We Did Then, We Do Now

Old Roses

in the beginning your bouquets

came swathed in green tissue

long stemmed roses, crimson red

“I love you” in your neat writing

on the card tucked into green leaves

their beauty made me smile

they had no perfume

soon wilted and shattered

I kept the petals in a jar

one day we were charmed

by a found rose

one labeled antique

new leaves, old roots

the kind discovered

on old tumbling walls

where a house once stood

or an ancient cemetery fence

Sombreuil climbed high

on our red brick wall

snowy tissue petals

fragrance so sweet

that said “breathe”

roots tracing history

Maggie, known for fragrance

Mutabulis, for changing colors

Souvenir de la Malmaison flowered

over and over again

there have been others

all old-fashioned, graceful

strong, eager, determined to thrive

resisting decline

roses graced our table

dried into pot pourri

found their way into the kitchen

floating in rosy vinegar

how many roses have you brought

to me with morning coffee?

I carried a jar of roses and herbs

to your hospital room

Remember holding grandbabies

with a rose for them to smell?

Picture all the tiny tussie mussies

delivered in little girl hands.

we sit holding hands in the arbor

by the fish pond curtained

with clusters of pink roses

the rose named survivor,

alone growing again after

hurricane flood waters

we are survivors

our love a rooted rose

thriving against all odds

growing past calamity

winds of change, fear

pain, onslaught of time

blooming over and over

no need for fussy tending

resistant to failure

giving joy beyond ourselves

creating new life from roots

continuing our love story

old roses, deep roots

written for Joe, in our 50^th year of blooming.

To Mary Ann From Daddy

On December 18, John William Howard Teal, my father, was born to Thomas Jefferson (1877- 1958) and Ida Mayfield Teal (1870 -1958)  Ida must have considered her first child a gift for her own birthday on Christmas day a week later.  Three more children, another son and two daughters were quickly added to the family because Ida was in her late thirties when she married.  Times were hard for poor farmers, so Howard, his sisters Edna and Lela, and the youngest, a brother named Woodrow worked hard along with their parents on farms, one in an area called Mt. Enterprise in Cherokee county, finally settling in the community of Bullard, Smith County, Texas, where they farmed and had a small weathered clapboard house. I remember visiting my Teal grandparents.  Papa Teal, 7 years younger than Ida, was a round white haired man with a red face.  He was hard of hearing so he seemed very loud and gruff.  Ida was a tiny woman with white hair worn in a tight bun.

Daddy was loving and attentive to his parents, especially his mother, calling her "Mama."  Many people have told me he was one of the kindest men they every knew.  He was also kind and caring to our Mother and to my sister and me. He did have a temper but rarely lost it.  Since he only had a 7th grade education, he worked very hard to earn a living. He was working at Cameron's cafeteria in Tyler, TX when he and Mother married.  They both continued to work there for some time. During World War II, they moved to New Orleans, LA so he could work as a welder in the shipyards. After they came back to Texas, he worked in the Bon Ton Cafe in Jacksonville, and eventually owned a restaurant with his brother. Later he owned and operated the Bus Station Cafe across from the Liberty Hotel in Jacksonville.  My first job was in that cafe. I was twelve years old, and pleased to greet customers and take their orders.

Although they didn't live on the farm, my parents purchased land from my maternal grandparents where Daddy kept a small herd of cattle, had a garden with a fruit orchard and grew some crops.

Daddy made a profession of faith and was baptized in the cotton gin pond in Bullard before he and Mother married.  He was a faithful member of First Baptist Church in Jacksonville and rarely missed a church service where he could be found on the same pew two rows from the back every Sunday.  He loved his grandsons and they loved going with him to feed the cows.

I never doubted that he adored me and I adored him.  He was proud of my good grades and the fact that I went to college.  He has been dead for over thirty years but I still miss him.  It is part of Christmas for me to honor his birthday.  He was not big on gift giving, but every Christmas he put chocolate covered cherries under the Christmas tree for me from him.  Today, I bought a box of Queen Anne Chocolate Covered Cherries and put the unwrapped box under the tree with all the wrapped gifts.  Thank you, Daddy - you are still a gift to me.

