pinterest for the past 2 years? Yeah, she carried one of those. One she made. From brooches belonging to Lane's much loved and recently deceased grandmother.

Art had predicted many tears but I was self assured that I would not cry. Art was right. I was wrong. The bride and groom took communion together after saying their vows and exchanging rings and that's when I fell apart.  Technically I held it together until Lane lowered his head and prayed with his bride. After that it was all over for me.

And then, then it was time for the reception. Art and I had decided that if we were uncomfortable or bored or if things got weird we would duck out gracefully and spend the night hanging out in our pajamas instead.

Yeah, that didn't happen.

In fact, we were still there when the lights came on. We were there when the cater waiters cleared away all the dishes. We were there when Lane packed up his collection of vintage cameras that served as centerpieces. We were there when they took the table cloths off the tables.  I'm pretty sure we were 15 minutes from being bodily removed by the wait staff.

There were a total of 3 people there I knew other than the groom and one more I think I may have met in passing 18 years ago. By the time we got back to the hotel that night my face hurt from laughing. Old friends and their "new" wives were the perfect antidote to my tired-mom-ness. The only thing I truly wished for was that the night could have gone on a few more hours.

And my amazing Art never missed a beat. She injected herself into the midst of the reminiscing and laughter and arguments just as she always does. It didn't matter that she hadn't gone to college with the rest of us. It didn't matter that she had almost no history with these people. She loved them and in return they loved her. But then who wouldn't love Art? She's amazing (I may have mentioned that).

Last weekend was exactly what I needed. I'd take a few more like it if they were offered. And the best part of it all was that I got to spend 28 uninterrupted hours with my very best of friends. I'd take that every day.

Plus, I ate a bacon cupcake. Yup. Bacon. And it was good.

We were so very cool

In high school I was part of a local community teen acting group called TAG. I was a charter member of the group, so we were kind of sailing in uncharted waters. We had no older members to give us advice or steer us away from huge mistakes. Not to say we were without adult leadership. No, we had that. In spades at times. We had a few really amazing adult sponsors and a few that really wished they'd never volunteered for TAG baby sitting duty. In all fairness, a group of highly hormonal, drama driven, theater crazed teens cannot be an easy bunch to deal with.

The episode in which we really could have used some serious council occurred after our first real performance. We put on a night of 3 one act plays. If I remember correctly it was 2 fairy tales & a piece called While Shakespeare Slept. In the Shakespeare play I was cast as Rosalind from As You Like It. Anyone unfamiliar with Rosalind, she spends half her play dressed as a man.

As you might imagine, our wardrobes consisted of lots of hosiery, long flowy dresses, and other bits of gathered Renaissance Fair garb. For some reason it was decided I would wear odd greenish-brown opaque tights and a belted, tea stained peasant blouse with brown house slippers. Kind of a twisted drag version of Peter Pan. What can I say, I was 15? It was not good. But the guys, oh, they had it much worse.

We collected lots of fisherman shirt, had bubble shorts made (a select few lucked into run of the mill black slacks), and everyone had a cape of some kind. I'm pretty sure this was the first time most of the guys in our group had worn tights and mascara (at least I think it was. I know it wasn't the last). They were less than comfortable...at least during dress rehearsals. I think by closing night they had grown to like some of their costumes.

At some point during our cast party someone decided it would be a great idea for us all to show up at school the next day in full costume. As a show of solidarity (and because we were teenagers) we all jumped at the idea.

For the girls wearing dresses straight from the 70's collection at the local vintage shop wasn't much of a departure from the norm. For the rest of us, it might not have been the best idea ever. I'm really not sure how I avoided being sent home from school that day. Maybe it was the opaqueness of my tights that saved me. In reality, I looked like I was bouncing around school without pants. I did have on my gym shorts, but no one seemed to think they counted.

But even at that, I was not quite in the same league as the guys. Especially not my two guy friends who showed up no only in their bubble shorts, capes, and tights but also in full stage make-up. I will never forget the sight of the two of them running down the hall at school with their capes spread behind them singing the Batman theme at the top of their lungs.

I'm pretty sure they'll never forget the hostile stares given them by the heard of redneck teenagers hanging in the parking lot after school. I have (thankfully) forgotten most of the taunts thrown at us.

In the long run, was showing up at a southern high school in full on Renaissance Fair get up a good idea? I don't know. But it sure was unusual.

Communing with nature

My early morning post today brought up some memories of my childhood & out door play. Ordinary Sarah mentioned that she's reading a book called Last Child in the Woods. When I looked it up it piqued my curiosity. If I'm reading reviews correctly it's about a child's need to commune with nature so to speak.

My kids, with the exception of BabyGirl who cannot abide getting hot, spend a great deal of time out of doors. We have 10 acres. They have the run of most of it for most of the year. They play kick ball in a field their dad keeps mowed down for them complete with the diamond shape mowed into the grass. They have a tree house, a play house/swing set, a sand box, a stand alone swing set and out door toys galore. They have a creek to explore complete with a steep drop off they can climb with a rope their dad tied up for them. There's a pond to fish in; a pool to swim in; dogs to chase; cats to cuddle. They have no lack of out side stuff to do....unless you ask them & then they'll tell you there's never anything to do around here.

Until I was almost 13 we lived in town; Neighbors, traffic, sidewalks and all. When we moved to Tennessee we moved into a new house in a new subdivision. There were 2 streets and 3 houses total on (I'm guessing) 20 acres of land. Bubba, Princess, and I had the run of the entire area. It was surrounded by a fenced in dairy farm so we knew exactly how far we could wander before we were out of our "neighborhood."

