Wind Work and Blackberry Winters

    It's after ten p.m. and I'm thinking about going to bed. My son tells me that he prepares to go to bed by thinking about sleeping and how good the bed is going to feel and just in general gets his head around the act of sleeping before actually getting into the bed. He is, he says, asleep as his head hits the pillow. I'm not sure if his father prepares himself the same way, I just know that by the time I am ready to start thinking about going to bed, he is already way ahead of me, sound asleep. While I am lying cocooned with my blankets and pillows, I do wind work. That is what my grandmother, Ms. Nancy Douglas, known by us as Mammy, called it. Wind work. Wind, as in that unseen entity (only seen if it contains leaves, sands or fluttering birds in its thrall). Work, the thing our hands and minds do when they can't be still. Why I've built patios and retaining walls with my wind work as I lie abed, waiting on the quieting of my spirit to allow me to sleep. I've designed gardens and planted bulbs, I've outlined complete areas ready for planting and envisioned the pruning of the trees.  I have written the Great American Novel, revised it, spell checked it and retitled it.  This is wind work.  Pretty soon I am relaxed enough to allow my body to slip into that healing coma of sleep and prepare me for another day of joy in the garden.

     Last April I had some pretty serious surgery on my left foot called a Pantalar Fusion.  I had to keep my foot  and leg elevated by laying flat on my back for the first three months.  No weight was allowed on it til October.  It was a miserable summer.  With Mac having to wait on me hand and foot (pun intended) he had no time for my flower beds.  He did work that garden pretty though.  So this spring finds me reclaiming my flower beds, clearing the patio and planting...and this is not wind work,this is back breaking manual labor.  I am loving every second of it, though.  The Iris are blooming, thanks to my weeding and loosening of the soil around them.  They were nearly to deep to bloom until I pulled a lot of the surrounding soil from around the tubar.

.  The beautiful sweet faced pansy has always been a favorite of mine and I plant them with the ever fierce Snapdragon.  They complement each other so well.  Our friends Billy Eddins and Letha Moore were over a couple of Saturday's ago and Billy mentioned that we were having a Blackberry winter.  I remember hearing this as a child...it means a cold snap while the blackberries are blooming...and are they ever blooming!  The temperature that morning was a brisk 41 degrees.  In other words, cold!  The roses have enjoyed the longer than usual Spring...as have I.  

     Well, I think I might be ready to go to bed now.  Wind work is calling...lets see what visions I can call up.

Button Can Memories

It has been a rainy week for us here in Chesterfield County, and we needed every drop of it.  See God, not one complaint out of me.  I always fear that if I sing the old "rain rain go away" song, it will do precisely that.  l thought about the rainy days of yesterday and how we spent the time stuck inside.  There were only  three channels back then children, and just like today when we have over a hundred channels, there was nothing on.  My grandmother Nancy Douglas was a teacher til the day she walked over to the other side.  She had lessons to teach us all and most of my memories of her involve a lesson she taught us.
Rainy days in the summer involved teaching us patience.   I know that most of you had experience with a button can.  Mammy's button can had place of pride on the bottom shelf of the right hand side of the pantry.  (It was a large Prince Albert can, not the smaller hand held can ,for easy cigarette rolling.)  Buttons were expensive items then as they are now.  Worn out clothes had many uses.  The brightest of the material went into separate rag bags for quilting and rug making, the faded and threadbare into the bag for cleaning rags.  The buttons went into the can.  This was true recycling before it became the chic thing to do.  So on rainy days, Mammy would take down the button can and dump the whole thing onto a sheet spread out on the handmade rag rug in the middle of the dining room floor.  We would be given large safety pins and allowed (?) to sort through the buttons and match them up.  We put our matched up buttons onto the safety pins and laid them aside.  There would be some amazing buttons in that collection, filled with  beauty and mystery.  Where had all these buttons come from in the beginning?  What stories could they tell?  We often exclaimed in true joy when we came across one that was too beautiful for words.  Hard for the youth of today to understand the call of a button.  I wonder what their button can memory will be when they hit their 60's?

Being Brought To You By the Letter "A"

I have always prided myself on my ability to type.  Typing  85 cwpm is pretty good, and I have done that with no problems.  That is 85 correct words per minute for those who never had the pleasure of taking a typing class.  Typing class was always my favorite class.  My favorite birthday present was my first Underwood Portable typewriter.  I learned how to clean the keys, change the ribbon, use carbon paper correctly...I loved my little typewriter.  Of course, now it is called Keyboarding rather than typing.  I remember the first keyboard to my first computer.  I used it so much that I wore the letters off the keys. Mac was going to do a bit of maintenance on my computer and he noticed that where once letters had been on most of the keys (q, z, and u were still mostly there) there were only smudges.  He asked me how I knew which letters were which.   I explained that after we had learned the home row keys in Mrs. Campbell's typing class we had to cover the keys with little caps that totally hid the letters.  It was so that you could look at the work you intended to type without looking at the keys on the typewriter.  I don't know if the piano lessons I had taken since 4th grade had helped, but I suspect it did.  You could not read music and look at the keys of the piano at the same time, so it was the same theory.  My fingers still fly over the keyboard these days, despite arthritis, and I still wear the paint off the keyboard.  Mac, who uses the old standby "hunt and peck" two finger method, doesn't quite understand it. 