Thank Heaven for Little Girls, and their Daddies

O

Christmastime is a time for reflection , remembering, and for savoring moments of love and tenderness.  I love watching my sons with their daughters.  I love watching my granddaughters with their Daddies. In this photo, Jordann has found a sweet safe place in Jeremy's arms.  Both of our two older sons have 2 daughters, and now our youngest son and his wife are expecting their own little girl.  When baby Nora arrives in the Spring, she will have a circle of girl cousins to welcome her and the adoring attention of her Mother, Grandparents, and Aunts and Uncles.  But I can hardly wait to see her Daddy hold her. 

Garden Gifts

Fall gardens on the South Texas Gulf Coast are sometimes even more productive than Spring plantings, but not this year.  Tomato plants are big and leafy, with only a few small green tomatoes.  Peppers are still growing, but barely.  A combination of unusual wet cool weather has all but stalled any further setting of blooms. My youngest granddaughters have just spent some time here, and prove that though the gathering may be small, the joy is large.  There are a number of reasons I choose to garden, and these grins are one of them.  These little girls have helped me in a number of ways, and I am thrilled to pass on the joy of harvest to them.  This week, as we have cut herbs and gathered peppers and chopped and cooked together, our Thanksgiving has been much more than a meal.  It is a celebration of the happiness of being together, working together, and gathering all the family around Grandma Terrell's old oak table.  The table is now mine, and I am now the grandmother, but I probably won't ever call it Granmary's table.  The girls, however, will, and I am glad. I am thankful for those who have gone before, and these who will go beyond.

Thinking Pink

My most delightful birthday gift last week was presented as an announcement: "It's a GIRL!"
Our youngest son and his wife are expecting the arrival of Nora Opal Parker on April 2, 2014.  The second part of the gift is her name.  Her name comes to her from two of her great grandmothers.  This is a sweet tribute to Opal, my mother, and I love it.  How she would have loved looking forward to this baby!
Thank you to Ben and Kristen for these gifts, and for our happy anticipation of holding and rocking baby Nora Opal.  The happy news was announced to family and friends when Kristen cut the cake she had baked and showed us it was pink!

Opal and Howard

My parents, Opal Auntionette Terrell Teal and John William Howard Teal, photographed on  July 2, 1943
They were married on December 27, 1931. This photograph was taken at the wedding of H.P. and Catherine Terrell.  H. P. was Opal's youngest brother.

November is a month when many focus on gratitude.  For several years, I have kept a daily gratitude journal to use as part of my morning meditation time.  I write down 5 things for which I am thankful.  Some are very small things - a bird at my kitchen window, the way morning light casts a lacy shadow on the wall, a phone call.  I say thank you, too,  for the biggest things in my every day:  God's faithfulness and love, for the way he is working in my family's life.  I give thanks for food and shelter and good hugs from Joe and our sons.  I am grateful for my daughters- in- law, and my granddaughters' laughter.

 I was born on November 14, 1940, so today is my birthday. I am grateful for my parents' life and love which began my life.  Thank you, God, for Opal and Howard Teal.  Thank you, Mother and Daddy, for loving each other and for loving me.  I never doubted for a moment that I was cherished.  Your faith and love and your hard work to provide good things for me continue to sustain me. You live on in me, in your grandsons, and in your great grandchildren.   You are part of everything I ever write down on my gratitude list.

While It Is Still October...

Photo taken at George Ranch Historical Park in Fort Bend County, Texas - just down the road from our house.

Autumn here on the South Texas Gulf Coast does not always have the range of vivid color experienced by areas with more intense seasonal change, but it displays a wonder of softening light and a whole new palette of green.  It is no surprise that poets choose to write about these days on the calendar.

 

I have long liked poetry, but I came to love it in the last few years, and began writing poetry again after years of sticking mostly to prose.  This year, I have found many poems featuring this lovely time of year, so I wanted to share a few with you before the month is gone.  Today is Halloween, October 31, so, while it is still October...

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, 1804 - 1864

Listen! the wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!
Humbert Wolfe

I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring...W. S. Merwin, "The Love of October"

Leaves rip from the trees 

still green as rain scuds

off the ocean in broad grey

scimitars of water hard

as granite pebbles flung

in my face.

