"It didn't come from my side"

I'm the one in the yellow shirt - I look normal, don't I?

Grandmama and Granddaddy Pierce moved from Memphis, TN to Topsail Island, NC when I was six or so. I don't really remember as much about the house in Kingsley Cove as far as the bedrooms go. I remember the kitchen, the living room, and the family room. Often, I would sleep on the pullout sofa in the living room when I was there - I suppose Pam slept with me but my memory of my childhood is no match for how my own mother remembered hers.

What I do know is that the kitchen was right off the living room, and I suspect that I slept there instead of in a bedroom because I liked to get up early with my granddaddy to eat breakfast. The invitation for bacon, over-easy eggs, orange juice, and toast with butter and honey was open to everyone who was willing to get up when he did. I was the only taker and as such, I guess Grandmama put me in the living room so I wouldn't wake up the rest of the house getting up. Granddaddy could move silently, but I had trouble doing so as a kid. 

Granddaddy liked for me to wait to get up until he had started making breakfast. Once I heard the bacon sizzle, I would rise, go wash my hands, and sit at the table patiently while we chatted and he cooked breakfast. I learned a lot about my granddaddy from these talks. God knows, Grandmama never let him speak with her constant narration of life as it happened. I learned that the prettiest thing he ever saw was when he would watch the chemicals being dumped into the river when he worked at Monsanto Chemical Company. He said the river turned all the colors of the rainbow. I learned that his favorite place in the world was Havana. He said it was the best vacation he ever had just before Americans were not allowed to go to Cuba anymore. I learned that he went blind for a while because he studied by oil lamp and was beaten by his father for doing so. And I learned that he loved to garden, tinker with his car, study science, and make jokes about my grandmother. Mostly, I learned that I loved him and he really loved me.  He could do no wrong in my eyes and he called me his pet. They say the most important thing that people remember about you is how you made them feel, and Granddaddy made me feel loved. 

Grandmama was a different story. She was embarrassed by me. To be more specific, she was embarrassed by the fact that I have epilepsy. She once said to a stranger in line in front of us at the grocery store  "This is my granddaughter, she has epilepsy. She looks normal, doesn't she?" I was horrified, even though I was only five or so.  

I got other signals from the adults in my life that having epilepsy was strange. Mama and Daddy both assured me that I would always have a home with them since I probably would not be able to work as an adult. They had both known people who had epilepsy when they were growing up. Reportedly, these people had not been able to hold down jobs or have families, but other than that, my parents assured me, they lived normal lives. It seemed to me that working and having a family was how one lived a normal life. 

I got signals at school, too, that epilepsy was strange and embarrassing. It was not easy marching up to my teacher's desk every day just before lunch to get my medicine with whispers all around me. I would make my lonely trip to the water fountain to take my Dilantin and Phenobarbital. In first grade, and throughout elementary school, some children were not allowed to play with me because their parents were afraid that their child would catch epilepsy from me. It happened to me so often that I got to where I would let people know right off the bat and have them check with their parents to see if it was okay if they played with me. I didn't want to get attached to a friend who couldn't be my friend anymore.

The most devastating event for me concerning my feelings about having epilepsy happened one night as I lay on that sofabed in Grandmama's Memphis home on Kingsley Cove. I never have slept well. Mama and Grandmama were in the kitchen and they never really got along. I think that Grandmama liked to upset my mother. She liked to upset all of the women in the lives of her sons and grandson. She wanted to be the most important woman in their lives. That night, they were apparently talking about the fact that epilepsy is genetic. "Well, if it's genetic." Grandmama insisted "it didn't come from my side of the family. No one in my family has ever had epilepsy." Mama retorted, "No one in my family ever had it either; it did not come from my side." This debate continued without resolution. I listened intently while tears streamed down my plump cheeks. I have never before or since felt like such an outcast. I felt that both sides of my family were ashamed of me and there was no way I could change it. To this day, that conversation haunts me. But they finally went to bed, and I finally went to sleep, and do you know something? The next morning, I got up with my granddaddy and he made me eggs and bacon and toast with butter and honey. He beamed at me and told me stories of his youth and he made me feel loved again.

Years later when I told this story to my mother, she denied it ever happened. But I know that it did, and I know that it hurt, and I know that many others have been similarly hurt by their families. But still, we love our families, and we endure. We live with our challenges, We overcome our challenges. My parents generous offer to always provide me a home made me determined to work and have a family and live a normal life. Not normal for an epileptic - just normal, or as close as I could get. Do any of us truly achieve or even know exactly what normal is?

Incidentally, my genealogy uncovered the death record of my great-grandfather James Fears, Grandmama's father. Guess what he died from - an epileptic seizure. So, I guess it did come from your side, Grandmama. Not that it matters in the least.