The other day as I was typing my article, the letter A came completely off the board. I couldn't believe it at first, it hit me right in the middle of a paragraph that something was wrong...I happened to look down to where once there was a small square piece of plastic with the remains of the letter A,  to see a little white nub staring back at me.    It only took me a few minutes to find the errant piece of plastic and I worked for over an hour trying to get it to stay on point.  No luck.  I thought about glue but was afraid that I would ruin the function, so decided against it.  So here I sit, typing yet another article wondering how often  the letter A could become a problem?  Looking over this piece of work I see that the Letter A could become a thorn in my side if not a pain in my little finger, left hand.

twas a bridge that was nearly our undoing

Just when you think it is safe to go home...yet another doctor is added to our list of been there done that's.  This bucket list from hell is beginning to get on my last nerve, but we trudge on like the troopers we have become.  Our latest arrow in the quiver is Dr Wharton of MUSC in Charleston.  Dr Grainger had managed to get us in to see him in an amazingly short time.  The waiting list is usually over six months. We're told that  Dr Wharton is the best there is where the procedure known as an Ablation is concerned, in fact teaching the procedure to surgeons all over the East Coast.  Mac's problem with AFib (or Atrial Fibrillation) is no better than it has ever been, indeed it is worse.  He has been in AFib for nearly 97% of the time since January 8th (this according to the recently implanted Pace Maker).  So off we headed to Charleston last week. 

I had taken the address provided by MUSC and put it into the Tom Tom as soon as I had the information.  Since we planned to leave at 5 am, I left nothing to chance.  The letter from MUSC giving directions and appointment time had rested in the bottom of my purse for over a week, a small bag which held his medicine was hanging on the front door so we couldn't miss it and the phones were charged, ready to go.

Tuesday morning we managed to get out the door by 6 am, just an hour later than planned, but according to Tom Tom it would only take 2 hours and 28 minutes to get there, so we were confident that we would arrive in plenty of time for the 10:30 am appointment.  I listened to Nell (Tom Tom's voice avatar) as she guided us confidently down the highways and for the first time did not lead us off onto the unbeaten path we would discover was the wrong way a few miles down the road.   While part of me wonders how any of us ever managed to get from point A to point B without these GPS systems, I was still suspicious of their actual  intentions.  I did not trust Nell to get us there without some complication.  Call it my natural skepticism, call it what you may, but I just did not trust her.  I have a suspicion that she drinks.

We were amazed when we hit the Charleston area at how homesick we felt.  The signs for the Naval Weapons Station, Remount Road, Goose Creek...it was like coming home.  But as we got closer to Charleston proper it was like a nightmare.  The interstate lanes  twined in and out and around and over and by now Nell was beginning to sound harried.  And that is when it happened.  I looked ahead of us and saw this monstrosity of a bridge looming ahead of us. Oh Dear God, (I was praying aloud) please don't LET THAT BE THE WAY!  And that's when it happened.  The little harpy living in the GPS said "stay left" and the next thing I knew we were headed into the jaws of hell and ascending rapidly towards what I was afraid would seal our doom.  Nell immediately tried to correct her mistake with shouts of "GO RIGHT GO RIGHT" and I was threatening to throw her little booty out the side window without further adieu.  Mac told me to calm down we would turn around after crossing the Arthur Ravenel Bridge...I guess I was shouting at Nell and at one point Mac said it sounded like Nell was shouting back.  It was a scenario Stephen King would have been proud of.  We finally got turned around and Nell took a long beat before getting us back on track.  We pulled onto Courtney Drive at exactly 8:45...I thought about the harrowing trip over that suspension bridge (both ways) and shuddered.  "There's a restaurant, pull in, " I told Mac..."I need a cup of coffee."  Glaring at Nell, I unplugged her and put her into her little carrying bag.  I'm sure she was glad to be back in its soft confines.  I'll bet the first thing she did was get roaring drunk. 

Discovery Place...Chesterfield County South Carolina

Mac and I have this new social life these days.  Our closest alliances now seem to be with our Doctors. I discovered that he had not seen his Primary Care Doc (Dr Ken Moyd) in several months.  Well, he had been sort of busy trying to stay alive with the help of Drs Grainger and Eddleson...and a good job of it they did.  So I made the appointment and off we went today.  I had put the address in the TomTom to see which was the shortest way to Society Hill.  It took us a way we had never been before.  When we got on #1 we went through Patrick.  Patrick doesn't get much attention as towns go, but its a lovely rather bucolic little town.  Just after we had turned onto the highway I saw a sign that read "Brown Cemetery".  (I think our county may have more family cemeteries than most.)  I recalled when we were children that on at least 4 Saturdays a summer my grandparents received a visit from Uncle Led Brown.  He walked and hitchhiked from Patrick to Chesterfield on 145 to Mammy and Daddy Dwight's.  I can see him walking up the dirt drive off highway 145, dressed in an old timey (even for that time period) suit, crisp white shirt with a campaign type hat clamped on his head.  You know I was nearly grown before I realized that Uncle Led was Uncle Ed ...it was that hat.  I identified him as if the hat were a lid or in our vernacular a led...so, Uncle Led. 

my grandparents...Daddy Dwight and Mammy

It didn't seem that anyone was particularly glad to see the old man, but he was always glad to see the entire family.  He would sit with a hot cup of coffee, pouring it from his cup into his saucer and sip at it gingerly, as though it might get away from him if he wasn't careful.  He would talk about a lot of nothing, just visiting and enjoying the fellowship, as he called it.  He would rave on about Mammy's biscuits (one of which he held in his bony old fingers, occasionally dipping it into the coffee left in the cup.)  He would  ask if mayhap she had fried any of Dwight's sausage for breakfast, and mayhap there was any left of that flavorful meat we were treated to on a Saturday.  He would sit soulful eyed, that old war hat rocking on his knee, giving Mammy the look.  You know the look...most old dogs perfect it by the age of 7.   Sighing deeply, she would look in the oven to see if there were any left over bits and pieces.and sure enough there would be cold scrambled egg and that sausage attributed to Daddy Dwight and it went just so well with that angel pillow of a biscuit.  That old man wasn't much to look at, but he had a way of getting things done to his advantage.  So today when we were traveling down to Society Hill via the sweet little town of Patrick, Uncle Led was once more on my mind.  I know where the Brown Family Cemetery is now.  I think one day soon I'll go look him up.  I wish I could offer him a cup of coffee and a biscuit.  Maybe I will just have a cup and a bite in his honor.  Cheers Uncle Led.  I always loved you.

