Words

      
This photograph from Town Square in Sugar Land, TX is the word "Hope" engraved into the granite surrounding a fountain containing a bronze of Steven F. Austin on his horse whose name was Hope.  It is a good name.  It is a powerful word.


When I write, I roll a word around in my mind as if I am tasting it. Reading a word, speaking a word, hearing a word, or writing a word can be as breathtaking as holding a lovely piece of glass to the light. I fell in love with poetry because I love tasting the words and looking at them through the light.

 I delighted in my baby's first word. The first word a child reads for himself brings a sense of accomplishment for him and encouragement from others. Of course, we find meaning as we begin to string words together in thoughts and sentences, and the words used in the craft of story telling are amazing tools, but a single word when considered alone can be a source of amazement.

My English teacher in high school loved the word “murmur.” A musical friend's favorite is “alleluia.” Author and world traveler Francis Mayes says that two of her favorite words are linked together: “departure” and “time”. Poet Molly Peacock says she first fell in love with the word “joy” because ithad a circle inside! I love the word "lullaby."  At the beginning of each year, I like to choose a word for that year's focus.  My word for 2014 is "Release."

  

Returned Mail.

I am updating my file for addresses which I use each year when I address Christmas cards.  This year I had several cards returned stamped  "No Forwarding Address" , but one of them came from an address that made me look online for further information.  There I found confirmation of my sad suspicion for the reason Charlotte and Paul were no longer living in their lovely home. Charlotte died last March.  My husband's elderly cousin, Paul, and his wife, Charlotte, lived many years in Water Valley, MS, where we visited them in 1998.   They were most gracious hosts and we loved hearing Paul's family stories.  At that time he was in his mid eighties, and still going in to his office every day. We enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken salad and tomato aspic and talked about the fact that in a few weeks, another couple with their names would be married: our son whose middle name is Paul and his fiance, Charlotte. They were delighted and upon discovering that Charlotte's little daughter from a previous marriage was also joining our family, Charlotte asked what grandmother name I would be called.  When I replied that at the present I was simply called by my given name, Mary Ann, she exclaimed, "Oh, no, that will never do. She needs a special name for you."  Then she told me her friend's name is Mary, and that her grandchildren call her Granmary.  That is how I came to have a name I now love.  Four beautiful granddaughters call me Granmary, and soon there will be a 5th little girl to call me that.  I have that charming Charlotte to thank for this pleasure!

 She was a true Steel Magnolia - a wife, mother, and quintessential southern lady who graduated from the University of Mississippi with a degree in education, taught and coached girls' basketball. After she married Paul, she managed his store during his military tour of duty. Charlotte, I salute you. And I don't need your forwarding address. I know where you are.

After Christmas Surprise!

I have always been slow to pack away the Christmas decorations for our home.  While I drive down the street and see some trees already stripped and hauled out for pickup a day or two after Christmas, and know that many people like to pack away decorations after the first day of the new year, I am known for lingering over the task.  It is not all because I move a little slower these days.  I simply enjoy savoring the last drop of twinkle lights and tinsel, and choose many years to leave out a manger scene for awhile.  This past week, as I stood in front of our mantle deciding whether to put our largest manger scene back in its box, I started laughing when I saw that Joseph had an extra staff!  I knew right away that Maddie had left me another surprise to find after she went back home. At 7, she delights in tucking a bow here, a flower there, and I delight in discovery!

Thank you, Maddie!

Beginning Again: for Nora

Beginning Again:   For Nora

2014:  The year of Nora!  In about 3 months, I will hold a new grandchild in my arms.  This baby will be our 4th birth grandchild, but the first baby for our youngest son and his wife of 5 years. I find myself more excited every day. Just as I did for our other granddaughters, I began a letter, or journal, for her as soon as her conception was announced.  This letter tells of our joy as we wait for her arrival, and chronicles family events as well as talking about how we look forward to sharing our family journey with her.  The difference in Nora's letter and ones I previously wrote is that this letter is in the form of a password protected blog!  The following excerpt is posted there on October 1, 2013, so this is written to Nora.

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 their daughters now.  When I knew our 2nd son was coming, I started something that would be “his” by knitting some wide lace intended to grace a receiving blanket. I was so busy taking care of a toddler and getting ready for another baby, the project was laid aside.    When Ben, your Daddy,  was on the way, I picked up the lace again and completed another 8 or 10  inches.  Now that we celebrate your approaching birth,  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 am keeping my eyes glued to the pattern and the knitting!

In the Bible, in Psalms, there are verses that talk about how well God knows you because He knit you together in your mother’s womb.  God knows you completely and best.  He loves you completely and best. He gave you to us to help us understand His love.  We are so blessed!

I pray for your growing strong and healthy in your body, but most of all I pray that you will love God and know that you belong to Him and that he loves you even more than I do.  Every day I pray for your Mother and Daddy and you.  Your family.

There is no question that I failed to knit lace for a blanket for son number two.  There is no question that I failed to provide Nora's Daddy with a blanket with lace knitted just for him.  But by beginning again, long ago failure has turned into the dearest project I have ever worked on.  I am not yet finished.  Unknitting?  Oh my, yes.  I don't knit the same way I did 40 years ago. That was discouraging.  The tension is much looser.  Unknit.  I dropped down a needle size.  Unknit.  Matching yarn was difficult. It won't look exactly the same as the first yard, no matter what I do. But it will be an example of things worth keeping and determination and new beginnings.  For Nora.

Celebration

Our sons and their wives gathered family and friends for a lovely celebration of our 50th wedding anniversary. We loved every minute of an evening full of hugs, fond memories, photographs from 50 years of adventure, good food, and gratitude overflowing.  Our friend Aija played violin music and our son Ben quoted this favorite Shakespeare sonnet.  We have so many reminders that we are surrounded by love!

 Sonnet 116           William Shakespeare


Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

     If this be error and upon me proved,

     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

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.