Grandmama's Polish Potato Soup

So, Thanksgiving Day is nearly here. Pretty soon everyone will have had their fill of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce.

My Granddaddy Pierce had a recipe of sorts for what to do with your leftovers. I would bet that Daddy, Grandmama and Ron had to eat Turkey Hash from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas. It was a mixture of leftovers: turkey, dressing, vegetables (mostly peas), and a lot of chicken broth and hot sauce. It was soupy and I didn't like it' mostly because of the canned peas. He was always so proud of it. I ate it without complaint, but I never had seconds.

Grandmama's Polish Potato Soup, on the other hand, was an event, not just a dish. We all looked forward to it so much and she would serve it in china bowls which were actually called soup plates. She got this recipe from a friend she met in Buffalo, New York. I made it recently for my book club for our discussion of Steinbeck's The Winter of Our Discontent. It was set in early 60's New York, so I thought it would have been a dish that Ethan would have had. It will be a good dish to serve once you're tired of holiday food.

Grandmama peeled and mashed her own potatoes, I used 3 24 oz packages of Simply Potatoes - which are already mashed. I also put the mixture through the food processor for extra silkiness, I also added a cup of cottage cheese and a cup of milk - so you can play with it and make it your own and take short cuts, but here is Grandmama's recipe:
6 large potatoes
32 oz. of chicken broth
1 package Kielbasa Sausage
One large onion
Three tablespoons of flour
Parsley and dill weed to taste
Three tablespoons Canola Oil

Boil potatoes in 2 quarts of water until tender
Drain potatoes into another pot and reserve
Mash potatoes with butter or margarine and salt, set aside
Chop onion, sausage, dill, and parsley
Heat oil in frying pan and sautee onion, sausage, dill and parsley
Stir in flour and add two cups of reserve water

Put mashed potatoes back on the stove
Add broth and simmer
put mixture through food processor for a smoother texture. 

Combine all ingredients; simmer for about thirty minutes to allow flavors to blend.

Grandmother Moss's Cornbread Dressing

Just in time for Thanksgiving shopping, I found my grandmother's recipe for Cornbread Dressing in the family heritage album Mama helped Emily make for a school project:

Ingredients:
Six or Eight home-made biscuits
One pan of cornbread
One quart of chicken broth
One large chopped onion
One cup of finely chopped celery
One small container of pimento (if desired for color)
Four medium fresh eggs
Two tablespoons of sage
Salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper to taste

Carmelize onions
Simmer onions and celery in chicken broth for about fifteen minutes
Crumble cornbread and biscuits finely in a large pot 
Add chicken broth, celery, and onion to cornbread/biscuit mixture
Add pimento if desired
Add seasonings
Mixture should be soupy
Add broth or water if mixture is too thick
Beat four eggs and fold gently into the mixture
Pour into large casserole or baking pan
Top with parsley and paprika for color if desired
Bake at 359 degrees until firm (about forty minutes)
Serve with gravy

Gravy used would have been Giblet Gravy
I prefer Redeye Gravy

Grandmama's Sandwiches

Today is National Sandwich Day. Grandmama told me that sandwiches were named for the Earl of Sandwich who needed to reach his armed forces quickly and didn't have time to sit for dinner, so he asked the servant to just put a piece of meat between two slices of bread and he would take it with him. Thus, the sandwich was born. To my understanding, there are many variations of this legend, but they all agree that the sandwich was named for the 4th Earl of Sandwich.

Grandmama enjoyed making sandwiches for lunch. She had some unusual but crazy tasty combinations. Here are my favorites:

The Tomato Sandwich:
Peeled, ripe tomatoes, toasted white bread, salt and pepper, and mayonnaise (actually, I think she used Miracle Whip, but I don't recommend it)

The Pineapple Sandwich:
4 slices of canned pineapple rings, 1 slice of American Cheese, toasted white bread, and mayonnaise

And my favorite... The Peanut Butter and Bacon Sandwich - which was just as it sounds

Enjoy National Sandwich Day!

Erie F. Pierce - Post-War Germany Assignment

In 1953 my grandfather, Erie Pierce, received an assignment to be in Germany for three years. He went on ahead to prepare the household for the family, and to begin his duties as the Commander of the Independent Medical Batallion which served the First Infantry Division. My dad says that in addition to setting up house for his wife and children, he also kept an apartment for his mistress. I have the romantic notion that he only had the one mistress - he told my mother before he died that he really only ever loved one woman. A half British and half East Indian nurse that he met in the war. He even asked his sisters to sponsor her so she could move to the US. They declined. Of course, it broke my grandmother's heart when a letter from this woman beat him home. So, I suspect this was the same woman if he was willing to get her an apartment - as he was a very frugal person. He also told me once that the best vacation he ever had was to Havana sometime just before Americans were not allowed to go there anymore. Grandmama never went to Cuba, so I suspect this was also with this woman. Daddy says he was just a womanizer and he had multiple ladies on the side. That's not as romantic. At any rate, Granddaddy went on to Germany sometime early in 1953 to begin his duties.