Happy Birthday George W...father of our country

 When I was in my early teens, we had two distinct Presidential Holidays...there was Washington's  (February 22) and Lincoln's Birthday (February 12th).  The Government had not rallied around the White House to make Presidents Day all inclusive then, and the biggest day for Mama was not Valentines Day.  It was Washington's Birthday. (We happened to live in our Founding Father's city, Washington, DC.)  And the sales.  The Post would list the sales for the shops that mostly are no longer doing business in DC (or anywhere for that matter)...Lansburghs's, Garfinckels, Hechts (Hechts was on 7th and F St...oh how we loved Hechts!  And oh yes, there was Woodward and Lothrop...or Woodies to Mama.  We would camp out early on 7th Street to begin the day of bargain hunting.  She once got a sewing machine for ten dollars by being the first customer in line.  Back then people didn't try to knock you down getting through the door.  They acted more civilized for the most part.   We always hit Hechts first, then moved on to Lansburghs and Garfinkels...that is where Mama's mink stole came from and  I think she paid twenty five dollars for it.  After a few hours of shopping we would stop at the Hot Shoppe for burgers and fries and a fountain soda.  Our feet would be tired but our spirits would be high. 

We would manage to get home (we lived on Reservoir Road NW then) with all the packages in tact somehow.  Mama would go through her wonderful finds occasionally saying "why in the world did I buy this?"  One of us would say "it was on sale" and that question answered, she would continue her perusal.  Now when the sales go on for Presidents Day the tv ads are mostly disgusting.  They have impersonators dancing like lunatics to the most awful music they can dig up.  There is no dignified recreation of the photos of our dearly departed Mr Washington and Mr Lincoln.  I have no desire to go bargain hunting.  For one thing, you are apt to have to go looking for first aid due to the horrible manners of the rest of the bargain hunters.  But it is really the tv ads that are most offensive.  I'm sure that not only are the Presidents supposed to be represented frowning down from Heaven, that third face you see giving the famous Douglas glare is Mama.  She is not at all pleased.

the littlest angels

The littlest angels
I have told you before, I have a love/hate relationship with Face Book.  While I love keeping up with all that my friends are doing, and sharing all (well not all but a lot) that is going on in my life, there are some things in that place that can irritate the
life out of me and things that can break my heart.  The things that make me crazy are how some people can start an actual war in there over things that have absolutely no value in my or anyone else's life. Politics is politics as it were.  I know, that possibly
should read politics are politics, but pardon me, it reads better the other way.  Facebook was alive with political opinion and urging you to vote one way or another.  Now in actuality, I made up my mind with  little help from the media.  That includes Face Book.  But friendships were lost over the hateful tone of this last election.  I hope I am better than that, everyone has their own opinion on how things should be done, and that is as it should be.  It is our right.

The other thing is about heartbreak.  And of course the heartbreak comes from the plight of the animals we are subjected to on Face Book.  Okay, so maybe subjected to is a bit strong.  After all, I don't have to read about them.  But then, I do.  I admire the people who put these postings out there to let us know what is going on.  WhereHopeLives is one of my favorites, but I fight the urge to rush to the pound to save one more life.  I simply can't take in one more animal.   So, I have made up my mind to send money as often as I can to help them get these sweet things homes.  The one thing I notice about Where Hope Lives, is apparently it doesn't live for cats.  I never see any postings about getting cats a home.  Maybe they could change that, since Face Book is free and a lot of people are cat people, not dog people.  I'm just saying.\

But we have problems close to home, too.  My friend Lisa G Griggs was recently presented with five of the sweetest puppies  you have ever seen.  She was presented with them by a secret Santa who left them without permission, left no clue as to who mom was, how old they are...and why they didn't try to find homes for them themselves.  They simply depended on the good heart of a good hearted woman who is now desperately looking for homes for these littles angels...surely someone out there would be willing to take a look.  Maybe fall in love?  Maybe make the day of one small bundle who would repay you with adoration and love .  And remind us that dog spelled backwards is God.  If you'd like to get a look at them, contact me.  I'll hook you up!

So tell me, do I resemble a raccoon here?