Sometimes my days are torn

from the calendar,

hardly touched and gone,

like leaves too fresh

still to fall littering

sodden on the bricks.

But I have had them—

torrents of days. Who

am I to complain they

shorten? I used them

hard, wore them out

and down, grabbed

at what chance offered.

If I stand stripped

and bare, my bones

still shine like opals

where love rubbed sweetly,

hard, against them.

"October nor'easter" by Marge Piercy, from The Crooked Inheritance

Opal

                                                   Opal Antionette Terrell  in 1914

October 19, 2013

Tonight I am in Tyler, Texas – the city of my birth almost 73 years ago. As I stand looking out on the busy street below my hotel room window, I think of my mother and father and the small clinic where I was born. Tomorrow would have been Mother's 100^th birthday so we will go to visit her grave in a small cemetery in Bullard, Texas -  a small town south of here where both my maternal and paternal grandparents lived, and where Mother and Daddy met and were married, and where their remains lie, marked by a single piece of granite.  The cemetery is the burial place for many others of my relatives, and is a place I visit not out of obligation or of belief that I am visiting them, but as a sign of respect and a way of keeping our family story. A way of saying “I remember.”

Today is also a day that I gave birth to our second son, who was born only minutes before midnight the night before what was then my mother's 67th birthday. She came shortly after his birth and welcomed her newest grandchild and splendid birthday gift.  Birthing day and all his boyhood birthdays, these too, remembered.  

                                  Opal and her oldest brother, Vinnon Terrell  in  1914

                                         Opal, her oldest brother Vinnon, and younger brother, Travis

                                                            Opal Terrell

Crepes!

For my first ever Mother's Day in 1968, Joe bought a gift for me.  When I walked into the kitchen on that Sunday morning, there was our baby son, propped in his infant seat with a tall box beside him. It held an Osterizer blender, the first of several we have used and worn out over the years.  Part of the gift was a small booklet of recipes, which Joe used to choose a breakfast to make for me.  He made French Crepes with a rich orange sauce.  A few weeks ago, I told him I had been thinking about how good those crepes were, so he offered to make them for me again.  Here is the result!  These crepes have a delicious mixed berry sauce, but since then, he has once again made the orange sauce for crepes. He even made them for Jeremy and our granddaughters, Maddie and Jordann, when they were here last weekend.

He decided he wanted a new crepe pan, too, so I think I can look forward to being treated to breakfast again soon. With our 50th wedding anniversary coming soon, I am often asked how you stay married that long.  Treating each other with love and kindness is one of the ways.   I have often said that one of the ways I like to show friends and family they are special to me is by cooking good food for them.  This time I am the one feeling special!  Thank you, Joe!

How Did You Say That?

I grew up in East Texas with one sister, and Mother and Daddy owned a cafe, but it wasn't named after us. When I saw this,  I couldn't resist thinking about the way we talked, so here's to " putting a little south in your mouth"

In 1960,  I was traveling by train from Texas to California in order to work for several months for the Home Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention.  It was the first time I remember being noticed for the way I spoke.  I asked a conductor a simple question - "Can you please tell me the way to the dining car?" And he laughingly replied, adding "...and what part of Texas are you from, little lady?"  I was shocked because I didn't think I sounded different!  Yes, growing up in East Texas gave me a drawl that has only diminished a little in all the years of living away from there. But many East Texas influences on my language have stayed with me.  Whether you define unusual regional words and phrases as idioms, colloquialisms, vernacular, or just plain peculiar, sometimes they require explaining to someone "not from there."

There are a lot of words and phrases used differently from dictionary definitions that are common in East Texas.  I mean a whole bunch of them!  Just a few examples are:

Sorry - a particularly important Texas adjective meaning worthless, no-count, useless, bad. Enhanced inflection makes it more emphatic.

Place - an individual's farm or ranch.

 Swan – as in “I swan” - used instead of "I swear."

All worked up - in a state of aggravation, arousal of some type, in a state of deeply offended pride, offended sensibilities, 

Frog strangler, Gully washer as in “It came a frog strangler and a gully washer.”

This refers to a very heavy rain. 

Come hell or high water - shows determination to proceed, regardless of the problems or obstacles.