We spent hours riding bikes, running up & down the hill between our house & the only other occupied house in the neighborhood, playing make-believe, and exploring our new environment. The first summer we were there, our aunt & uncle & cousins came to visit. During their visit, Daddy & Uncle took all of us to some small cliffs that were hidden from view until you got right up to them. We spent hours trying to climb up them and running in & around them.

That same summer a friend came to spend the weekend with me & ended up staying 3 weeks including one at church camp. Together we got more adventurous than I would ever have been on my own. We wandered down by the creek at the bottom of the subdivision and spent days sitting in a small secluded area having pic-nics and playing games.

For a girl who grew up in a fenced in back yard with limits as to how far down the block & in which direction I was allowed to ride my bike, it was an amazing adventure. I've never been the outdoorsy type, but I'd like to think that 13 year old girl is still lurking below the surface. She comes out every now & then when the FarmHands find a new bend in the creek or hollow tree to play in. She's shy, but I'm hoping she can be coaxed out more often.....and her kids are amazed by sidewalks & cul-d-sacs.

Remembrance

I'm pretty sure anyone you asked today could tell you exactly where they were & what they were doing nine years ago today.

I was bathing BabyGirl in her infant tub in the kitchen sink. I'm pretty sure she'd had a diaper blow out or some such thing since I normally bathed her at night before putting on her jammies. She was a little over 3 months old. When the phone rang, I let Husband get it since I was up to my elbows in wet baby & Johnson's Baby Wash. He talked to his mother for a few minutes then hung up & went about his business.

When I was finished with BabyGirl's bath he said, "That was mom. She said someone attacked New York. Something about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center?" My first thought, honestly was You've got to be kidding....and not in the That's horrible, I just cannot accept it as fact way. It was in the snide teenage What-ever way. You see, MIL is a bit prone to exaggeration and fact confusion. I didn't think it was possible that anyone would attack New York so there was no way she'd gotten this story right.

I flipped on the television to see what was going on that she could possibly confuse with some kind of attack. Husband and I spent the next 5 hours watching the news. We watched as the second plane hit. We watched as the towers fell. We watched as the world changed in front of our eyes.

I didn't shed a tear. I was too shocked to cry. I clung to BabyGirl and sat in a state of total disbelief as the tragedy unfolded. When Husband left for work, I loaded up BabyGirl and headed 30 minutes away to Bucka & Busha's. I was terrified to be left alone that day with the carnage on CNN. To this day, those images still haunt me.

Today I will pray for the survivors. I will pray for the children about to turn nine who never met their fathers and the children who lost their mothers. I will pray for the parents who had to do the unthinkable when they laid their children to rest. I will pray for the spouses who had to carve out a new life without their partners.

I will never forget.

New Furniture, Old Memories

I suddenly have a new living room. Daddy came by today with a 16 foot moving van filled with things Grandma & Grandpa M&M couldn't take to their new apartment. Some of the things found a new home here, others are going south to other members of my immediate family.

Husband started talking about a dining table a few months ago. Our living room is set up so that one half of it can hold a dining table. We have a table in the kitchen, so it's never been an imperative.

When I found out Grandma & Grandpa were downsizing I couldn't handle the thought of Grandma's dining table leaving the family. They bought it when they bought the house they lived in most of my life. They bought the house at auction when my dad was 6 years old. The table was already in it. They paid $17 dollars for it (the table, not the house). I told QM I'd really like to have it if that was an option. She talked to Grandma & Grandma was very happy with the idea.

We ate at that table every holiday, birthday, and family gathering we ever had. When my parents, aunts, and uncles were finished having their babies, there were 16 of us in total. Grandma's table held 16 people exactly. When Husband and I got married, Grandma joked that he had messed up her table count. We'd never had a kids' table.

Inkling and her brother and I used to camp out under it after dinner while our dads watched football or racing or baseball and our moms helped Grandma wash dishes (except when the Cubs played and then Grandma was watching baseball with the guys). My wedding dress was cut out on that table. So was Inkling's and her mother's and countless other dresses and rompers and outfits Grandma made for us.

Hours were spent eating, laughing, talking, playing, and visiting at that table. My siblings, cousins, and I grew up at that table.

It's now sitting in my living room like a tangible piece of my childhood.

I'm so very happy to have it. But there is a huge part of me that wishes it never needed to be moved in the first place.

It's bittersweet...but sweet none the less.

Bitsy Bee, the Birthday Girl

I went to bed at 10:30 tonight. Finished reading my book & shut off my light at 10:45. I was sound asleep no later than 11 pm. Things were going well.

Then, for some unexplained reason, I woke up at 1 am. I tried, in vain, to will myself back to sleep. When my stomach began to growl & I couldn't get the same 15 seconds of some random song from Rent out of my head, I decided there were better ways to spend my night....like blogging!

Three years ago tonight, Husband was attempting to sleep on a rather uncomfortable couch (because the mattress on the hide-a-bed in said couch was j-u-n-k) and I was slipping in and out of a lovingly drug induced sleep in between nursing sessions with our brand new Bitsy.

She was such a tiny, petite, feminine little thing from the word go. Her huge blue eyes never seemed to close. Her rosebud mouth looked as if it was about to open and spill all the wonders of her busy mind. Long slender fingers and toes. Eye lashes that made me green with envy. She was amazing. All my babies were, but she held the extra wonder of being our last.

I'm so glad I knew that up front. It made those weeks when she cried non-stop a bit easier to bear. She wanted to be held with her back to your chest and your arm supporting her weight across her belly. At one point, Husband joked that he'd never be able to identify her by a picture of her face, but he'd know the back of her head anywhere.

The FarmHands were instantly smitten with her. #1 Son was remembering her birth this week. "B.B. and I didn't get to come see her in the hospital because we were sick. We had to wait till she got home. But that's OK, because we wouldn't have wanted her to get sick, too."