It had been a whole week and there were no surprise hospital visits, no late calls to doctors in the night and I had made plans to have a day of shopping with Evil Sister in Columbia.  I was excited to be picking out an outfit that wasn't chosen for comfort in a hospital room.  No jeans and tees (heard about that one from my Dad who informed me quite bluntly that I was not dressed for the hospital...I had to remind him that I was quite literally living there for the time being and organdy dresses and laces were out of style, anyway.)  I carefully chose a nice blouse and suede slacks, picked out the matching shoes and laid everything out on the bed.  I had showered and washed my hair earlier and now had my makeup on the dressing table.  I was a very happy person and planned to meet sister Toni on the Fort while we there.
I still don't know what happened to the power...one minute we had lights and the next we didn't.  The weather was cloudy with a chance for rain but so far no rain or thunder, no lightening to speak of, so what was going on?  I called my neighbor to see if she had power and found that she didn't.  She was trying to find the number for Lynches River, so I stopped looking for the phone book.  Did I tell you it was cloudy?  Did I tell you that I had my makeup laid out on the dressing table?  Did I tell you that the house was dark as a dungeon???  I spent a while trying to find candles then gave that up to look for a flashlight.  I found the flashlight but the next twenty minutes were wasted on the battery hunt.  Expecting Jacqui (Evil Sister) any time I finally just gathered up my make up and went into the bathroom and attempted to "put on my face".  I stopped and started, wiped off and reapplied, found the mascara and after a dusting of eye shadow, tried to get the liner straight.  I heard Jacqui's car pull up and went into the living room to get Mac's opinion.  "So tell me, how closely do I resemble a raccoon?" I asked him (quite seriously).   "And remember that I just spent a month in a hospital room with you while you consider your answer."  "You look lovely, " he said....quite sincerely I thought.  Never let it be said that he isn't smart.
 

How I spent my Christmas Vacation

Okay, you all know Mac and how into his gardening he is, right? You know we're early risers and out and about checking on the collards, broccoli, cauliflower and cabbages. We even pulled a collard on Sunday and ate him right up with squash and field peas and cornbread. Unless you're from the South you probably don't know collards from succotash, but it's very similar to kale. Just better. So Mac planted these lovely plants from seed in August and babied and pampered them and we've watched them grow into these lovely huge leafy beasties. I was out there wandering amongst the beasties and choosing the one to "kill" for Thanksgiving. Mac, who is King of the garden, caught me fondling the large leafy beauty that was going to grace my cook pot. I had told him that since we'd had two frosts, I saw no reason to wait for Thanksgiving to have our first taste of heaven. I'd cook this lovely right up and we'd freeze what was left for Thanksgiving dinner. He fell for it hook line and garden shears.

Yesterday Mac did nothing of his normal routine. He got up early, sure. But he didn't go out to check the garden or the trees, he didn't shuck corn for the guinea hens. He said he didn't feel all that well and wrapped up in fleece blanket, lay back in his chair. I took his temperature, it was 97.4. He didn't have much of an appetite, in fact ate nothing all day, just nibbled. He had one cup of coffee and the rest of the day drank lemonade. I was concerned about him but whenever I asked how he was, he would only say that he felt some better. At 9:30 he announced he thought he would go to bed. At 10, I followed. At 2 a.m. I felt him get up and sit on the edge of the bed. I asked him if he was okay. He asked for his nitro spray and I got it for him. By 2:30 a.m. I had called 911 and gotten an ambulance on the way. When he had gotten up to get a drink, he collapsed into unconsciousness on the living room floor. I could not bring him around as hard as I tried. After 911 I called for my son Wallace to come help me. He finally came around but had no idea what had happened to him. Wallace let the squad members in and within a few minutes they were on the way to the hospital with him. Wallace, seeing I was in no shape to drive took over those duties. We made it to the ER seconds behind the ambulance. While on the road he had been given two medications to bring his heart rate down from the 200+ beats per minute. Having gotten him converted, he was awake and fully responsive by the time they let us back with him. But suddenly, while the nurse was checking his vitals, he went into a full blown seizure that I knew was serious because she lost her calm and began yelling "I need help in here guys, send me a Doctor stat". His face was grey, his eyes were wide open with pleading and his entire body was stretched out as if some unseen forces were trying to pull him apart. To say that Wallace and I were now in a state of panic is an understatement. I was begging God to help and telling Mac at the same time, we're here we're here.

Okay, this is where we were on November 18th, 2010. Funny, it doesn't seem to have been that long ago. I was sitting by his hospital bed after several harrowing hours in the ER and found I couldn't concentrate enough on anything but him. Wallace had brought me my laptop after he made a flying visit to the house to bring me clothes other than my night clothes. I sat in the world's most uncomfortable recliner, laptop in front of me and determined to make some sense of the past few hours. I failed miserably. He moved, I stopped. He groaned, I stopped. He called my name, I froze. So, putting the usually comforting laptop away and any idea of expressing my feelings about what was going on, I concentrated on his condition. The Cardiologist came in and expressed complete puzzlement over what might have occurred but offered any manner of tests that might offer an answer. By this time the children and grandchild and minister had arrived and Mac was converting to his John Wayne persona. "I'm fine, nothing going on here, I have work to get back to, leave me alone blah blah blah". The blah blah blah is where I quit listening to him and turned to the doctor and asked about the importance of having yet another catherazation even when he had passed a stress test with flying colors not three months previously. "If he were a family member of mine, he wouldn't leave here without it" pretty much sewed it up for me. Meanwhile, Mac was busy pulling the stitches out of my resolve. Finally I looked at the drawn faces around me, my older son in particular (he had been in the ER with me at the time of the unexplained seizure and near death experience, after all. "I need some help here, guys, " I demanded of them. Wallace looked at his father, his face pale his voice determined. "Dad, you don't understand, I thought we were watching you die." That did it. Mac simply laid back and gave in to our demands.

Where we stand now. The catherazion found a previously thought closed graft wide open and flowing blood like a champ. Why his heart rate went to over 200 we may never know, but he has had one episode of rapid heart rate since we returned home. He will have to wear a heart monitor for several weeks to keep track of any episodes we aren't aware of. The mystery may never be solved. But here's the thing...I have been hesitant to write of this episode because so many of my friends have experienced some devastating events that make mine pale in comparison. I have said so many prayers for them and their loved ones in the past few months, that I had put God on speed dial. I think in particular of Anya who recently lost a similar battle for her dear husband's life. I think I was suffering from survivor's guilt. I didn't want to share and yet I needed to share. I didn't want my friends who have been through such similar things and had a quite different outcome to think I was insensitive to their recent losses. But, here I am, 2011 and making another resolve to get out there and visit my friends and continue to keep on keeping on. After all, that's what life is all about, isn't it?