My dad had to leave Crewe, VA. A place they had lived for about three years, and his favorite place that he ever lived. He had a best friend there which is not easy for an Army Brat to acquire. They drove from VA to Brooklyn to a hotel on Clark Street - The George Washington Hotel where he and his brother enjoyed the saltwater swimming pool. The next morning they had to drive their car to Pier 91 for the car to be transported to Germany.

 On September 16, 1953, Daddy, "Rick" Pierce,  his brother, Ron, and my grandmother, Virginia Pierce set sail for Germany aboard the USNS PVT Elden H Johnson, an old victory ship from WWII  bound for Bremerhaven, Germany from NY, NY. Rick had to stay below deck with the junior officers because he was already 13. Ron and Grandmama stayed above deck. Daddy made friends with the ship's chaplain who taught him how to play chess and gave him the traveling chess set they used, which I now possess. Some of the crew gave Ron and Rick German lessons which they took to very well. One of the men Rick met below deck was a CIA officer who had a briefcase that would just fall away and a gun would be in its place. The handle of the case concealed a roll of gold coins.

They lived in Wurzburg in the Bergermeister's house. It had 17 rooms and a garden. They had two maids, a chauffeur, and a gardener with servant quarters on the grounds. Rick attended Benjamin Franklin Junior High and one of his teachers was Miss Halliburton, whose brother, Richard Halliburton was a renowned writer. The Complete Book of Marvels is still available on Amazon. Rick had made friends and even had a girlfriend there. Ron, Rick, and Virginia were all very happy to have this adventure.  They frequented the fancy officer's club, which had been a Nazi club. Daddy says there was an eagle holding a swastika on the outside of it. Chilling. But they enjoyed the events and dinners nonetheless.

Granddaddy's affair was discovered by his superiors. This was and continues to be a big deal in the Army. He was stripped of his rank and busted back down to Master Sergeant. It must have been one hell of a Christmas. They departed Rhein-Main in Frankfurt, Germany en route to Idlewild, NY on December 27, 1953, on Seaboard and Western Airlines. There were 28 passengers aboard. The plane caught fire! They made an emergency landing in Ireland. The plane was quickly repaired and the trip resumed. Somewhere above Canada, the plane caught fire, again and began to dive! The family thought this was it. Fortunately, the pilot managed to regain control of the plane and they landed safely in Newfoundland. They were there for three days before their arrival back in NY on Dec. 30, 1953. Because Granddaddy was the highest ranked officer on the plane, he had to go before a Congressional Committee regarding the crash. He spent the rest of his military career as a Reserve Advisor at Boston Army Base. He regained his rank before he retired in 1959, and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel.

"Let me rub some magic into your hand."

My grandmother was my grandfather's caretaker for about the last twenty years of her life. She never complained about it and met his strange demands with grace and love. I remember one time when I was at their house along with her usual breakfast of the tallest biscuits in the world, two kinds of bacon, sausage patties, ham, and eggs made to order - she made a hamburger patty. I asked her why she did that and she told me Granddaddy woke her up in the middle of the night and told her he really had a taste for hamburger. I said he should be happy with all that other food she cooked and she said simply - "Well, I don't mind, it's no trouble." She meant it, too. So, anyway, she got pancreatic cancer, and the summer I turned 14, I spent a few weeks with them and I knew something was wrong when she didn't have enough strength to make my birthday cake. She talked me through making my very first chocolate chip cake while she lay on the bed in the back bedroom, and she was so proud. She joined Carol and me in the kitchen for a slice. My birthday is in August and in September (1982) she left this world - leaving Granddaddy all alone.

Our family had to put him in the nursing home and he did not want to come to be near any of his children. He wanted to stay in Monroe County, Mississippi, as almost all of its residents do. My Aunt Cabby (Carolyn Ritter) and her children lived in Memphis. While, my Uncle Jim resided in Marietta, Georgia, and my family lived in Charlotte and Richfield, NC respectively. So, naturally, the care and keeping of Granddaddy fell mostly to my aunt and my three cousins. 

My cousin, David, was kind of an amazing kid with electronics. He told me that he had his own TV and radio repair shop when he was only 16. Now he's a big shot at the Memphis Airport. He was always helping our grandparents out on the farm - replacing fuses, repairing stuff, helping in the garden; he even put a swing up for me once.