BabyGirl was over the moon to have a sister. No longer was it "BabyGirl and the boys." Now she was part of the "our girls" equation. That was a very tough year for BabyGirl- first grade, SPD before we knew what it was, changes galore, and BabyGirl doesn't handle change well- but I think finally getting the baby sister she'd prayed for 12 months solid made it all easier to bear.

It seems like I always knew our lives wouldn't be complete without baby number four. I was so right.

Happy Third Birthday, Bitsy, even if Mama is a bit late. I love you so very much. We all do.

Notes on a funeral

Aunt M's funeral was Saturday morning. Princess & HT came up Friday night & stayed the night with us. Princess & I loaded up HT & Bitsy & headed off leaving the older FarmHands in the care of their dad & later their cousins.

Her service was one of the most touching funerals I've ever attended. My Aunt M was a lady. She was kind, generous, and loving. Her husband, Uncle G, passed away the week Husband & I got engaged. I know he was waiting for her with his arms spread wide when she reached the pearly gates.

During the funeral service, HT was semi-happily playing with his cars on the floor at his mom's feet. During a quite moment, he decided it was time to race his cars. "Leady! Set! Go!" but only loud enough for a few rows of people to hear.

Then Uncle G's brother's was telling a story about Uncle G & Aunt M when they were first married. They took him to what's now known as Holiday World....but back then it was Santa Clause Land. To which HT responded, very loudly, "San-ta Clau-se!" Everyone laughed. It was really sweet.

I think Aunt M would have gotten a big kick out of him!

Happy Birthday, B.B.

Five years ago today I began the hardest physical journey I've ever been on. B.B. decided being born head first was overrated, so we showed up at the hospital for a scheduled (the day before) C-section. I was not happy about it, but knew that it was the safest thing for B.B. & myself. Turns out the little booger flipped over in the night & was actually head down when he was delivered, but since his head wasn't engaged in my pelvis (I know, TMI for some of you), it would still have ended in surgery. This way I got to avoid the labor.

To say I didn't recover well from my first C-section would be putting it lightly. I was a hot mess. When the nurse came in to get me out of bed for the first time the next morning, I passed out. That was, hands down, the most painful thing I've ever been through.

BUT, I would go through it a hundred times over again for my wild man. He is worth every moment of pain & sadness that accompanied his birth. And now, seeing what Inkling has gone through with Grasshopper's birth, I think I got the easy birth after all.

B.B. has grown into an exceptionally imaginative little boy. Rarely a day goes by when he doesn't make me laugh, make me cringe, scare me out of my whits, asks me a question I cannot answer, kisses & hugs me, tells me he loves me, sings, jumps, runs, yells, cries, fights, tells stories, and generally entertains me. He is a huge blessing in a wild little bundle!

Happy Birthday, B.B. Mama loves you!

Sing out loud, sing out strong

Every Sunday morning. between Sunday School & Worship Service, Husband's Aunt CB brings all the kids in the congregation (all but B.B. who flat refuses to join in) to the front of the sanctuary for Children's Minute. She gives a short object lesson & then they all get up & sing a song.

Two weeks ago she sang I'm In Right. For those of you not raised in Christian Church/Church of Christ Sunday School, it goes:
I'm in right, out right, up right, down right happy all the time.
I'm in right, out right, up right, down right happy all the time.
Since Jesus Christ came in & cleansed my heart from sin,
I'm in right, out right, up right, down right happy all the time.

My kids stood there looking shocked & slightly embarrassed (at the sight of Larry in a towel...OK, never mind) as they didn't know the song at all. I had forgotten that song entirely. Hadn't thought of it in years. I love that song. I've been singing it ever since.

It made me wonder what other songs from my childhood I was forgetting & had never sung to my children. My favorite Sunday School Song was always Do, Lord.

Do, Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me.
Do, Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me.
Do, Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me,
way beyond the blue.

I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun!
I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun!
I've got a home in glory land that outshines the sun,
way beyond the blue!

I took Jesus as my Savior, you take him, too.
I took Jesus as my Savior, you take him, too.
I took Jesus as my Savior, won't you take him, too
way beyond the blue?

Tonight the FarmHands heard me sing quite a few of the songs I learned when I was their age. I Am a C, Roll Away, Jesus Loves the Little Children...they know every word of Amazing Grace, Count Your Blessings, & It Is Well With My Soul, but not Give Me Oil In My Lamp or Father Abraham (but then maybe them not knowing Father Abraham is a good thing).

What were your favorites when you were small? What do you sing to your kids now? What songs have you nearly forgotten from your child hood? Leave me a comment or write your own post & let me know!

I really need to teach them Pharao, Pharao. That is a must!

A little more inspiration

Remember a while back when I posted about the Storylady, a cry for help, and an international ring of cook book thieves? Today I read the column Mama F (Did's mother) wrote for the Sunday paper using some of the responses to her recipe query for her friend, The Storylady. This is what it spawned:

When Husband & I were dating I found out he wasn't a big fan of cakes. For his first birthday after our wedding, I wanted to surprise him with a special treat. I decided on his favorite sweet, coconut cream pie . I'd never tackled anything like this before, so I asked some of the older ladies I worked with for advice. One friend offered to give me her favorite from scratch, coconut cream pie recipe.

She called me that night at midnight to sneak me the recipe over the phone while Husband was showering (we all worked second shift in a factory at the time). At one point in the telling she said, "When you get to this stage you'll think, 'I have really botched this up. This is horrible!' and you'll be tempted to toss the entire mess in the trash. Don't. Trust me. It will be fine."

That Saturday, while he was gone to work, I gathered my ingredients & started on the pie. It was not as simple as I thought it would be. My friend was right, I was tempted to toss the entire mess in the trash about half way through the process, but I persevered. I even made my first meringue to top it all off. When it came out of the oven, I was so proud!