You done stopped preachin' and gone to meddlin'. - You're sticking your nose into my business. -

And other words that may not be in the dictionary at all:

Larrapin - a few fingers tastier than finger-lickin' good.

Over Yonder - a directional phrase meaning "over there."

Hissy fit, also called conniption fit - state of extreme agitation and not a pretty thing to see.

Downright  - very, very

Plum good -  delicious!

the cat that ate the canary -  a guilty countenance

I grew up with these admonitions:

Beauty is skin deep.

Pretty is as pretty does.

A penny saved is a penny earned.

Save a penny, save a pound.

Waste not, want not

You needn't get on your high horse! - Don't take offense.
You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.  - be sweet, not sour!

A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down - almost like saying the donkey needs a carrot!

He is walking in tall cotton.  - This can refer to someone who has "made it" -  and is "living high"

Use it up, wear it out.  Make it do, or do without.  This is kin to "waste not, want not."

If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right.  You get the message!

There are many more I could work on remembering. I think about what makes these rise to the surface of my mind so quickly. It is not the words or how crazy they sound or how they are put together.  It is the context in which I heard them, and the people who spoke them.  Today I smile, and am glad to add this to memories of those years.  Try a little south in your mouth!.  

Beginning Again

I have begun a knitting project, or shall I say begun to finish one I started over 40 years ago!  When I was pregnant with our first son, I finished a lovely cream colored knitted shawl in which we wrapped him for his trip home from the hospital.  Each of his two younger brothers also came home wrapped in the shawl, as have each of my granddaughters now.  But when I was pregnant with our 2nd son, I started something that would be "his" by knitting some wide lace intended to grace a receiving blanket.  Anyone who has been pregnant while running after a 2 year old will understand why that project barely got started.  When son #3 was on the way, I picked up the lace again and completed another 8 or 10  inches.  Now that son is 40 and expecting his own child and I have once again begun to knit on the lace.  It isn't easy getting started and striking my stride on a project that old, plus I had to order some yarn that is as close to the original as possible.  I hope I successfully complete it this time.  Arthritic fingers don't knit as nimbly! :)  I used to knit while I watched TV, but right now I am keeping my eyes glued to the pattern and the knitting!

Family Photographs

This picture wall is between our master bedroom and great room which also has our kitchen, so I walk through the area many times a day - from first thing in the early morning to last thing before I go to bed at night.  In the eight years we have lived in this house, I have rearranged the wall a number of times, particularly as new babies join our family circle.  Sometimes I stop to adjust a frame or touch a smiling face. Often, I stop, loving the connection with individuals and the gathering of all of us as family.  Those are the times I thank God for Joe and our sons and their wives and our grandchildren.  Through the ups and downs of our lives, we remain connected.  Sometimes I let my eyes travel from frame to frame, praying for daily strength and peace, fortitude in adversity, wisdom in plans, discernment for challenges, joy in new beginnings,   and overall that we will love God and each other well. Soon we will add another photograph.  Our family is growing.  I am blessed and grateful. Our story continues!

Four O'Clock

It is four o'clock in the afternoon on this Thursday, September 5, 2013.   I am not referring to the time of day in the title above but to the sweet old fashioned flower by that name.  I am remembering sticky, hot September afternoons many years ago when my sister and I sat on the swing in our screened front porch and made our own breeze as we pushed off with our feet to swing back and forth.  There was no air conditioning inside the house, so the shaded porch with its green painted wood floor and blue ceiling was as cool as we were going to get unless we ran through the sprinkler. I can hear the creaking of the chains which held the swing, the song of the Katydids in the Chinaberry tree, and see the shrubbery nestled up against the house on Sunset Street.  Sitting on the porch meant being close to the flowers.  Mother's flower beds held huge hydrangea bushes in the back yard, forsythia, Hawthorne, and a few rose bushes with annuals like Bachelor Buttons and Touch Me Nots and Old Maids in between.  But in front, just on the outside of the porch screens, Cape Jasmine and Four O'Clocks thrived. 

 I loved watching for Four O'Clock flowers to open in the evening air, knowing they would close by the next morning. I liked to pick the flowers, careful not to tear them at the base, and stack them in rows, making decorations and necklaces. I can smell their fragrance, light with a hint of vanilla, and feel the cool tissue papery petals.  They came in all colors - magenta, yellow, white, but the coral of the flower in this photo is the one I remember best. When they went to seed, the hard round black nubs were easy to collect and replant.  