To help Granddaddy live more comfortably in the home, and before "the clapper" came on the market, David knew how to rig up such a device. David had rigged up this "clapper" type device to the TV so that Granddaddy could turn it on and off by himself by just clapping his hands since his limited mobility wouldn't really allow him to control it any other way than asking for help every time. 

Granddaddy had a mischievous sense of humor. 

One of the nurse's assistants noticed that he had turned his TV on just by clapping his hands. She asked, "Mr. Rubel, how did you do that?" He replied: "Magic, want to try it?" "Come over here and let me rub some magic into your hand." Reluctantly, she approached his bed and let him rub her hand; then she tried it herself. She clapped and the TV went off. It frightened her so much that she just ran from the room. Mr. Stegall, my grandfather's roommate, and Granddaddy got a good belly laugh out of that incident - something deeply needed in nursing homes. 

So that's how my granddaddy got through his last year of life. 'Round about a year after Grandmother died, he became so bereaved that he went on to join her.

"She's Catholic," she whispered

My Moss grandparents, like many other protestants of their era, were a little suspicious of Catholic folks. They were concerned about them because they believed that Catholics were guilty of idol worship. And suspicious of them because - well, I guess because they were unfamiliar. My Aunt Patsy - Uncle Jim's wife was Catholic and he converted. I remember Grandmother whispering to me "She's Catholic," in the same way she had whispered, "She smokes." It really didn't mean anything to me. I was a Southern kid who had never really thought about religions other than Methodist, Baptist, and Lutheran.

The summer I was eleven my church sent me for a week to Lutheridge - a camp for Lutheran kids in the mountains of NC. There we did a lot of studying about the bible and learned Luther's interpretations of the commandments and the rest of "The Small Catechism." I think Grandmama picked me up from camp and already had Pam with her. We went directly from camp to Grandmother's house in Mississippi. Grandmama and Pam went on to Memphis and I stayed with Grandmother and Granddaddy. (It is possible that I am blurring two memories). Anyway, Grandmother really enjoyed reading The Small Catechism. She told me that she had always liked reading books that provided a further understanding of the Bible. She had access to a lot of these kinds of books in her young and middle adult years when her mother had a house on the farm and kept a "travelling library" in her home. Before branch libraries existed, the county library would seek volunteers that would allow a room in their home to serve as a small community library. The selections would be changed out periodically. It was this library that provided endless reading for my mother and her mother and my aunt until Grandma West died in 1958. I know she moved to Monroe County around 1935, but I am not sure when she started keeping that library.

I work in the library of a Catholic College, Benedictine to be precise. And, at the beginning of this semester, I started going to pray for an hour each week at the Adoration Chapel. During my hour of adoration, along with prayer, I have been reading the My Catholic Life series. This series is a summary of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. It has been interesting to me. It breaks down the meaning of the Apostles and Nicene Creeds. It provides an explanation for different beliefs held by all Christians and some that are held by Catholics in particular. I wanted to read this series because I have been working at the college for seven years and I just want to understand the faith better so I can be more effective with Catholic specific questions. This series has a lot in common with the teachings of Martin Luther.  I wonder if Grandmother would have been open to reading about it? I think she would have enjoyed it if she had given it a chance. 

Lois Goodlink by Anita West Moss ©

Greenbrier Cemetery, Becker, MS

 Today, I'm continuing with one of Mama's journals. I'm skipping a story she started but didn't finish here. Most of my family knows the story of the mule and the lawsuit. At some point, this blog will contain all of Mama's stories.  Then there is a personal entry from June 25, 1986, after my botched jaw surgery at Temple University Hospital. What a horrible summer that was for me. She gets in a few good digs at my dad - referring to him as an "egomaniac," and a "shallow peacock." 

Then comes the entry about Lois Goodlink. Lois was Mama's best friend in first grade. I assume it was written around July 1986.

From the journal of Anita West Moss ca. 1986: ©
September 1948 - I am five years old. Mama says it is time for me to go to school like my sister and brother. Cabby says it will be fun. She says I can read lots of books. I say I don't need to go to school; I can read books at home and color already. "Yes, but you can't read hard books, and I am not reading you Hans Brinker. You'll have to learn to read it for yourself."

I say I don't want to miss the radio show I listen to with Mama. My favorite is Our Gal Sunday. it's about the poor girl from a mining town in Colorado who was trying to find happiness as the wife of a wealthy and titled Englishman. 

I cried so much that Mama did not make me go on the bus with all the squalling kids that first day. But the next day, she washed and curled my hair and dressed me in a bright yellow dress with a ruffle around the bottom of the skirt and a starched sash.  Then she put a yellow ribbon in my hair and said we were ready to go.

My teacher was Mrs. Whitehead. She knelt down beside me and told me how pretty I looked in my yellow dress. She showed me her picture books on a shelf and said I could sit in one of the little chairs and read. Three big boys sat nearby. Later, I learned that they had failed. They snickered behind their hands and made faces at me. One of them was Carroll Moffatt who went on to become a state senator. Mrs. Whitehead had her silky hair pulled back in a neat bun. She had beautiful brown eyes and a lovely lilting Southern voice. She speaks softly and Mama starts to leave. I see this, run to Mama, trying not to cry."Please, please take me home, Mama. I'll do my lessons at home, I promise." But Mrs. Whitehead says "Come look at the aquarium and the funny goldfish with black spots;" reluctantly, I go with her and try not to hear Mama leave.

I sit in reading circle beside a girl named Lois Goodlink. She told me she had also failed first grade the year before. She is pretty - her hair is reddish blonde and curled into Shirley Temple curls just like mine. "My daddy was kilt in the war." she says "My mama still cries about it. My granddaddy owns a store." Then we remember we played together once. My daddy stopped at the store on his way back from taking the cotton hands back to Aberdeen. He bought each of us a Chocolate Soldier and a Moon Pie. We sat under a shade tree at Lois's little table and poured the Chocolate Soldiers into the toy tea set and crossed our legs and pretended to be grownups. I like Lois a lot. She has freckles across her nose, a crooked, snaggle-tooth grin, and big blue eyes. She wears wine-colored corduroy overalls and says they are way too hot, that she is burning up. " "Uh-oh," she says, "Mrs. Whitehead is going to give us those dumb reading books about Dick and Jane and their ugly dog, Spot." "My dog's name is Prince," I says "but he's real smart. All my daddy has to say is "go get the cows, Prince'" and he lights out to the back of the pasture and brings 'em all back."

Mrs. Whitehead sees us talking, but she does not say anything that day. Later, she will keep us in at recess and say she is proud we are such good friends, but she'll have to make us sit next to the boys if we can't wait till recess to talk. We both blush and cry a little bit and promise not to talk. We love Mrs. Whitehead and don't want to make her sad. Most of all, we don't want to sit next to the boys. That first day Lois says she'll take good care of me. "Shoot, she says, you'll get used to it. I ain't scared. If any of them big boys bother you, just say "I don't give a cuss!" They just want to make you cry." Lois said she had a boyfriend in the second grade. His name was Carl Honeycutt, and they became sweethearts in the first grade. He passed, but they still sat together on the bus and went to the same church. She said I could sit with them every day. 

That afternoon, I got on the bus with Lois. When I got off the bus, I could see her snaggle-toothed grin through the window. Prince was waiting for me. I ran down the long driveway with Prince, while Cabby sauntered slowly behind me. She had not wanted to get off the bus because she liked sitting close to a boy named Grafton Prenfro. She was a big, grown-up, highschool girl and not much fun anymore. My house had two front doors. Mama would keep one of the doors locked. We'd go in through the front bedroom. I couldn't wait to tell Mama that I'd made my very first friend.

Every day that year, Lois and Carl would save me a seat on the bus. We'd hug each other and play together at recess. Sometimes, her grandpa would bring her to my house on Saturday afternoon and we'd go with Cabby to the picture show. Cabby would sit with her boyfriend and hold hands in the balcony, but we'd sit all the way at the front and cheer when the feature came on. Red Rider and Little Beaver were our favorites but one time we saw a movie called  Lost Women that had women warriors, dinosaurs, and earthquakes. At the end, all the women and all the dinosaurs fall through giant cracks in the earth. The evil pagan priest tries to save his treasure and gets covered up with burning hot lava. Later that day, we played "Lost Women" all afternoon in daddy's barn loft. At Christmas, Santy Claus brought both of us beautiful cowgirl outfits - white with red fringe and boots and a red cowgirl hat. Lois said she was Dale Evans, but I said I didn't know who I was because neither Lash LaRue nor the Cisco Kid had gotten married yet, and I couldn't decide which one I was going to marry. Lash LaRue really appealed to me more because I liked the way he could use that cunning whip. Lois said why not the Lone Ranger. I said because he might be horrible under that mask and anyway Tonto gave me the creeps when he said Kimo Save. Then I said I'd just learn to use a whip myself and not get married at all. 

So first grade turned out a whole lot better than I thought. I learned to read hard books fast but had a hard time learning to print. My letters always looked squiggly. Lois could print prettier than anybody in our class, but she still couldn't read too well. So she'd help me print, and I'd help her learn to read with flashcards. 

When the last day of school came that glorious May, Lois and I hugged each other and cried. We were both scared because we were both going to have our tonsils out that summer since we both had missed school with sore throats and earaches. But we pretended not to be scared. Lois said "Mama n' Grandpa both said they'd give us lots of chocolate ice cream and red jello to eat in the hospital and that her Grandpa said he would buy her a bride doll 20 inches high if she would be a brave girl and not cry. And Lois said "Don't forget me 'cause we're gonna be best friends forever even when we get to be old, old ladies of forty and have grandchildren." " I hope you get that bride doll," I called as I got off the bus.

In June I got up one morning to the raucous singing of mocking birds. My daddy had been to the store already. He looked funny when he came in the backdoor. "Silas Moffett's little granddaughter is dead," he said. Mama looked back at me quick and asked what happened. I did not remember that Silas Moffett was Lois's grandpa. Daddy said she bled to death in the Aberdeen hospital the night before. He said some folks said that darn doctor who did the operating was drunk and the Moffett boys had to hold Silas to keep him from killing the doctor. They said the child's mama hadn't cried or said a word but just sat staring at the little corpse and didn't even want Guy Pickle to take her to the funeral home.

I still didn't really know who they were talking about, though. The next day Mama got me all dressed up like we were going to church, but we went a different way than the way we'd go to church. "There's Lois's stop." I said. Mama nodded but didn't say anything. "Are we going to see Lois?" I asked. Mama hugged me and said Lois was already in heaven.  "Why?" I said "Did she want to go with her daddy?" Mama said she guessed God needed her. "But she's my best friend; I need her." Then I decided Mama was lying. Lois wouldn't go to heaven yet. We both had to go to second grade when summer vacation was over. I remembered how proud Lois and I were when we looked at our report cards and saw how Mrs. Whitehead had written "Promoted to the Second Grade" on both of them. "My mama's going to be the proudest thing of that," Lois said. "She always said I could pass if I'd just listen to Mrs. Whitehead instead of jabbering all the time." When we pulled up to Lois's house, the first thing I saw was Carl Honeycutt standing beside a big water oak tree. He was wearing blue pants, a white linen coat, and a navy blue tie. He seemed to be cying but he had his back turned away and I'm not sure. "Lois'll think he's a sissy," I thought.  Lots of people were standing in the yard all dressed up for church just the way we were. We got out and went in the house. The living room was filled with flowers - the odor was overpoweringly sweet and made me feel sick.  A little white coffin was sitting in the middle of the room. Mama guided me over to the coffin. Lois lay there in a little white dress with blue lace. Her hair was curled around her face with a blue hair ribbon, but her skin was too white. You could barely see the freckles I loved across her nose. Her mouth looked funny, too - probably because I was accustomed to seeing her crooked grin. And I missed her big blue eyes. "Lois, Lois!" I cried out "Lois, wake up!" Mama tried to make me hush, but I started to scream. Lois's mother walked in then. When I saw her, I broke away from Mama and ran to her. She caught me in her arms and we both began to sob. I'll never forget those hard sobs - they seemed to come from the very center. She held me tight. "I want Lois to play with me tell her to please wake up, Mrs. Goodlink." "I know," she said "But my baby is dead. Dead! I hate God! I hate Him! First He takes my husband, and now my baby!" "Then I hate Him, too," I said.

Mama told Mrs. Goodlink I could ride in the car with her. Carl rode with us, too. We watched the man lower the coffin into the red earth at Greenbrier Cemetery. Mama took me home just across the cotton patch from the cemetery and tried to get me to sleep, but I kept seeing Lois's pinched white face on the white satin pillow.

As the summer wore on, I would visit Lois's grave every day and put flowers on the little mound of dirt. A couple of weeks after the funeral, I watched while they dug up the little white coffin and put it inside a shiny copper vault. Then they buried the vault and put up the tombstone - a white angel with its wings spread. On the back, it said she was born in 1942 and died in 1950. There was a nice little picture on the back. Lois had her hand under her chin and that crooked smile I loved.

Within two months poor Mrs. Goodlink died, too and was buried next to Lois. Folks said she grieved herself to death. Then I had two graves to visit and keep supplied with flowers.

End entry - AWM

I remember that Santa Claus also brought my sister and me cute little cowgirl outfits when I was 5 and Pam was 7. I imagine these gifts helped Mama remember her dear friend. A friendship that stayed with her throughout her life. Rest in Peace, Lois Goodlink. We will not forget you.

My Pierce Grandparents

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow are my days to focus on my Pierce grandparents. 

Granddaddy was all about making and keeping money and providing for his family. He never just had one job. He always maintained multiple sources of income and was a frugal man. He enjoyed keeping a garden and fixing his own vehicle. He struggled as a young man to get a college degree against all odds. He had a father that beat him for studying. He was forced to do so in secrecy and once he lost his eyesight for a few days after studying by candlelight for many days in a row. He ended up getting his Bachelor's of Science in Chemistry from Mississippi State and got a job with Monsanto Chemical Company in St. Louis in 1933. He married my grandmother on October 19, 1935, when he was 25 and she was 17. In 1936, he bought a farm for his parents and siblings in Steele, MO and lifted the family out of poverty. The family had been devastated financially by the boll weevil infestation of 1916 that ruined cotton farmers across the state. Granddaddy was always kind to me, but he was harsh, to put it mildly with his wife and his children. He enjoyed socializing, though, and he was funny and smart, and by all accounts "the life of the party," and a terrific host. He and Grandmama were both strong personalities. If Granddaddy thought he had married a shrinking violet when he married a young girl from Amory, he was in for a surprise.

Grandmama was also a bit harsh with those she loved. Actually, she was highly critical of people she didn't even know. She was obsessed with keeping a clean home and her house always looked immaculate. She and Granddaddy fought a lot. They shared, though, the love of entertaining.

So, to honor them this week - yesterday, I took care of my bills, today, I will clean my home thoroughly, and tomorrow, I'm going to have some of my neighbors in for happy hour.  Some of my fondest childhood memories are of happy hour, which they always celebrated as a daily ritual. They made manhattans and served cheese, crackers, and smoked oysters. My house will never be as immaculate as Grandmama's was because I have two dogs, but I'll do my best.

Dr. Burne

Glenn Stephen Burne, Ph. D. was my stepfather and really, my primary parent from age 9-15. He was a very interesting man. Those Dos Equis commercials always reminded me of him, and incidentally, he always requested that beer in Mexican restaurants far before those commercials were made.

My days to contemplate Dr. Burne (which I called him until my daughter was old enough to speak - when my two-year-old was calling him by his first name, I followed her lead) were the 17, 18, and 19. Of course, today is the twentieth and still, I haven't written anything.

I decided to start with two books - neither have I read in full, but shall in time, as a way to "visit" with Glenn. He was a professor of Irish Literature, among other things, and told me that if I wanted to read Joyce I should start with The Dubliners, which is a collection of short stories. I have Glenn's copy of James Joyce, The Viking Portable Library, published in January 1947. It's a hardback with his name inscribed and an article about Mama tucked just inside the cover. He checked the stories from The Dubliners that he was probably going to use in a class. One of those stories was called The Encounter, and it was pretty creepy. Initially, it was about boys enchanted with the Wild West and Detective Stories who wanted to set out on an adventure. That part was great, and I think it may have inspired him to look more closely at explorers and travel logs as well as to actually seek out adventure in his own life. Joyce writes: "But real adventure, I reflected, do not happen to people who remain at home: they must be sought abroad." The creepy part came in when they "encountered" an odd man who wanted to talk with them about how many girlfriends they had and how it would please him to whip bad boys. Yuck! I guess pedophiles have always been out there and Joyce allows the boys to escape before things escalate.

Glenn wrote a book about the great explorer, Richard Burton, the first white man to ever record anything about Mecca, and likely the first white man to see it at all.  He had a dream of taking his sabbatical and going out to his boat every day to write. Instead, he wrote his book at our kitchen table and he stayed home to take care of me before I was diagnosed with Crohn's and no one really knew if I would live or die. My 13-year-old self had gotten up to  100 pounds, and my 14-year-old self was 75 pounds. I remember how excited he was to read about Burton's journey to Mecca. He told me all about it. So, of course, the other book I  am reading is Richard F. Burton by Glenn S. Burne.

It gives an About the Author section:
After graduating from the University of California at Berkeley, Glenn S. Burne studied in France for two years and subsequently received his doctorate in comparative literature from the University of Washington. His publications include a book on Remy de Gourmont, a volume of translations of Gourmont, and a book on Julian Green, along with articles and reviews on modern French and American literature. Professor Burne teaches modern literature at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, where he served as chairman of the English Department from 1971-1977. He is a member of the Southern Comparative Literature Association, the Modern Language Association, and is past president of the Philological Association of the Carolinas.

I think a better description is given of him in the first part of the preface he wrote describing Richard F. Burton: "Every historical age produces a handful of men and women who stand so far outside their societies, whose personalities and careers are so brilliant and bizarre and their achievements so great that we can rarely account for them - we can only stand in awe of them." Glenn was a true Renaissance Man. He was trilingual; a decorated Lieutenant who served in the Pacific Theater of WWII on an LST, a sailor, a cyclist, a scholar, an outdoor enthusiast - I was honored to know and love him.

Maus /Moss

Tuesday I had to review a graphic novel for my awful, but last class of the Instructional Technology master's I am pursuing. Maus by Art Spiegelman depicts the true experience of the author's parents' survival of Auschwitz. This book made me reflect on how WWII affected my grandparents and my mother. Granddaddy served as an MP in Le Mans, France. All of his photos say Requeil France, which I think is the territory where Le Mans is located. No notable battles that I could find took place there. But as horrifying as the experience of reading about the Holocaust is, how much more horrifying must it have been to be in Europe when such atrocities were taking place? I can't imagine. I know it affected my mother a lot to not meet her dad until she was three.

One good thing came out of my granddaddy's time there. He formed a friendship in that French town with a family named Noiseau. They exchanged letters for years after the war, and my mother wrote to their son Roger. He is an author, and the whole family is talented. We have been honored to meet his grandson, David as well, and my niece traveled to Le Mans to see this family and see where my grandfather was stationed. 4 generations of maintaining an international friendship - I think it's pretty unusual and lovely. 

My new heating pad

Today's post is about my Granddaddy Moss. Granddaddy was born on November 2, 1907. He worked hard on his family farm from an early age and eventually bought his siblings shares and it became his farm. At age 38 in addition to running the farm, he also worked at the Ordinance Plant. He invented something or other to improve some piece of weaponry and he didn't get credit for it. So he quit. Well, you couldn't quit a job for the war effort in the 1940s unless you went to fight. So he was drafted and he became an MP in France. He was a strong young man, but by age 58 he was an invalid. He suffered 13 strokes and eventually died of an aneurysm in 1983.  That brings us to my heating pad.

Granddaddy used a heating pad a good little bit because he was in constant pain. Bless his heart. He got around, though. Even though he hardly ever moved from his bed he still drove to church and drove into town. He'd sort of fall into the car and Mama and Daddy made my sister and me promise that we wouldn't go anywhere with him. They didn't share their concerns with him or Grandmother - and besides shelling peas and guessing what color the next car would be that passed the house there was not much to do on the farm. Pam and I were always happy to go with Granddaddy to the barber and to Wal-Mart where he would offer to sell us for a nickel. He said he could probably get a quarter for Pam since she was older and could work harder. No, we begged - don't sell us, and he'd just laugh.

Back at home after falling back into the car to drive us home and lifting his own leg up to position it near the pedals he would get to feeling pretty bad again. Grandmother would set the heating pad up for him after rubbing him down with Ben-Gay - which you are not supposed to use together - but they did all the time.

My back has been really messed up lately so I got a heating pad that even has a massage feature today, and I am feeling a little better now. I think Granddaddy would have enjoyed it.

Great Mysteries!

Yesterday, Sunday, October 13, I spent a good chunk of the day reading. Just reading and hanging out with my dogs. Occasionally snacking. It was a good day. Just the kind of day Mama would have appreciated.

Over the summer, I read the first book by Allen Eskens: The Life We Bury. Oh. My. God. This book was just the kind of mystery Mama would've loved. Multiple plots, and anything but predictable although, I will admit she was a lot better at predicting endings than I am.  She read about 100% more and let's face it, it was her profession to analyze literature.

I am about 3/4 of the way of the first part of the second book - The Shadows We Hide. It is also very good. I will let you know if it lives to the first one. So far, it's off to a great start. Again, with multiple plots and lots of twists and turns.

Joker & IT Chapter 2 - Spoiler Alert

Yesterday, the bulk of my day was spent watching IT Chapter One and Chapter Two, and Joker. Mama loved to spend time watching and analyzing movies. She even took a film class led by Terry Frazier when she was in her thirties. She was very methodical in her later years about her entertainment choices and enjoyed watching all the movies of one director or actor or reading all of the books by a certain author. She was essentially leading courses for herself, especially in the summer. So she would have enjoyed a themed movie day.

Joker was a wonderful movie - she enjoyed Comic Book movies - in fact, one of my big regrets is not going with her to see Black Panther. She really wanted to see it. Joker showed how a mentally ill man was continually mistreated until he descended into complete madness and justified his killings because of the mistreatment he received. He became the face of a movement against the wealthy. Mama would have really enjoyed talking about this movie and its indictment on the abandonment of the concept of noblesse-oblige in today's "aristocracy," which really doesn't exist anymore. Aristocrats typically also prided themselves on intellect. Today's American wealthy only focus on wealth and they seem to have complete contempt for those less fortunate than they.  This movie champions the rights of the underprivileged and access to healthcare, albeit in a way that unfortunately glamorizes murder.

Mama was also a sucker for a Stephen King movie - good or bad- she just enjoyed the experience. She loved Christine - the whole concept of a jealous car just tickled her. I think she would have also enjoyed the IT movies. These movies juxtapose real monsters with the actual monsters we are faced with every day - control freaks, bullies, and abusive domestic situations.  She did not mind a cheesy horror film. She was a teenager in the 50s and early 60s, after all. She grew up with The Thing and The Blob, and Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and she loved them all.