Husband came home from work & I presented him with his birthday pie. He ate it without saying much & I got antsy. Finally I couldn't stand the suspense & asked him how it was. "Good," was all he said. "Um...how good?" I asked. "Probably my second favorite coconut cream pie," he replied. "OK, that's good. What's your favorite?" I pestered. Husband said his favorite pie was the one his grandmother used to make for him. She passed away 2 years to the day before we were married.

The next day we had dinner with his parents. I told my mother-in-law that I needed her mother's coconut cream pie recipe because it was Husband's favorite. "Well," she began, "you take a box of coconut instant pudding and you follow the directions on the side that say 'To make pie.'"

Needless to say, I have never since made him a coconut cream pie from scratch.

Because I need a respite: Fourth Annual Virtual Tea Party

Yesterday I posted updating you on all things illness & coping around here. Then I started looking at some of my past posts (I'm loving the linked within widget) & realized it's been a very long time since I hosted a virtual tea party. It had been an annual event I hosted on the 21st of February, but this year it slipped my mind.










So, better late than ever, and without further ado, I present to you: FarmWife's Fourth Annual (if a bit late) Virtual Tea Party. Put on your frilliest afternoon dress & matching hat, pull up a cushioned chair, pour yourself a cup of Earl Gray, & enjoy the party.

As a good hostess should, I always start off the day with a few questions just to get the conversation rolling. If you would, please answer them in the comment section below, or on your blog & leave me a comment letting me know you've attended the party.

Trust me when I say this will make my day!

#1. Please introduce yourself & tell us how you came to be a visitor here at Memoirs of a FarmWife. I am FarmWife, and I live here. I've been here since it was known as Confessions of a City Gal & will be here until it's known as Where did I leave my walker?

#2. What book is currently on your bedside table (or coffee table) and are you really reading it?
There are quite a few books on my bedside table since it's actually my dresser & I have a nice set of wooden book ends living there. Currently I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo (again) & New Moon (again) & have recently finished Wuthering Heights (again) & Twilight (again)...oh, and the FarmHands & I are reading The Tale of Desperaux (again). I do like to re-read my favorites.

#3. Is there anything you would like to accomplish this summer? Right now I'm concentrating on survival. Survival & not watching 18 hours of television a day. So far, I'm not really succeeding at the second part of that.

#4. Did you take any lessons as a child? What kind & did you retain anything you learned? I took ballet when I was 3 & 4 years old & I remember nothing past first position. I loved my teacher though & remember her vividly.

When I was 4, Mama told me I could either continue in ballet or take swimming lessons. I opted for swimming lessons...and in the end, didn't really need them. I started swimming on my own at the first session & ended up spending most of my time with 2 other kids who picked it up quickly while the teacher (who I also adored) spent the hour trying to coax screaming 4 year olds into the water.

After we moved to Tennessee, QM put Bubba in karate. After his first quarter, they enrolled me as well. I only made it through one quarter & then we both dropped out. I remember very, very little of what I learned there. I think I could still throw a punch properly if I had to, but that's about it.

#5. If someone had told you 10 years ago what you'd be doing now, would you have believed them? Probably not. We were having a hard time conceiving & I was on the verge of giving up any hope of motherhood. We were also living in town with no talk of moving to the country...at least no real talk of it.

#6. What are you making for dinner tonight? Not really sure. Probably something very simple. We had mashed potatoes, meatballs, and corn for lunch. Dinner will probably be leftovers or sandwiches. Something that doesn't heat up the house.

Thank you for coming to my Tea Party. I hope you enjoyed yourself & have made a new friend or two. Hopefully next year I won't be so late in my hostessing duties.

My Bucka

Today is my Bucka's 80th birthday. When I was three I wanted to marry him when I grew up. Busha & Mama tell me I have (Husband & Bucka are so much alike sometimes it's frightening). He drove a semi when I was a girl. Some of my clearest memories of him, he's covered in grease & taking something apart with Uncle Gick out in the garage. In the evenings he'd sit in the basement family room with a bowl of pop corn, or peanut butter for his crackers or apple slices, and I'd curl up on his lap to share. I don't remember what we watched, but every time I taste peanut butter & honey I think of him.

When I was in trouble at home, he & Busha let me come stay with them for a few months while Uncle Gick & Unkie Di finished off the garage they were going to let me live in. He called me out when my behavior was less than stellar. He praised me when I did something praiseworthy.

He encouraged me through my pregnancies, assuring me that I'd never be more beautiful than when I was growing a new life....even when I felt like a beached whale. When my babies were born, he came to the hospital to see his newest great-grands & was proud as a peacock of both of us. And when BabyGirl was learning to talk, she dubbed him Bucka & he's been that ever since.

I love you, Bucka! Happy Birthday!

Warning: TMI. Gonna' talk periods here, folks. Consider yourselves warned.

I've been having a tough time the last few days. I touched on it a bit yesterday. I've never suffered horribly from PMS...at least not that I've noticed. I'd get a bit moody each month. I'd get a little tired. I'd have a few cramps easily treated with Tylenol. And then I had kids.

In between BabyGirl & #1 Son, I only had 5 periods. In between #1 Son & B.B. I had none (yeah, you read that right). After #1 Son was born, I cycled for a full year before Bitsy came along. Bitsy was a few days shy of her first birthday when I started again. Since then things have been...odd.

Cramps that can lay me out flat on the couch for at least two or three days at a time. Back aches that make walking painful. Bone tired weariness. And mood swings that never, ever make an up swing. If I could take a bottle of Aleve, a heating pad, and a big book & lock myself in my room for a week, I would. And I'm pretty sure my family would support the decision.

Last night I was Googling PMS symptoms. Husband asked what I was reading & I told him. I said, "Mood swings & can deal with. But I'm angry for 4 or 5 days. Irate really." Husband said, "Yeah," as though I hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. Smart man not bringing it up....ever. That may have been grounds for full blown, nuclear meltdown.