This is from 2011. Oddly enough we repeated this episode in 2012 almost verbatim. How I spent my Christmas vacation would be a good title. But now we have the (I pray) answer since they have implanted the pace maker. Mac says he feels better than he ever has before. Or at least better than he has in several years...bar the soreness from the incision. So here it is 2013, a new year a new attitude...but he is still John Wayne, fighting the inactivity, planning the garden for spring already. I guess I'll have to let him be who he is...he's who I married 44 years ago, after all. Guess I'll keep him.

McBride and the Ride

Most of you don't know this but Mac and I have spent most of December in one hospital or another,( first Baptist Hospital, for 10 days, then Carolina Pines for 7 days and now Richland Memorial 4 day and holding) Mac as the patient, me as the fierce protector. He has a heart condition called atrial fibrillation. It means his heart beats much faster at times than it should, causing him to feel light headed and faint. And here I thought that was just love. Seems living with me all these years may have earned him a medal after all (can you hear me Kenny?) So we thought we had it under control with medicine, when suddenly, the first of December , he went into full flutter and passed out for a few seconds. It so happened that I was on the phone with Carol, Dr Grainger's Nurse Practitioner at the exact time. She told me to call 911 and she would call Baptist Hospital and get him a room. The ambulance pulled up and Marty Horton stepped out. Marty has been a friend for years and just knowing that he and Steve were in control of the situation made me feel a huge relief. So, we spent 8 days in Baptist where he was prepared for a cardio conversion...his second one in as many weeks. The medicine he was on had to wash out before they started him on a new one to use with the conversion. This is where they use the paddles to shock your heart back into a normal sinus rhyme. It hadn't worked before and I wondered why they thought it might work this time, but they were hopeful. So, it shocked him into the correct rhythm and Dr Grainger told us we could go home on Wednesday. On Friday, same situation only I drove and we went to Carolina Pines where Dr Grainger has a practice, too. No shock this time, but more medicine changes. We stayed there until Tuesday. Mac no longer likes to ride with me. We always end up in a doctor's office or in the hospital. It's Thursday. We are languishing in Richland Memorial Hospital. We are hopeful of an ablation. But it will probably be more meds....I drove us here, the sun in my face all the way. We arrived with Mac a nervous wreck (a good passenger he is not) and I with a blinding headache. Everyone in the practice knows us by sight and name. We may go home Christmas Day. I am now telling everyone we are the new musical group and are on our Hospital Tour. He's McBride. I'm the Ride.

A Christmas Fantasy

How quickly the days slipped away. The decision to take a working vacation this early had not come easily. His wife had insisted. She harped on and on about how hard he had worked over the years and insisted that an early trip was an excellent idea. "You take Humphries with you, I can always contact him if anything comes up that needs your attention. You just have to take a break. Or a break is going to take you! And the funds need to be replenished. You may as well enjoy yourself as you take care of that piece of business." She was adamant that the "vacation" started soon. He almost became suspicious about her persistence but knew that she loved him, in fact adored him. She insisted that he go along with Humphries that she would occupy her time with the hobbies she had taken up. "In fact, I'll enjoy it more since I won't have you underfoot and demanding my attention." She smiled at him lovingly and he shrugged. "Okay, I'll get Humphries to make all the arrangements."

It was the climate difference that he always noticed most. The air was dry and warm. Warm, it was downright hot. He had immediately broken out what his wife called his "Hawaiian Look" wardrobe. The shorts did little to conceal his knobby knees and the shirt was just a canvas pulled taut over his belly. Before he had left home, he had gone to his bureau drawer and removed the flashy chip with the empty space where the name of the casino it chose to play at would go. He held it in his hand and casually flipped it skyward with the confidant air of a winner. Humphries, his diminutive traveling companion and bank keeper was dressed impeccably in a tailored pinstripe suit and highly polished Italian made shoes. He wrinkled his nose in the general direction of his boss. His boss looked at the expression on his face and said, "tacky is as tacky does, Humphries. Now be a good sport and stop casting aspersions on my outerwear." He picked up his golf hat, motioned for Humphries to take the briefcase lying on the end of the bed and they were off.

After they had arrived in Vegas, Nick and Humpries took some time to explore the various offerings of Vegas. Nick held the lucky chip in his hand and as they drove down Vegas Blvd, waited to see which would be the hotel of choice. The tingle began as they approached the Bellagio Casino and Hotel. "This is the one," Nick told Humphries. Humphries leaned forward and got the driver's attention. "We'll stop at the Bellagio, driver," he said.

"Yes, sir!" the driver answered, whipping into the hotel drive and pulling up to the front of the hotel. Like magic the Bellmen appeared out of nowhere and began to load Nick and Humphries bags onto the luggage trolley. "Follow me sirs, right this way," were tossed out as Nick paid the cabby, giving him a healthy tip in addition to the fare. "THANK YOU, SIR!" he called out to Nick's retreating back. "Nice Gentleman," he murmured, "nice Gentleman." He waved as he drove away to collect another fare.