I think the seeds of loving to garden were collected and planted while I was stacking the Four O'Clocks.

Sharing

After a day at work for Joe and a day of waiting for him to come home for Bella, they settle down in their favorite spot to stop and sit awhile.  Joe makes a fuss about whose chair it is and she turns around and wiggles a few times to find just the right way to view her world, but there is no question - it isn't his or hers, it is their chair. I wouldn't think of taking that place to sit! What furry friend shares your chair?

The Art of Making Lace by Tatting

Both my great grandmother, Ernestine M. Curley, and my grandmother, Mary Clyde Curley Terrell, kept samples of tatted and crocheted edgings and patterns for future reference, much as we keep printed patterns and directions today.  I do not remember my mother, Opal Terrell Teal, tatting, but she loved to embroider and crochet.  I have done my share of needlework through the years:  embroidery, cross stitch, crochet, and knitting but among my needlework supplies I count some of their handed down needles and patterns among my treasures.  In the first photograph, there are 4 of their edging patterns which I framed, among others.  The second row of lace above is tatted lace done by my great grandmother Ernestine.  The shuttle she used is shown in my hand in the photo below.

Tatting with a shuttle is the earliest method of creating tatted lace. A shuttle facilitates tatting by holding a length of wound thread and guiding it through loops to make the requisite knots. It is normally a metal or ivory pointed oval shape less than 3 inches long, but shuttles come in a variety of shapes and materials. Shuttles usually have a point or hook on one end to aid in making the lace. Antique shuttles and unique shuttles have become highly sought after by collectors — even those who do not tat.

To make the lace, the tatter wraps the thread around one hand and manipulates the shuttle with the other hand. No tools other than the thread, the hands, and the shuttle are used, though  a crochet hook may be necessary if the shuttle does not have a point or hook.netting and decorative ropework as sailors and fishermen would put together motifs for girlfriends and wives at home. Decorative ropework employed on ships includes techniques that show striking similarity with tatting.

Sewing instruction manual and sample, designed by Sister Mary Loretta Gately, as used in Sisters of Providence schools in the Pacific Northwest, 1908-1917
The Women's Museum, Dallas, Texas (special exhibit Women & Spirit: Catholic Sisters in America, 2009–2010)

Scattered Memories

I heard a loud crash early one morning last week and rushed to check on Joe, who was getting dressed.  Then I walked through the kitchen and front part of the house looking for damage.  One cat was sitting calmly on the back of a chair but the other cat hid for the rest of the morning.  I didn't have to guess which one had knocked a bowl of homemade pot potpourri onto our ceramic tile floor. Skye came to spend the day with me and as she helped me take this picture and sweep up the broken pottery and remains of dried herbs and flowers , we talked about the damage and how breaking something can make us sad.  She wanted to keep the broken pieces of the bowl and some of the dried rosebuds to put with her fairy garden supplies.  Then we swept the rest into the trash.

It was only after I looked at the photo that I thought more about why this dish of dried petals was special.
Every thing in the bowl was from our garden and had been added one at a time.  The tiny Katrina rose buds and petals from a fragrant Maggie rose and the yellow rose which clambers over an arch,  tawny, leathery Magnolias, lavender fronds, pieces of basil and rosemary, even a dried slice of Meyer lemon.  All were gathered and collected in a small hand thrown bowl fired in a speckled jade green glaze that I bought when we lived in Indonesia over 20 years ago. Some of the rose buds had been picked by little girls and proudly presented as a gift. Joe likes to bring me a flower or piece of herb when he comes in from the garden. It was a joint endeavor.

So I was sad, not for the things broken and scattered, but for that which they represented: the growing and choosing and gathering, the connection and love of my family. And once again, I know that I can let go of things, but that I keep the love.