A week from Wednesday I go see my OB for my yearly check up (that's way overdue). I need to start making my list of things to discuss with him. This cannot go on. Someone will not survive.

And I fear that BabyGirl's hormones are swinging right along with mine. She has been bossy, angry, & unbearable since Friday. I'm currently scared witless of Summer break. If she's like this all Summer, it's going to be HORRIBLE. I hate thinking that, but that's the way things stand right now.

In non-menstrual related news: I'm really hoping Art can hitch a ride with my folks this weekend. I really need some time with grown ups I see rarely & love dearly.

I'm endeavoring to use my clothes line more this summer. The rumors of major increases in the cost of electricity is enough to get Husband on board. He's restrung my clothes line & secured the wiggly post that was leaving my sheets to the mercy of wandering cats. Last summer, it was rarely used. This summer I plan on keeping it full.

Husband picked up a new humming bird feeder for me Friday. I had read that a perch on a feeder is a very good thing for the birds. They expend so much energy hovering, that they have to eat more just to have energy enough to eat! Husband remembered me saying that & hunted one up for me. The humming birds seem to love it. I had three buzzing around it this morning.

You may have noticed a new feature at the bottom of my posts. It's called LinkWithin. I saw it on Sarah's Ordinary Days blog & really loved it. It hunts through the archives & links back to long forgotten posts. I've already revisited some things I really needed to hear, things that made me smile, and things that nearly brought a tear to my eye. Click away & enjoy. I am.

*Sigh*

I woke up this morning wishing it was still yesterday. Yesterday was good. I need more of yesterday.

We headed out around 9 o'clock for Grandma M&M's house. It's close to a 3 hour drive if you don't stop, but with 4 kids, we had to stop 3 times. We got there a little after noon just as some of the great-aunts & Daddy's cousins were leaving. It's probably a good thing they were heading out because the house was pretty full with the rest of us there.

All of Daddy's extended family, were there except for QM, Daddy, Princess, Axl, Ht, Bubba, and Beck. Before the afternoon was over, Inkling's Younger Brother 1977 had QM & Daddy on a video conference on the computer so they could chat with everyone (someone remarked that it was very Star Trek to be video chatting...I agree).

My kids were thrilled to find cousins their own age hanging around Grandma's. Inkling's niece & nephews were thrilled for my kids to get there. Eventually, Aunt Anita sent her boys to the Dollar store to pick up some outdoor toys & they came back to play day care rec center with all the little ones. It was a blast!

And even better than all of that, I got to hold Grasshopper & enjoy his beautiful toothless smile. I got to hug his Mama & see that she is indeed hanging in much better than I expected. There were times I knew she was in pain, but she was happy & kind & so happy to be surrounded by family.

They had a short blessing/Christening ceremony for Grasshopper at Grandma's after lunch where the meanings of his many names were shared with the family. It was beautiful & funny when Inkling's youngest nephew decided to roll around on his Granddad's feet while his Granddad was trying to impart scripture on the rest of us. QM & Daddy got to watch the whole thing via video conference.

On the way home, there was an incident that nearly ruined the day for me, but I'll save that for a later post. In all it was a wonderful day full of love, laughter, and blessings!! Now I'm really hoping we can arrange another big family get away like we took when B.B. was tiny. I want to spend much more time with my family!

Grandpa Catt & Katie the Mule

In honor of the holiest of days back in the land of Daddy & the Queen Mother, I give you a mule story.

This morning I took Bucka to the doctor. Busha had to go to Indy to have her eye checked since it's been 2 weeks since her glaucoma surgery. She was concerned about Bucka making the trip to the doctor on his own. When he gets stressed out, he can be easily confused. I volunteered to make the trip with him when she mentioned it to me.

During the almost 30 mile trip home, Bucka & I started talking about his parents, Busha's parents, grandparents, and great aunts & uncles. It was very interesting to hear some of the stories. Many of them were ones I'd heard before but had forgotten. One story I love to hear & it came up again today.

My Great-great grandfather could have walked on water...well, at least if you ask Bucka. Grandpa Catt was a very kind, very patient, very good man. He was Bucka's mother's father. He farmed all his life but flat refused to use a tractor or drive a car. Bucka said he thinks they got him on a tractor once & it scared him half to death. Grandpa Catt would much rather stick with his mules. Bucka said he never, ever saw his grandfather strike an animal.

One mule in particular, Katie, was a rather stubborn young Jenny. Grandpa had been working with her quite a while, but she had a mind of her own. Bucka thinks she was about 2 years old or so when this incident occurred.

The pasture was across the road from Grandpa Catt's place. Every morning, he'd let the cattle & the mules out, drive them across the country road to the pasture, and close up the gates. Every evening, he'd bring them back across the road into the corral & the barn. Katie usually had other plans. When it came time to head back to the barn, she would bolt & instead of heading East into the gate, she'd head West around the barn & down to the bluffs behind the house. Grandpa Catt would have to spend 30 minutes chasing her down & herding her back to the corral where she belonged.

One day Katie pushed Grandpa too far. He opened the gates & she took off for the bluffs again. Grandpa went in the house, got his shot gun, came back out & headed behind the house. When he got close enough, he shot Katie in the rump with a load of buck shot. Katie turned tail & ran into the corral as fast as she could. Grandpa put the gun away, went into the barn & doctored Katie up. He spoiled her rotten until her back end healed up and after that she never again bolted when he opened the gate. She very willingly went back into her corral every evening like she'd been doing it all along. Katie & Grandpa got along famously after that.

A hard look back.

I should preface this by saying this is not an easy post for me to write, but I feel like I need to get this all down in black & white. It's a part of my life I would rather not revist, but since I can't afford therapy, I will blog.