Nick and Humphries approached the desk, deep in discussion. Humphries was still on about Nick's clothing, but Nick quickly pointed out that the shirt was silk the shorts linen and offered to let his young employee guess what it had cost. "The earth, I'm sure sir," smirked Humphries, " but it's not the cost, it's the appearance." Removing the expensive pair of sunglasses he had needed to block the burning rays of the sun from his eyes, Nick brushed him off as they arrived at check in. The clerk behind the desk was all smiles and very polite as he asked for the name the registration would be under. Nick still held on tight to his one chip, a smile teasing his lips.

"Snow, Nick Snow," he smiled to the clerk. The clerk glanced up and down the list of expected visitors on the computer screen. Looking up over the rim of his reading glasses, he spoke softly. "I'm sorry sir, I don't see your name registered here." The chip grew warm in Nick's hand. "Check again, son...it's there, " Nick replied. The clerk, eyes running down the list saw it immediately.

"I don't know how I missed it the first time, Sir. I do beg your pardon Mr. Snow. And I see you've been with us before, I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience." He began to ring the bell sharply, to get a bellman to take the luggage and guests to Nick's suite. Nick waved away any mention that he was upset and he and Humphries approached the elevator with the bellman.

The two bedroom suite was luxurious, no doubt. Not that Nick would be spending much time inside it. He intended to lie down and take a nap, call his wife Gloria and let her know that he had arrived and then grab a shower. He would dress for dinner and the nights play at the roulette wheel. He sat down on the side of the satin topped bed and took out his cell phone. It burbled twice and suddenly his beloved Gloria was on the line. "Hello Darling, " she trilled. "I see you arrived all in one piece. No problem with the flight?"
"No, Sweets, no problem at all. We have the conveyance parked and everything in hand. We'll be going down to dinner shortly and then after that, I'll be at play in the Casino." He took the chip and turned it over and saw the word "Bellagio" emblazoned on the front. He smiled. "Yes, playtime will start soon. I wish you would come with me sometime, they have some excellent shops."
She giggled sweetly. "What need have I of shops?" she said. "You behave and don't be to sharp with Humphries. I don't think he quite approves of your play clothes."
Nick laughed out loud and the room trembled. "I'll knock his socks off tonight, my dear. I've brought my tux." A warm glow enveloped Gloria Snow as she imagined her Nick in his tux...he was a totally different man in that suit. "Good night Darling...I'll be seeing you soon?" Nick, imagining her dressed in her flowing silk nightgown, whispered to her. "Sooner than you may expect my Angel. Keep the candle in the window."


Dinner was superb. Nick enjoyed the tender sweetness of the fillet Mignon, the avocado salad was pure heaven. Humphries had enjoyed Trout Almondine and a green salad and now they were both awaiting a dessert that they had never had. The description read "Try the chocolate raspberry Decadence, a flourless chocolate raspberry cake served on top of two Florentine cookies and filled with raspberry mousse. The dome-shaped cake is rich and fudgy, while the lattice cookies and fluffy raspberry mousse are gentle by comparison." Nick took a good healthy drink of water to cleanse his palate and leaning back in his chair, looked at Humphries. "What, no harsh words about my evening attire, Humphries?" Humphries, himself dressed in a smaller version of Nick's tux, had the good grace to blush. Looking at his employer, dressed in a very classy black tux, the cumberbund a deep rose yellow and the tie the same color, Humphries looked appropriately impressed.
"You look quite dashing, Sir. I'm sure Mrs. Snow would approve." Nick laughed to himself, and the look on his face was blatant, causing Humphries to flush red. "Ahemmm," he said, clearing his throat, "I believe dessert is arriving." Dessert had indeed arrived and lived up to the high praise on the menu. Not the simple fare of milk and cookies he had become accustomed to, it was pure heart attack on a plate. Finishing up, Humphries took care of the bill while Nick excused himself and started towards the Casino and the Roulette Wheel.


The chip was so hot it nearly burned Nick's hand. He place the chip on 20 red and stood back as the Croupier valued the chip at 1000 dollars. He watched in fascination as the ball went one way and the wheel the other. It began to slow and the ball landed in 10 black then hopped out, jumped around trying to find a stopping point and landed on 20 red. "Well done, Sir ," said the Croupier and he pushed a pile of chips in front of Nick. "Let it ride," said Nick softly.

As the earned chips piled up in front of him, Humphries would remove half the stacks and take them to the window to be cashed in. He had all the paper work he needed in the briefcase. In several hours, the play went on and the eyes in the sky were trying to figure out how the well dressed gentleman at the Roulette table was cheating. Nick had managed to amass over a half million dollars. He had attracted a crowd and people were muttering amongst themselves and wondering why the Man in Charge hadn't shut the table down. Finally, at one Million dollars, he did just that. Mr. Big wanted his people to talk to this wizard of the Roulette Wheel but when they turned to talk to him, they discovered that Nick Snow was no where to be found.

Nick tucked the now cooling chip into his breast pocket and then tucked the silk kerchief back in the pocket. Humphries had gone up to the room and packed their bags. He stood at the waiting taxi, door open and nodded to Nick as he stooped to get in the back seat. "All taken care of Mr. Snow, " Humphries smiled.
"Excellent, Humphries, excellent." He gave the cabby an address out near the airport and they were off. "How much did we make, Humphries?" Nick asked.
Well over a million, Sir. We're well in the black and there should be no problems with supply this year or the next. We've done well, and the orders are in and they only await our return."

The cabby pulled into an alleyway, let the two gentlemen out and was pleased with the hefty tip he had received. He tried hard not to stare at the little gentleman's ears. They had a Mr. Spock look, sharply pointed. Funny, he didn't remember them being that way when they had entered the cab. "Thank you sirs, this tip will come in handy, this time of year. I was wondering what I was going to do about my kids. Christmas seems to get tighter every year."
Nick cocked his head and smiled warmly at the driver. "Don't you worry, John. Their wishes will be taken into account. I can promise you that." For some reason John the cabby didn't wonder how the handsome older Gentleman had known his name. He thought he already knew. He turned back to the wheel and as he drove off heard the bells of a sleigh. And smiled

they never listen to their elders...