Mignon and Mary Ann

                                                                  2013

Last week I had lunch with my friend Mignon.  We have been friends since 1947, which means 66
years of friendship! In the early years, we lived in the same town, Jacksonville, Texas - close enough to walk to each other's house for after school play or overnight.  We went to the same elementary school, West Side Elementary.  Between second grade and sixth grade, we had the same teachers, enjoyed playing with our pets and dolls, and even had our mothers make us matching outfits.  We "roasted" saltines over flashlights under the covers when I spent the night at her house.  We had twin baby dolls named Gwendolyn and Wendolyn and what seemed like an endless parade of kittens which sometimes got to wear the doll clothes. When Mignon's family moved to Houston during our 6th grade year, we began letter writing and occasional vists for a week or so in the summertime.  Mignon continued to live in Texas after college and marriage while I lived with my husband and family in Oklahoma, Oregon, California, and Texas as well as for some years in Indonesia.  Through all those years, we kept in touch with letters and infrequent visits, and now there is email!  There has never been a time we have been together that we don't just pick up where we left off, as only good friends can do.  As one friend remarked when I posted the above photo on FaceBook - "the smiles say it all!"

                                                                    1947

Gardens and Granddaughters

As you can see, Jordann is really getting into gardening these days.  She loves picking the tiny clusters of Wild Cherry tomatoes that have taken over the herb garden.  She and her sister, Maddie, also love popping a tomato in their mouths for tasting while they pick!  These plants have come up volunteer all over the garden this year, and although I have pulled up many of them as soon as they appear, there always seem to be more. The tomatoes are only half as big as most cherry tomatoes, and are great for tossing into a salad, but the plants are so sprawling and invasive they are crowding out everything else.  So, this weekend, I will be pulling them out and getting the raised bed ready for fall vegetable and herb planting.  This is clearly a lesson that applies to other parts of my life:  just because something is pretty,  interesting, fun and flourishing doesn't mean it is the right choice or the best time for me to let it continue to use up my time and energy.  I am always learning from my garden.    

When Jordann comes back to our house for another visit, she may notice the jungle of tomato vines is gone, replaced with something else that is good to eat and fun to harvest.  And I know that she will be just fine with that. As in the picture below, Maddie and she will take a basket and gather what grows in the present.  I learn that from my granddaughters - that loss and change do not always mean sorrow.  That new things are good, too. And that doing them together is the best of all.       

I love what my garden and my grandchildren teach me.

                                                        

July Birthday Boys

July is a month for celebrating.  The 4th of July cookouts and fireworks are barely finished when we finalize birthday plans for both my husband and our youngest son.  I remember when Joe turned 40 (no small accomplishment, since this year numbers 76, and there are more and more things that I do not remember!) The three boys and I made a big poster/birthday greeting that stated 40 wishes we had for him.  We also had Baskin Robbins make an ice cream cake in the shape of train cars inscribed "Keep on Chugging, You're Not Over the Hill Yet!"

This year, it is Ben's turn to celebrate turning 40!  How quickly these years have gone by, and what wonderful memories our family has of every single birthday. I remember his 2nd birthday party.  He wore striped overalls, a train engineer's cap, and had a train birthday cake. Is there a recurring theme here?  This week, the family has gathered for a meal and to light the candles again.

We will keep celebrating as Joe turns 76  in a week or so.  If I could only remember the 40 things we wished him in 1977, I would come up with 36 more!  But I do think we will have a train cake!

Celebrate Life!

Bella's Back!

Over two months ago, my post on this blog mentioned that one of our cats had disappeared, without a trace.  She was an indoor cat, never wanted to go outside, and as the weeks went by, we could only hope that she she had found a new home. But one night about 2 weeks ago, I thought I saw a black and white cat that looked like her on our front porch.  As soon as I opened the door, however, the cat vanished into the night. A few days after that, the gray and white cat, Angel, was on our back porch and when I went to the door to let her in, there was Bella.  I was sure it was her, but she dashed to the side yard and hid.  After an hour or so of a reverse sort of "cat and mouse,"  Joe coaxed her inside where she promptly needed to assert her territory by hissing and spitting at Angel, who by now must have been completely confused.  We had several days of War of the Cats, but as you can see, they are now peacefully claiming their share of Joe's chair.  I guess we will never know where Bella was for the two months she was missing, but sometimes she looks at me with those big golden eyes and I think for just a moment she is going to tell me!