In 1998 Gweneth Paltrow starred in a movie called Sliding Doors. It wasn't a particularly good movie as I recall, but it did have a very interesting concept. The movie follows a young woman down two separate paths. On one path she catches a train home & catches her boyfriend in bed with another woman & her life changes for the better. On the other path (which is shown in parallel) she misses the train & spends a rather miserable life supporting her cheating boyfriend.
Last night I got a glimpse of my sliding door. I've mentioned my ex-boyfriend Willy a time or two around here, but I don't think I've ever really more than scratched the surface in the blogsphere.

I met him when I was a senior in high school & he was a freshman, 2 1/2 years younger than me. I was dating Stoffer so there was never anything more between us than a mild flirtation. When I came home from my first year in college, he asked me out. I said no. He argued. A lot. And he was good at arguing. I knew he was not the kind of man (I use the term loosely as he was only 16 at the time) I wanted or needed in my life, but instead of listening to reason I let myself be charmed. He was very charming, very good at talking people into things. He actually made an art of manipulation. He could talk anyone into anything, or so it seemed.

Within a few weeks we were dating. Things got very serious very quickly & I fell hard. Not something I'm proud of in retrospect. I'm so much smarter than that. I knew better. Looking back, I was really stupid. But I've also learned I was not the only one to be manipulated by him. Not by a long shot.

After a few months everything started to fall apart. We were fighting. He was distant. I felt like I was playing second fiddle to something, but I couldn't figure out what. He broke up with me the day before New Year's Eve. I was devastated. I quit eating. I slept constantly. I couldn't cope at all. I also knew, deep down, that he had cheated on me. Willy flat refused to admit any such thing, but I knew he was lying.

After a few months I started to put myself back together to an extent. I was told by many, many friends that he had indeed cheated on me, but he still denied it. He would call or come see me & beg to be friends. He'd cry that I was his best friend & he hated that we couldn't even have that anymore. Eventually he admitted that he'd cheated on me & I decided that we could try the "friend thing."

A few months later I started seeing some one from one of my college classes. As soon as Willy found out, he became very persistent about spending time with me. He'd call or come see me at work. As soon as he found out I had a new boyfriend he called & told me he was still in love with me. I tried brushing him off, but he was persistent. On my birthday he gave me a box full of mementos from our relationship that he'd kept. It was a blatant manipulation, but I was too raw emotionally to see through it. I broke up with the new boyfriend & got back together with Willy.

We were on again/off again for about 18 months. Finally my entire life began to unravel & it seemed he was pulling at the threads. I hated my job, I hated my roommate (not Art at this point), I was in debt, I had no car, I had no money, and I had broken up with Willy yet again. I called Daddy & asked if I could move back home. By this time QM & I could hardly speak without fighting & Daddy was torn apart by it all. It was, hands down, the worst my relationship with my parents has ever been. QM & Daddy knew my coming home would never work (they saw things much clearer than I did at that time) and they arranged for me to move to Illinois to live with Uncle Gick & Unkie Di.

I wasn't thrilled with the idea of being 4 hours away from my friends, but I didn't know what else to do. I decided to move during one of two weeks Willy and I weren't speaking. When he found out, he was not happy & began worming his way back into my life again before I left.

I moved in August & we kept in contact on & off for a few months, but nothing changed. When I wanted to be in a relationship, he wanted nothing to do with it. When I wanted out, he couldn't live without me. In February I drove to Tennessee for Art's wedding. That weekend things got very clear.

Willy had always dabbled a bit in drugs, but I tried not to think much of it. A little pot now & then, once or twice I knew he'd dropped acid, but I thought it wasn't a big deal. When I got home for Art's wedding he had gone way down hill. Lots of LSD, lots of pot, probably a lot of alcohol, and unless my memory is really playing tricks on me, he'd started dabbling in meth (I had no clue what meth was at the time). When I came back to Illinois after Art's wedding, I knew things had to end.

A little over a month later, FarmBoy asked me out & the rest is history...sort of. When Willy found out FarmBoy & I were getting serious, he started calling again. At first I blew it off, but then I remembered something he'd said the last time we'd officially broken up. I asked him why he'd fought so hard to get me back only to give up on our relationship before it ever really got started again. He said it was because I was seeing someone else. I think his exact words were, "I can't stand to see you with someone else." He only ever really wanted me when he couldn't have me. This time I saw his tactics for what they were, manipulation. I told him I wanted no part of him & that he could take a flying leap.

He called one more time after that....9 months after Husband & I were married. Husband was furious & wanted to rip Willy through the phone. I wouldn't let him talk knowing full well this was my demon & I had to exercise him myself. Willy said, "You don't sound happy to hear from me." I told him I was not & that I was pretty sure I told him I never wanted to hear from him again. He tried to explain, but I hung up & never heard from him again.

A few weeks ago, Art found Willy's little brother on Facebook. They talked a time or two & last week he told her Willy wanted to talk to her. She debated for a while before calling him. He told her he was doing very well. Clean & sober, a college graduate with a double major, a published author, in a happy relationship, doing very well. A few days later she spoke to his mother & his little brother. Their story was very, very different from his. They told Art that every thing he'd told her was a lie.

He left his wife out of the blue for another woman. He may have finished one year of college, but never came close to graduating. He's very heavy into drugs & is not healthy because of his prolonged use. There was much more, and none of it was good. His own family has had to distance themselves from him because of his lies & manipulation. He is not only prone to addiction, but he has a very addictive personality. He's charismatic & uses that to his advantage regardless of the cost to others.

To be honest, the news was not a great shock. The initial news that he was doing well was a huge shock. The fact that it was all a lie was much more what I expected.