It was a few Tuesday's past and Sonny, the little Russian Blue kitten had an appointment for Wednesday morning with Dr. Taylor , our beloved Vet. He was going to have a little, well shall we say procedure? We hadn't yet broached the subject with him, I just planned to pick his little highness up and place him in the pet taxi without much ado. Placing the Pet Taxi to the side of the bookshelf, I left it open so that the cats could explore it's innards and figure out that there was nothing inside to hurt them. Pyewackit and Hound being the most recent passengers avoided that open door like the plague. They tried to warn Sonny and Cher, but they're kittens and they don't listen to their elders any more than any other teenager. They romped around inside it, chasing each other in and out of it and all the while the two adults just sat back and watched. They were cringing. I remembered when I had taken Pyewackit for the same procedure sixteen years ago. He talked to me all the way to Hartsville, we sang and laughed and he was Mama's boy and all was fine in his world.

On the trip home the next day, Pye presented me with his back. He did not speak. He did not sing. He was no longer Mama's boy...he was just angry. As I drove I talked to him, promised him shrimp when we got home, promised him it was going to be alright. He turned and hissed at me. He didn't speak to me for two weeks.

Hound, being a little lady, had a different procedure, but a procedure she did have. When we took her in, she was a sweet little baby who, having been raised by us before her eyes were even open, thought we were the biggest cats she had ever seen. She would curl up on my shoulder to sleep and purr like a proper princess. After her little op she changed gradually. She got bigger, not fat, just tall. She became very bossy and demanding. A few weeks ago Sonny got out by accident and spent all night under the porch. The next morning he showed up at the patio doors asking to be allowed back in. I opened the door and he ran to Hound who proceeded to beat him to within an inch of his life. She had not given him permission to stay out all night, and was asserting her authority over him.  She treats us much the same. 

So the next Thursday we went to pick up Sonny  and bring him home. He was so glad to see us, he purred and chattered all the way home. I was reading the post-op instructions about using paper litter etc. etc. I looked over at Mac and told him that I had just thought of something. "What?" he asked. "I hope Hound doesn't jump on him for having another overnighter." He laughed and said that when Hound saw him come out of the pet taxi, she would take pity on him. He was right.

When we got home, his sister Cher was all over him, asking where he had been and that she had been worried about him. She was giving him a good bath and Sonny was enjoying the attention. They were so glad to see each other. Cher pointed to Sonny and asked "what happened there?"  Hound rolled her eyes when Sonny, in mid bath stopped and stared at himself..."dunno, they were there when I left home." Since neither of them particularly cared that a change had indeed been accomplished, I felt good about Cher's little trip in two weeks time. I haven't told her about her appointment yet. It seems to work better when you keep it a secret.

The Wedding

October 28th dawned cool and clear.  We had been anticipating this wedding for months.  The Bride and Groom were so secretive about the details that I hesitated buying my dress till the last minute.  I am so glad that I did.  It seems that the children (tongue in cheek here) had decided to have a Halloween Wedding in Black and White.  The rehearsal party on the 27th was thrown open to all invited guests and turned into a Halloween Costume party.  All of the women in our family came dressed as witches.  Some would say it wasn't a far stretch.  The Groom (our son Wallace) was dressed as Frankenstein's Monster and the Bride (Sara Shiver) as Bride of the Monster.  There was Adam and Eve the Village People, Mitt and Ann Romney, and the Father of the Bride dressed in overalls and plaid shirt with a shotgun open with shells in plain sight lying on a table before
 him.  A lovely Egyptian Queen held court before aliens from Outer Space.  Food was generously served and an open bar insured no one went home thirsty (hey, I left sober, had only diet soda...honest.)
So the wedding day was frantic with hair styling and makeup partying for the ladies of the wedding party.  The gentlemen were being dressed in their tuxes and getting the prewedding jitters under control.  Finally at 5:30 I was allowed to dress, careful not to muss makeup or hair.  Since it was a black and white wedding (old black and white movies from the 20's played on the back wall of the reception room and the wedding cake mimicking an old Harold Lloyd movie) I had chosen a long black dress with a white seeded pearl and rhinestone jacket.  Talk about bling!  The wedding itself was lovely and the music was original.  Somewhere in the proceedings it was announced that the happy couple were having a Quaker wedding.  Hats off to all the guests who refrained from asking out loud in front of God and the chosen assembly which one of them was the Quaker.  The Grooms family looked at each other with looks like "say what???" and the Bride's family had much the same epression.  Taken aback.  I have heard it all my life.  Now I know what it means.

The Bride

The Bride and Groom

Mr and Mrs Wallace McBride

The Halloween Rehearsal Dinner Mother of the Groom, the Groom as Frankensteins Monster, Father of the Groom

Sara the Cake Bride

Rushing to the Wedding (the wedding cake)

 

Wallace the Cake Groom

 

 

After the wedding as we stood in the receiving line the question was on every one's lips and occasionally fell right off into the conversation.  One gentleman on the Bride's side said (and he really acted as if he wanted details of this thing ) "so, you're Quakers then?"  I looked him in the eye and told him that I was a hybrid Catholic/Baptist the father of the groom was a hybrid Methodist/Mormon (mutts we are)and was not really sure where the Quakers came into it.  We agreed it had been a lovely ceremony, what with every guest signing the Marriage Contract, in the Quaker tradition (something of which I had never heard.)  Later, while having the first dance with my son (as Sunrise Sunset played in the background) I asked him about the Quaker ceremony.  He laughed and told  me that they had wanted something different from the norm, hence the black and white wedding, the old movies on the back wall and the lovely Quaker traditional service.  Thanks to the minister and our own John Davis of Chesterfield it all came off without a hitch.  Here's to the Bride and Groom, Mr and Mrs Wallace and Sara McBride...here here!

Here as Frankenstein's Monster and the Bride of the Monster

McBride-Shiver
Sara Jean Shiver and Milton Wallace McBride Jr., were married Sunday, October 28, 2012, at 701 Whaley. The 6 p.m. ceremony was officiated by Rev. Robyn Garrison McMullen and John Davis. The reception immediately followed at the same location.
The bride is the daughter of Roy and Gerry Shiver of Columbia, S.C. She is the granddaughter of the late Joseph and Eugenia Doman of Pittsburgh, Pa. and the late William and Vera Shiver of Camilla, Ga. She graduated from Agnes Scott College in Decatur, Ga. with a BA degree in History and received her Masters Degree in Library and Information Sciences from the University of South Carolina. She is a Periodicals Librarian at the Richland County Public Library.
The Groom is the son of Milton and Sandra McBride of Jefferson, S.C. He is the grandson of the late Lewey and Evelyn McBride of Selma, AL and Michael A. Valverde, MD and the late Grace Valverde of Ruby, S.C. He graduated from Lander University and is a writer with the Fort Jackson Leader.
Judith Barnes and Dorothy Copeland, friends of the Bride, were matrons of honor. Bridesmaids were Rachel Thomason and Abigail Thames, friends of the bride, and Ashley Shiver, niece of the bride. Wade Shiver, cousin of the bride, also stood for the bride.
Mark Wood, friend of the groom, was best man. Groomsmen were Milton W. McBride Sr., father of the groom and John Davis, friend of the groom. The ushers were Jonathan Shiver and Jacob Shiver, nephews of the bride.
After a honeymoon in Eastern Europe, the couple will reside in Columbia, S.C.

Ooday ooya eekspay igpay attinlay?/first published in The Cheraw Chronicle

As most of you who read my articles and my blog "Holding Patterns" (http://www.sandimcbride.blogspot.com/) know, I grew up spending every summer with my grandparents.  It was our grandmother (Mammy) who taught us the fun stuff of life along with work ethics.  As a teacher she encouraged us to learn new things and practiced what she preached.  On stormy days when we kids were stuck inside the house, she taught us to make paper mache items and tents from chairs and sheets where we could sit inside reading or telling stories of adventure.  It was during just such a storm that she first introduced us to a new and exciting world of linguistics that is now a nearly lost art.  It is called Pig Latin. 
We were sitting around the kitchen table, having given up our chair tents for notebook paper and pencils.  I don't know why we loved that combo, but we did and often spent what little money we had on them.  Mammy was busy making iced tea and sudddenly  asked us (sister Toni and me) if we knew how to speak Pig Latin.  We told her no but our curiosity was piqued, and she promised to teach us.  We spent the next hour learning the trick of it then practicing the language.  The key to the whole thing lies in the title above.  Study how the first letter of the word is moved to the end as ood then then aye is added...do is now ooday.  The same with you...ooyae.  Now say speak...eekspay...and pig...igpay...now latin...attinlay.  Sort of like the riddle songs of the 60's, you now have a language to speak when you don't want your parents to know what you are saying.  Toni and I being quick studies were soon chatting away like no body's business.  We can still do it.
I remember when I took my kids to see the movie Goonies.  At some point during the movie the kids were speaking in pig latin and I started to laugh as I translated for my boys.  They looked at me in awe and demanded to be taught to speak this cool "new" language.  Thinking back to those days of their childhood  I find myself  longing for the time when I was the coolest mom in the theater...ouldnway ooyae?

The Anniversary Waltz

I met him in February of 1968, it was just before his 28th birthday. I had just turned 19. He was tall and handsome, he had an easy laugh and his eyes were alive with compassion. It was a blind date that could have turned out either way for both of us. My pal Pat had kept insisting that I met her beau's shipmate. When I finally gave in it turned out to be an adventure neither one of us would ever regret.
He was in MineLant at the time. Their motto was "Iron Men on Wooden Ships". That was not only a catchy motto, it was what the kids today would term "hot". He already had ten years in the Navy. I was still trying to find out who I was and what I wanted to be. If that sounds a bit "hippyish", remember, it was 1968. You do the math.
 
The 60's were turbulent times filled with excitement and misgivings, violence and great heroics.  Men were still going to war, even as today.  I knew the day would come when the ship would no longer be sitting port side.  And so it was.

The ship went to sea soon after we met and there was much exchanging of letters and dreams between us. On his return Stateside, we discovered that the attraction was still as strong. He proposed, I accepted. I can hardly believe that it was 44 years ago October 15. It seems like yesterday, but then I can hardly keep up with time the way it flies by. No marriage is perfect, I've heard it said. But ours has come pretty darned close. During our marriage we have traveled the world and seen the sites.  We reared our children to be bold and honest, with themselves and others.  All in all it has been a great success, wouldn't you agree?     So, to Mac...my beloved...I love you every bit as much as I did the night we married...no, that's wrong. I love you so much more for so many reasons it would take 44 more years to tell you exactly what they are.  So, Happy Anniversary....you still make me laugh and cry, so all in all it has been quite a dance.  Here's to another 44 years if you think you can handle it!