July 4, 2013

Many years ago we had a 78 rpm recording by Senator Everett Dirksen titled Gallant Men which we enjoyed listening to with our small sons during patriotic holiday celebrations. The record won a Grammy award in 1968 for the Best Documentary Recording.  We lent the record and, most likely in one of our many moves, lost track of who had it.  There have been many 4ths of July, Memorial Days, and other commemorative occasions in the years since when Joe would remark or I would remember "that record, Gallant Men."  I was pleased to find the recording on YouTube this year.  Among several selections, this one is chosen for its audio quality, not to plug Capitol records. Senator Dirksen's deep gravely voice and sincerity still touch me as do the words.  It would be easy to become discouraged at the polarity and disagreements in our nation today, but we can still be most grateful for living in a country with freedom, and for the people now and through the years who give their lives in service to all of us.

When all is said and done, the real citadel of strength of any community is in the hearts and minds and desires of those who dwell there.
Everett Dirksen 

Texas Summer

Summer on the Texas Gulf Coast does not wait for the calendar to mark the solstice.  By late May and early June, we experience burning heat, sprinklers on the lawn,  homegrown tomatoes and hot peppers, katydids singing in the evenings, Crepe Myrtles and Chaste Trees blooming, suppers from the grill, iced tea, cold watermelon, bees buzzing around the basil.  The Touch Me Not seeds are popping, Morning Glories are purple delights, roses slowing down for a second breath, and there are a hundred shades of green. I may complain about being hot, but I love so many things that summer brings.

For Memorial  and Independence Day celebrations, we get the little flags back out to line the sidewalk, and celebrate  birthdays for Joe and Ben.  July brings a bumper crop of figs on our tree,  Vacation Bible School fun, plans with my granddaughters, and family outings.  It will get hotter, and we will watch the hurricane tracking news. We keep ceiling fans whirring and add a buzz fan or two for the back porch. I am thankful for cool evening breezes wafting scent of honeysuckle and cooling the flagstone paths in our garden.

 Summertime!

"Now summer is in flower and natures hum 
Is never silent round her sultry bloom 
Insects as small as dust are never done 
Wi' glittering dance and reeling in the sun 
And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee 

Are never weary of their melody
Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine
Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine
That lift athirst their slender throated flowers
Agape for dew falls and for honey showers
These round each bush in sweet disorder run
And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun."

- John Clare, "June"

Stained Glass

We have several pieces of stained glass hanging in the windows of our home. This is my favorite, because Joe made it many years ago.  I love the way light brings the designs in leaded glass to life, changing as the day progresses and light falls in different places.  I, love the glowing colors and flowing designs.  After many years of absence from the art of cutting glass, fitting lead or copper around sharp edges, and soldering pieces together in a beautiful puzzle assembly, Joe has decided to take up his soldering iron and work again.  I am looking forward to the pieces he will choose to create.  But most of all I look forward to the joy it brings him, the artist!

Nana's Doll

Nana's Doll           

When she was a little girl

 my mother was proud

of a doll whose smooth porcelain face

shone pinkly beneath her chestnut curls

twinkling blue eyes that went to sleep

 when Opal laid her down

Dressed in rosy dimity

dainty with a fine lace peplum

her bonnet matched

Modesty satisfied, her sheer skirt

 hid crochet- edged petticoats and pantaloons

Tiny socks and shoes, a precious

embroidered velvet pouch

on a chain to hang on her wrist.

When I was a little girl

the doll lay in what was left of her box

wrapped in an old white sheet

stored in Mother's quilt chest

I begged to see her, fascinated

 by her age and her outfits

oh, so many!

 handmade by Grandma Terrell

and Great Grandmother Curley,

my French great grandmother.

full length coat with buttons

made of blue twill and paneled -

soft pink rose patterned percale.

folded in neat stacks: print dresses, tucked bodices,

 gathered skirts, nightgowns, a cap and a blanket

all discolored by age and smoke

 from a family house fire.

Why didn't I ask her name?

When my granddaughters ask

to see the doll, they are intrigued

 with the story, awed

at how old she is

They feel sorry that she lives in a box

I am glad no one asks her name

but I am trying to follow instructions

written in flowing pencil script

on the tattered piece from her first box:

“Take Care of Her”     Santa Claus

  ~ Mary Ann Parker, written March 2013