When Art & I were talking last night I had a bit of a hard time with this. Not because I miss him (not at all!), but because I could see how close I came to walking this path with him. Art pointed out that this was just one more way God has taken care of me.

She was right. I cannot tell you how many hours I spent crying & praying that things would work out between Willy & me. I cannot tell you how close I came to throwing away everything for this man who did not want me, but didn't want anyone else to have me. It's a frightening thought. I know that God was the only thing that stood between me & that cliff.

Now I'm not saying God pushed Willy down the path he's on. Far from it. But I know the Lord knew what lay in his future & knew what would have become of me had I been a part of it.

Last night I saw my husband & my children in a whole new light. After 3 days of sickness & frustration, I wasn't feeling very loving or patient towards any of them. Last night I realized once again what blessings they all are to me. I have a husband who loves me from the bottom of his heart even if he's not demonstrative about it. He works hard for us. He takes amazing care of us. He puts our needs before his. He is honest & kind. We have four beautiful children who will never have to worry about their dad walking out on them.

And I thank God for seeing a much bigger picture than I ever could have.

Please don't entertain me tonight.

The Entertainment Tonight theme song has always bothered me. And by that I mean I hate the sound of it. Really, really hate it. It's a deep seated emotional reaction that has puzzled me most of my life. I don't watch the show & could not for the life of me figure out what my issues with it are.

Tonight it all came back in a flash. When I was little, maybe four or five years old, I had a horrible stomach flu. Everything I ate or drank came back up. The Queen Mother made Jell-o for me. It didn't stay down. She gave me saltines & 7-Up. That didn't stay down. At one point during this, QM had to leave me with a sitter for a brief time. I was sitting at the table coloring & begged the sitter for a drink of water. She was unsure as QM had told her I couldn't keep anything down, but somehow I convinced her water would be OK. Yeah, it didn't stay down either.

Eventually QM & Daddy moved a mattress into their bedroom floor so I could sleep as close to the bathroom door as possible. We had no television at the time (it blew up in a storm when I was three) & I was probably going a bit stir crazy with nothing to do but lie in bed. Mama borrowed a small black & white television from our nextdoor neighbors so I'd have something to occupy me.

The doctor told Mama to give me crushed ice with liquid Dramamine to help settle my stomach. I hated the taste of it, but was so thirsty I had to drink it.

The only thing on TV was Entertainment Tonight.

Ever since then, I associate that theme music with nasty, orange flavored medicine poured over crushed ice & feeling the worst I'd ever felt in my short life. Odd.

******

There's a moth loose in our house. It must have come out of hiding yesterday when it was so warm out. B.B. is terrified of it. This morning he ate breakfast perched on the arm of his chair so he could bolt if the moth attacked. I told him to sit down & promised him the moth wouldn't attack. He didn't believe me. So I asked, "Are you a sweater?" "No." "Then you're perfectly safe from that moth. They don't eat little boys. They don't even bite." BabyGirl told him moths only eat sweaters. Then he got worried that if he were wearing a sweater it might bite him accidentally. I told him they don't even have teeth & they only lay eggs on sweaters. He considered this, but still watched the moth very warily.

When his dad came in from doing chores the moth came back into B.B.'s view. "Daddy, I need you to come in here & kill dis mop. I hate mops. Dey scawe me." Husband was reasonably confused. I told him it was a moth, not a mop. B.B. started yelling again, "Daddy! You hava' kill dis mop! I'm scawed of mops, Dad! I want dem all out a dis house!" To which Husband replied, "Yes, we must gather up all the mops & remove them from this house." Don't I wish!

Sleep is for wimps.

As you may notice from the time stamp on the bottom of the page, I'm up a little earlier than normal. It's 5:45 am to be exact. The kicker is, I've been awake for 2 hours & 45 minutes already. A rare bout of insomnia that makes me wish for any style of home other than the ranch that I live in. If we had a home with floors, I could be doing laundry or scrap booking in the basement, running the dishwasher on the ground level, cleaning bathrooms while my family slept, or at least pretended to do something industrious. Instead I've made pitchers of iced tea, lemonade, and apple juice, watched Early Today, and Conan O'Brien re-runs. With 5 other people snoozing peacefully in our 1,590 square feet, I'm afraid to do anything louder than type.

So here I am contemplating my soon to be 3 year bloggiversary. Three years?! Three years of what? Inane drivel? Pointless mutterings? Fascinating insight? I'll let you be the judge of that.

Now, as my family lingers in dream land, I will give you links to some (in my opinion) interesting things from the past 3 years here at Memoirs of a FarmWife or the blog formerly known as Confessions of a City Gal.

A day of Fighting, Feathers, and a Sucker Punch to the Family Jewels (January 11, 2006).
A brief stumble down memory lane with the oldest of the FarmHands (January 20, 2006).
National Urination Day is introduced...and becomes a week long holiday (January 25 & 26, 2006).
The time I read the riot act to a television station, a human rights organization, and half the free world...and got a wonderful response (December 2007).
The time I blogged in a hotel lobby in my pj's at odd hours of the morning.
The day I spent hating all car salesmen & called myself a grown A** woman.
The time a telemarketer got the better/worse of me.
When B.B. opened his own nail salon in the bathroom.

That should do for now. If you made it through all those, you deserve a cookie!

If you happen to have a favorite post of mine, please, let me know!

FarmWife Answers: Christmas Edition

Welcome to the first every Ask FarmWife: Christmas Edition. I'm here to answer all your holiday questions! Zann begins the fun with a wonderful question: if you could choose a celebrity chef to cook your Christmas dinner and desserts who would you choose?

Hands down, no doubt about it, Alton Brown. I love Alton Brown. He is, by far, my favorite "celebrity chef." And to top it off, he's southern. A southern boy who can make his Nana's biscuits. I'm all about that. I would love to spend a day watching him whip up wonderful, home cooking in my kitchen while he' explains all the technical aspects of corn starch to me.

Inkling starts off with: What story intrigues you more about the origins of our Christmas trees and Yule logs....Boniface or Martin Luther? Why? Do you believe one more than the other?

Um...yeah...what? OK, this is when I admit, I know little about either. Heard the names before. Can't say I've ever heard the Christmas tree credited to Martin Luther. I'm off to google. Be back in a jiff.

*Pause*

OK, I'm now up to date on Christmas Tree Legend. I have to admit, Boniface has the better story. According to one telling he stumbled upon a group of pagans (Thor worshipers) about to sacrifice a child in front of a sacred oak tree. In his anger he (this is where the story differs a bit) either knocked the tree down with a single blow or was assisted in toppling the giant oak by a strong, miraculous wind. As soon as the tree was down, an evergreen sprung up in it's roots & Boniface made the connection between an evergreen & everlasting life.

Martin Luther, on the other hand, was wandering through a woods on a snow Christmas Eve. He was dazzled by the snow on the branches & starlight shining through so he went home & erected a small evergreen in his home & decorated it to show his children.

Boniface has it all. Child sacrifice, a dark night, pagans, a rescue, miracles, the works. Martin Luther's is a much tamer legend. Can't say I really believe either one were the definitive way Christmas trees came to be used to celebrate the birth of Christ. They had been used by non-Christian cultures for years to represent eternal life. I think they are a fitting way to symbolize the birth of the One who has given us the promise of eternal life with God...but I also figure it was a way to "Christianize" a pagan ritual much like having Christmas in place of Winter Solstice & Easter in place of Spring Solstice (although with Passover being there to mark the actual time of the Resurrection, I'm pretty sure it's happening at the right time each year).

Next Inkling asks: What one tradition do you work hard to keep going, even when you do Christmas away from extended family?

The Christmas Story read from the book of Luke. Even if we don't get to it until after the gifts are opened, I have to hear it read aloud every year. It just isn't Christmas without, "In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world."

And she finished off with: What do you do when you don't feel in the Christmas mood? What helps you get in the mood for celebrating the season? Do you ever fake it until you make it?

I'll start off answering the last question first. Yes, I often have to fake it until I make it. I've had many years when being away from family or illness or financial strain has kept me from really feeling the Christmas Spirit. There are a few things I do to kick start myself if even just to make the days happier for the FarmHands (but it usually rubs off on me). #1. Listen to old Christmas carols. Nothing new or contemporary. QM has enough Christmas music to play for days, so I've inherited some of that. I put on a CD & blare it while I clean the kitchen. #2. Bake something. It really doesn't matter what, but something with cinnamon in it helps. #3. Watch It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, or the Charlie Brown Christmas Special with the lights down, a big bowl of popcorn, a fluffy blanket, and the phone shut off. After all that, I'm usually in the mood...if that doesn't cut it, read that passage in Luke aloud, pull out your hidden bottle of Tabu & take a sniff, then have a good cry. You'll get there. I touched on this last year during a tough day.

Kork wants to know: If you absolutely had to choose, what would your Christmas dinner consist of, why, and this is absolutely a "bad-stuff" free meal - meaning, you could have whatever you wanted, and you'd have no ill effects from ingredients containing fat, sugar, cholesterol, etc...

First off, plates and plates of Grandma M&M's fudge, then lots deep fried turkey, roasted chicken, ham, and chicken and noodles, Mountains of mashed potatoes & sweet corn with butter floating in it, pans of cranberry salad, bowls of green beans with ham & onions mixed in, Beef House rolls, Apple salad, Aunt Anita's broccoli casserole, and blackberry cobbler with half & half, pecan pie, chess pie, apple crisp, and gallons of sweet tea. Now I'm homesick.

Art asks: What is your favorite carol and why?

I have to say I adore traditional carols. I could go Christmas caroling & never need a song book. There are very few I don't love. But there's one, and it's much more contemporary than I'd like to admit, that really speaks to me no matter how many times I hear it. I'll save some space & post a link to the lyrics here. It's called Still Her Little Child & it was written by Ray Boltz & Steve Millikan. The song talks about Mary & that no matter what Jesus grew to be, he was always her child. I was listening to it a few days ago in the car & started to cry. As a mother, it hits me hard every time I hear it.

Art's second question is a bit harder to answer. What is your favorite Christmas memory?

That's a tough one. I think in all fairness I have to admit to a few favorite memories. One I posted about 2 years ago. Another involves the other side of my family. Christmas day was normally spent at Busha & Bucka's when I was little. They lived 2 1/2 hours to our north. Things there were normally a bit more rambunctious than they were at Grandma M&M's. There were more cousins my age and more aunts & uncles & they are just a louder bunch in general.

One year my aunt (QM's little sister) had asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I think I was about 7 years old & my heart's desire was a wedding bouquet. She promised to make me one & much to my delight, there was a huge box under the tree with my name on it. Not only did she make me a beautiful giant silk bouquet, but she also made a smaller one for the bridesmaid to carry. After we all opened our gifts, she took me in the back bedroom & gave me her wedding dress & a bridesmaid dress from a wedding she'd been in. I could have died from happiness right then & there. My little seven year old heart was bursting.

I quickly wrangled all my cousins up & we spent the entire day playing wedding. We each took turns being the bride, groom, and preacher complete with some of Bucka's shirts, ties, and sports coats. I don't know how many weddings we had or how long we played, but it seemed like hours. At one point one of my cousins was hesitant to play the groom & Uncle Gick came out with an (unloaded) shot gun to persuade him to walk down the aisle. My main memory of that day is laughter & joy for everyone from the youngest to the oldest.

So that's it. I have now answered all your questions to the best of my ability. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas!