MimiRock at Castle Yonder

Saying Goodbye While A Part Of Us Remains

2011-10-16T22:44:00.000-04:00

Only three more nights to stay at Castle Yonder. Wednesday, Oct. 19 I move to Abingdon and I am ready.

One of my last tasks was to scatter Rocky's ashes. He wanted half of them scattered over Castle Yonder, the house he built and the home he dearly loved.

So, today my friend, Jean, and my neighbor, Rudy, were present with me when I scattered Rock's ashes and read this little poem I wrote:

Soft winds blow,

Soft rains fall,

The peace you longed for

Covers all.

Silent rains fall,

Gentle breezes blow,

Ashes take root

Where wildflowers grow.

Deer and turkey, grouse and hare

Now one soul you all shall share,

Lightening flashes, thunder rolls,

Synergy of many souls.

Sleep in peace, my Dear One. Irmie

BLING AND OTHER SLING THINGS

2011-10-02T09:55:00.000-04:00

EVERY SLING NEEDS SOME BLING!

On August 29, I had an accident and broke my left shoulder. It was a clean break with no shattering so it was repaired surgically on September 6 with a rod and two pins. I had a few complications due to a drug interaction, some swelling on the brain which was treated swiftly with meds, and some short-lived respiratory failure following surgery which got me transported to the ICU. Fortunately, the problem had corrected itself by the time I got there, buy they kept me there that day anyhow.

I was in the main hospital for a few days, then moved to a rehab hospital for two weeks. I came home to Castle Yonder on September 23. Ive had 24-hour personal assistance since then since I have no family nearby to help me. I am healing nicely and receiving physical therapy from a health care agency.

I've been out on errands twice with my good friend, Molly Catron, driving and helping me. That's when I decided to dress up a bit with some BLING.

I AM A SURVIVOR!!!

The End Of A Chapter titled Castle Yonder 1984-2011

2011-08-23T00:21:00.000-04:00

As of this morning, Castle Yonder is no longer my property. I signed over the title at what is called in real-estate jargon, a "closing." Thanks to the generosity of the new owner, I can continue to live here until the end of October; however, I have scheduled my move to Abingdon the end of September.

I am excited about my new-to-me charming American cottage that I'll be moving into, but am so very sad about leaving Castle Yonder which Rocky put so much of himself into. He was an amazing woodworker and stone mason and did the giant fireplace that opened onto two levels on opposite sides. He built the bathroom vanities, laid the hardwood floors, and built bookcases and china cabinets. He built the log ceiling beams and the ceiling in between. He built two decks and a small and a large balcony. He used field stone to terrace planter beds so there would be no lawn to mow. He maintained and oversaw all this for close to 25 years, until 2004 when he got sick. What joy we had until then.

Unfortunately, after he died I could not manage and was way too lonely to spend winter wonderlands here in the silence. Now Castle Yonder is no longer mine, but I have about five weeks to breathe in the air and the memories. I have loads of photos and would like to show you below a few of my favorite ones.

Evolution Of A Kitchen

2011-08-12T01:43:00.000-04:00

Wow! It's been a month since I've written. That's because I've been running up and down I-81 from Castle Yonder to the Abingdon house which I've named Ruby Rose Cottage. The contractor and his helper have been working hard and accomplished much, namely, a wall knocked down, a new one built, a door taken out and a French door put in, a window and a pantry added, all sheet rocked and primed.

In other rooms, a door taken out in the back bedroom with another one put in allowed us to put in 5 1/2 foot walk-in closets in both bedrooms. The contractor just added chair rail to the foyer and library/office. He has now started work on a deck off the kitchen, and the new bathroom should be started next week.

Kitchen appliances are scheduled to be delivered on Tuesday, Aug. 16, so I thought it would be a good idea for me to post the evolution of the renovation up to this point. Later I'll post the finished rooms. I hope to move in by the end of September.

This picture shows the north wall of the kitchen when the house was staged for sale. On the back side of this wall was a back porch with four large screened windows. It was very narrow but served as the major back door entrance into the kitchen and the house.

Unfortunately, in order to utilize the space given over to the back porch, the old china cabinet had to be taken down. It had been very crudely made so the wood wasn't good enough to be re-used, but I did keep the two doors which has very old glass in them. I'm not sure how I will use them, but stained glass panels keep dancing in my head.

The back porch. Entering through a screen door, you had to walk down this narrow porch to get to the back door entry to the house. The porch wasn't wide enough to sit in and if you could have sat, you would be barely high enough to see out the windows.

The other end of back porch showing the screen door and four windows on the left built on a concrete block wall.

Picture on right shows the door that led from the kitchen out onto the back porch.

This door, the china cupboard, and the kitchen/porch wall had to come down in order to enlarge the space to make a functional modern kitchen.

Here's how it looks now waiting for the new stainless steel appliances to be delivered next week:

The new hardwood floor (not stained yet and covered with the carpenter's tools) used to be the back porch. An inner wall was built so insulation could be packed between it and the old concrete block half wall which is still there. Instead of four screen windows, there is now one easy-to-clean window which will be above the new sink. Two doors were taken out and the entrance to the kitchen and back side of the house will be through French doors where a lone tall window used to be.

On the other side of the room, a pantry and a closet for the washer/dryer combo replaces where the former refrigerator sat. And the new range and white cupboards will sit where the sink is in this picture.

It's all so exciting!

2011 Trip to DE and MD

2011-07-10T01:59:00.000-04:00

I had two reasons for this trip to Lewes, DE and Baltimore, MD. My good friend, Jean, asked me to go along with her to visit her sister over the 4th of July. Shortly after I accepted the invitation, I called Johns Hopkins Medical Center to make an appointment for a 2nd opinion about the spinal evaluation I had in Bristol last year. Surprisingly, their first date available was July 6, and that coincided with our trip beautifully.

Then Jean's son, Richard, decided to move to another city and in order to help him have a free week in which to move, Jean offered to take his daughter, Vivian, age 7, on the trip with us. So on July 1, we started off.

Here's a picture of Vivi having fun making faces in the back seat of the car.

And here we are driving across the Annapolis Bridge.

Below are our gracious hosts, B.J. and Mary Ann, who shared their beautiful contemporary house, complete with swimming pool, with us.

And three people cooling off at the deep end of the pool. The weather was horribly hot, in the 90's and very, very humid.

On July 2, we went to an outdoors music concert in Lewes. My friend, Jean, has her back to the camera talking to her sister, Mary Ann.

On Sunday Jean and I drove down to Ocean City, MD where Rocky and I used to live. The Boardwalk has spiffyed up, and the crowds are still there.

Here's the house where Rocky and I used to live. Originally, it was the 2nd floor of a house that was built on concrete blocks in the old Ocean City town district that was about to be torn down for a new bank building. Rocky bought it, removed it from its concrete blocks that was the first floor, and moved it over to the west side of Sinepuxent Bay, and added a large addition to it that was our living room and a wrap around deck. The people who have bought it now have added a second floor to it, torn down the L-shaped deck on this side and changed the entrance to the other side. I barely recognized it and wish I could have seen what they've done inside!

The day after the 4th, Jean and I drove to Baltimore where I had my appointment at Johns Hopkins the following day. That night we went to the famous Inner Harbor (shown below) where I ate Maryland blue crabs. They were the smallest crabs I'd ever had; the legs were too skinny and small to have any meat in them. The spice wasn't as hot as I'd remembered, either. But just as well since I was nervous about my appointment the following morning, and my tummy wasn't in optimal shape for spice and beer. (I drank only 1 Sprite and 1 beer with 7 small blue crabs. Jean declined to eat any.)

My doctor's appointment went well once I got in to see him. They have a very efficient process for seeing patients, they told me, but there was a snafu that affected me and caused my waiting time to be longer than it should have been.

But my frustration about that was short-lived when the doctor reassured me that there are alternative ways to try other than surgery and wrote me a prescription for epidural injections to be administered by an Orthopedist in Abingdon. Then I return to Baltimore in 3 months for one of their check-ups to see how I'm doing. Unfortunately, easing the lumbar pain isn't going to help my breathing difficulties. So I just have to wait and see whether a new general practioner will be able to help in that area. My family practice physician is retiring. She has been my doctor here in Bristol for 28 years, so that's caused an unexpected search for a new doctor. Since I'm moving to Abingdon, I'm hoping to find a good GP near my new home.

Overall, I'm glad I went to Johns Hopkins and saw Dr. Kabaish as he was straight forward, but did not predict a dire future as the Bristol doctor had done.

Unwanted Bedroom Partner

2011-06-19T00:47:00.000-04:00

   I'm sharing my bedroom with a flying squirrel! He/she came running into the bathroom at 5:00 a.m. when I was in there (ahem!)! He/she took one look at me, a human being, and made a couple of flying leaps, turned 180 degrees, and fast-glided out of the room only to confront a cat! Smudge startled out of her sleep pounced and must have stunned the flier because he/she lay still beside the closet door. "You got him, Smudge," I yelled, "Good job!"

   Smudge kept reaching out to see if he/she was ready to become a snack, and suddenly he/she moved. Smudge pounced again. I was watching all this from the bed where I lay feet up and protected with a duvet from a possible invasion by the flying squirrel. My heart was pounding, and I wanted to cover my head, but I couldn't quit watching.

   By now, I am seeing Smudge zigzagging between magazine holders, books, and computer cords tangled up on the floor. Lots of ruckus, and then...silence. Smudge assumed a cat-like position, of course, and looked puzzled glancing over her shoulder now and then to make sure she wasn't missing anything. She looked at me as if to say, "What flying squirrel?"

   From my vantage point, I'm sure Smudge has won the battle and that she is only waiting for the squirrel heart to stop beating so she can rip it out of that little rodent body. I don't especially want that to happen with squirrel parts scattered over and throughout my books and files. I carefully get up and approach the stuff on the floor, expecting something to pop up at any moment and surprise me, maybe run across my bare toes or up my leg. I see nothing. I look harder and gingerly reach out and move things around. Nothing.

   But I remember seeing him/her lying "dead" in the doorway corner to the closet! I decide he/she must have been only wounded and darted away into the closet to die. Now what do I do? Well, I couldn't sleep when I went back to bed, so I got up, made coffee, and sleepily moved through the morning.

   Wayne and his son came over after lunch to do some odd jobs and I asked them to take a look in the closet and see if they could find the flying squirrel who I was sure was dead by this time. When Wayne and Josh started moving things around guess who came running out? He/she did!
Apparently unwounded. Last night, he/she had been playing possum!

All the cats were outside on the deck watching frustratedly through the glass doors. He/she disappeared under my very large dresser! Wayne and Josh were no match for speed!

   I had to take a nap I was so tired from having only 5 hours sleep last night. I chose to nap in the guest bedroom. When I got up, I found my live trap and it now sits near the bottom of my dresser baited with Meow Mix. The cats are still out on the deck. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom again tonight and hope he/she gets hungry enough and the room gets dark enough that he/she can come out and enter the trap.

   This is the third time the flying squirrels have invaded our Castle Yonder house. They are attracted by the bird seed and suet on the family room deck. It's become so routine that I expect to find the little door on the suet feeder standing wide open. These little boogers have mechanical abilities, also.

   In our novice years in becoming partners with these unusual mammals, we suspected that a raccoon was the culprit in the Steal the Suet Caper. We didn't begin to figure it out until a flying squirrel got trapped in the guest bedroom, and we didn't realize we had an uninvited guest until our nose led us to it.

   The second time, I thought I was hallucinating several times as I caught glimpses of it climbing up onto my computer desk, catching sight of me, and disappearing and then in and out from under the family room sofa. Eventually it came into full sight, ran across the family room floor, up the fireplace, across the mantle, disappearing behind the top of a bookcase. The next morning, we found cornmeal on the floor as he/she chewed a hole in an extra bag I had stored on a high shelf in the pantry. That's when I bought the live trap and placed it high on the shelf baited with cornmeal.

   And now, this time I think he/she came in through opened doors and windows without screens last week when my air conditioner ran out of freon and the outside temps went into the '90's. I'd cool the house off when the temps lowered to the '60's by opening the doors at night, and night is when these little "gliders" come out to eat, exercise, and socialize.

   In the Appalachias, this species of a squirrel could be "Northern" or "Southern." I'm not sure what the difference is, but since this year is the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War, it seems most appropriate.

   I'll let you know when this little booger gets relocated.

Abe, 2000-2011

2011-05-21T00:00:00.000-04:00

This was a sad day! One of my two Springer Spaniels, the male Abe, died this morning. For six months I knew he had a liver disease, probably Cushings, and that his time was limited since there is no good treatment. He was 10 1/2 years old. His litter mate, Bonnie, is in good health for which I'm thankful. Here are some of my favorite pictures. He certainly will be missed!

May 11 - It's Been One Year

2011-05-11T16:50:00.000-04:00

   It's been one year since Rocky died. My grief has been slow and I've felt worse somedays than others. I have found solace in sharing my thoughts and feelings with my friends. I'm not one for public show except when telling stories.
   I do not consider myself a poet. I do not think poetically with every thought. However, I do appreciate metaphors, imagery, and other forms of speech that makes up a poet's vocabulary. Occasionally I am overcome with emotional thought and lines of a poem come up for me. That's what happened with the following poem.
   On December 10, I had the phrases, the "gist," and the ending. But I knew it needed to simmer and I didn't want to publish it until the anniversary of Rocky's death. It simmered until today when I opened it up in the word processor. By now, it easily assumed a poetic form, and some new words make it stronger, in my opinion.
   Here it is, in honor of Reginald B. Rockwell, my beloved Rocky:

The Music Dies Away

The Hospice room has been full of Rachmaninov,

Music from that foreign land and long ago time,

Well-loved by my mate throughout his eighty years,

Always playing in the background,

As he toiled and played and loved me,

His body moving to the rhythm of a concerto

With the look of an eighteen-year old,

Our bodies touched and our damp hair mingled,

Sometimes I could tell he'd become the melody,

The notes, the staff, the harmony,

Sometimes he'd wave his fists into the air to conduct

the energy,

And the concerto became the foreground, the background,

And all of it became the All Of It,

My love's energy unites with the music now,

The CD woos his worn-out heart,

Caresses his medicated mind, calms his slowed breaths,

He slowly drifts along with the fading life's flow,

The end of the last Track is here,

The Bose turns itself off,

The power of a vibrant creator hangs in the air,

The room becomes still as the beautiful music

.....dies away

Rocky at age 18 playing his beloved music.

Dialogue In Line At the Post Office

2011-05-02T19:27:00.000-04:00

USAMA BIN LADIN IS DEAD

LONG LIVE AMERICA!

I take the 10 commandments seriously so I feel a twinge of guilt as I, along with the rest of the United States, celebrate Usama Bin Ladin's violent demise yesterday. But the twinge is easily swished away by the pride I feel that the USA could perform such a difficult job in less than an hour without the deaths of many civilians.

I heard the news late last night and tuned to CNN so I could stay abreast of what was happening. What a wonderful sight I saw as people, mostly young adults, gathered in front of the White House to cheer and wave flags and then actually begin to sing our impossibly-difficult-to-sing National Anthem. There was no hint of this news in advance for public relations people to take advantage of, so I believe these wonderful displays of patriotism arose spontaneously.

I had another surge of pride this morning as I tuned into Morning Joe and saw a clip of students at The Ohio State University jumping into the campus pond to celebrate. I also saw crowds in Times Square but the OSU students made me smile and my chest puff out since that university is my alma mater.

I thought you might find interesting the following dialogue I had this afternoon while standing in line at the Bristol post office:

Old Gent (my age) ahead of me called over to one of the PO clerks who was actually busy with another customer: "Hey, have you got the stamp yet of Obama with the hole in his eye?"

PO Clerk: No, he has to be dead 10 years before you can get your picture on a stamp.

Me, totally confused and bursting with curiousity as to why this gent would think there was a picture of Obama with a hole in his eye. Addressing my question to him: What did you say? A hole in his eye--on a stamp?

Old Gent: Oh, he was killed last night. They shot him in the head, right through the eye.

Me: Oh, you're talking about Bin Ladin.

OG: Yeah. Osama Bin Ladin.

Me: (quietly) You said Obama.

OG: Did I? I probably did. As far as I'm concerned, they're both the same.

Me: (shocked) Oh, no, come on now.

OG: Yeah, What's so good about him? I didn't vote for him.

Me: (I lost it here and my memory of exactly what was said is gone. I'll make it up the best I can recall.) Well, I did. He's done a good job.

OG: Well, who killed him? Who actually fired the shot?

Me: Navy Seals is what I heard.

OG: How do you know they even got Bin Ladin? That's just what they're telling us. Why did they drop him into the sea?

Me: They didn't want a place where his followers could erect a monument to him.

OG: That's what they say. That's what they tell us. They don't tell us the truth. How do we know it's him?

Me: They've got his DNA. (Blank look from OG) And lots of pictures.

OG: Well, they can be faked.

Me: Oh, you are cynical.

OG: You can't believe 'em.

Me: I believe 'em.

OG: Why?

Me: You have to have some hope. If you don't have hope, you'll get too depressed.

OG: Well, then why didn't he show us his birth certificate?

I breathed a sigh of frustration and relief when the OG moved to the head of the line and the PO clerk called, "Next."

This is why politicians have to spend so much money--to speak louder and more convincingly to overcome stubbornness, cynicism, and ignorance

Elder Spirit Tour

2011-05-02T09:25:00.000-04:00

Bittersweet News--A New Chapter Begins

2011-05-01T22:00:00.001-04:00

A new chapter will soon be starting in my life Today, I was notified I have been accepted as a member of the ElderSpirit Trail View community in Abingdon, pictured above, and placed on the waiting list to buy one of the homes.

I am very excited. No one knows how long it will take for a home to become available. My plan is to consult a real estate agent to find out what I need to do regarding updating and redecorating Castle Yonder to prepare it for sale. Also, there's going to be some major downsizing that has to be done.

Thinking about moving to this community is bittersweet for me. Leaving Castle Yonder, the unique home in the mountains I've known for 27 years, is so sad. I won't be able to take any of it with me except lots of memories, photographs and a few daylily roots.

But the thought of moving to ElderSpirit is absolutely rejuvenating for me. My life has been like a book, divided into chapters, and I am now ready to conclude the Castle Yonder chapter. I don't know what awaits me, but I've always been a good mover and have adapted to geographic change well in my past.

What I love about ES is that its mission is to sponsor a participatory community of aging adults who accept the values of tolerance, cooperation, and governance by residents through compromise and conciliation. They also encourage a later life journey in spirituality. Many religions are represented among the members and the Spirit House is scheduled for various meetings for Buddhists, Quakers, Franciscans, and AA, among others. The community is designed to include all financial levels also.

ElderSpirit has three expectations of each member; one is to attend monthly general meetings; the second is to serve on one of the committees, of which there are many; and the third is to be on a cooking team which prepares a meal every nine weeks. I have visited there three times and now that I'm an off-site member, I'm looking forward to my next visit, the general meeting next Saturday morning.

I'll keep you all posted on future blogs as to progress toward beginning this new chapter.

April Showers Bring May Apples

2011-04-23T22:14:00.000-04:00

What do May Apples and Scotchmen have in common?

They both have something under their skirts!

Rosalie

2011-04-20T22:51:00.001-04:00

This is my niece Rosalie. I was six years old when she was born, the first child of my older sister, Velma. So we are close like sisters. She loved my mother and came to stay at our house as often as she could.

As adults, we both followed our own paths and had families, but always, always kept up with each other. I knew where there was a bedroom and a kitchen table when I went back "home" to visit family from one of the many states I lived in.

When Rocky got sick a few years back, Rosalie and her husband, Leslie, who live in Ohio, came a couple times a year to help us out. She and her daughter, Annette, came to visit and help last April less than a month before Rocky died. Then she and Leslie came again for Rocky's memorial service in May.

Last Friday they arrived again to visit and help me in my flower beds. They more than helped. They did most of the work, not only in the garden but some odd jobs in the house, and together we found time to cook.

It was delightful to be with one of my family in two of our favorite places, the garden and the kitchen.

Here's the words that came to me when they left to go home this morning.

Proust had it right when he remembered things past,

He must have had a rich family--rich in living, that is,

We are aging now, but rich in memory,

Rosalie has come to help me with my garden,

and we pat the coneflowers into the earth

and recall our child labors from the past,

We pull out weeds and speak of losses we've had,

We prune out dead branches and toss them
into the woods to transform,

And on the knees of our Levi's

we kneel and hope and plan,

And wear out our garden loving genes.

Mimi Rockwell

April 20, 2011

Mimi and Rosalie taking a break from weeding.

A New, Yet Old, Friend

2011-04-12T00:23:00.000-04:00

Photo taken by Taylor Bracher

We here at Castle Yonder have a special love for Grouse ever since one became friends with Rocky several years ago. He preceded Rocky in death by nine months as the result of an auto accident.

So we are all delighted that Grouse I evidently had a son who has now made himself known. (Well, my good friend, Jay, has spotted him a couple of times in the woods while on mushroom forays, but I, the Queen of Castle Yonder, had never seen him.)

But he allowed an audience as he posed for a picture this past Sunday. I imagine he had been flushed up into the trees because my good neighbor, Rudy, was chain sawing a tree that the Sat. night storm had pushed over and across the road.

Now our new, old, friend needs a name (as well as a mate!) Perhaps I'll call him Grousey II until someone comes up with something better.

I guess we could call him "Ruffie" or "Ruffles" since his specimen is called the Ruffed Grouse. They are noted by their sometimes elaborate displays of mating behavior, "drumming" the air by beating their wings rapidly. They also strut, raise their breasts upward, and spread special feathers on the head, neck, and tail. They strut their stuff; how could any gal resist?

Grouse are land birds who forage on the ground for seeds and insects. They can fly but they are not fast and seldom fly more than a few hundred feet. They can burst into flight from a sitting position when they feel the need to remove themselves to another location. This is called flushing and causes the heart to beat a little faster in any human observer who might be out for a walk.

Flushing is likely why Grousey II posed for the photo in a tree.

Mimi's 77th

2011-04-02T21:50:00.001-04:00

Jessica wearing her Grandad Rocky's cap

A Big April Fool

2011-04-02T17:01:00.000-04:00

Seventy-seven years ago, April 1st fell on a Sunday which just happened to be Easter that year. At 9:00 that evening, I came into the world. A mid-wife and my mother's best friend, Ardella Rahrig, was with my mother at our home in a small town in NE Indiana. My two sisters, Velma, age 16 and Vi, age 13 went to Ardella's house to take care of the younger children. The mid-wife, Annie Wessell, pretty much had me delivered when the community physician, Dr. Klinger, finally arrived. He finished the job. I was cleaned up, wrapped up, and laid beside my mother in her big iron bed.

When Vi and Velm heard they had a new little sister, they were very excited because they had been wanting a girl to play with. And play they did! They dressed me up, played with my hair, taught me nursery rhymes, and took me along with them to the ice cream shop, friends' homes, the drug store that had a soft drink counter, and more. They coaxed me into reciting poems and paraded me in front of visitors. In short, they taught me to love receiving attention and feel comfortable speaking in front of others.

The only problem I had was I never liked the name they gave me. I was named "Irma" after a female organist my parents liked to listen to on the radio, Irma Glenn. They added "Rose" which was after my mother, Rosa. She had been called "Rosie" all her life. They wanted me to use both names, "Irma Rose" and proceeded to call me that. "Go sit down by Irma Rose," they would tell my Alaskan Spitz puppy, and she would.

   Then I went to school. I noticed that all my classmates had only one name like Carol, Carolyn, Shirley, Sally, Pat, Donna. So I told my teacher to call me "Irma" only and drop the "Rose." My parents were upset; they wanted me called both names. Now as a clinical therapist, I think I did it as a step towards independence, a way of keeping my "self" separate from my mother. I didn't want the teachers to think that was my mother sitting in their first-grade classroom. Then someone called me "Wormy Irmie" and I realized I hated, hated, hated being called the single name"Irma" more than ever.

   So for over 40 years I lived with a name I detested! Why couldn't l I have been called "Bunny" or "April"? "Irma" sounds as German as sauerkraut. And we, as Americans in the 1940's, were at war with Germany! Admittedly, due to my Dad having been born in Germany, he was a citizen now. So that made me a second generation German immigrant; but I felt as American as apple pie!

   In middle age, when I was expecting my first grandchild, I was leafing through a book, Choose the Right Name For Your Baby, with my daughter-in-law who was eight months pregnant. Just for the heck of it, I turned to the definition for "Irma." "Irma," I read "means strength, power, regal, Queen." Wow, I thought, and my imagination began galloping across the northern European landscape. Maybe I had had an ancestor named "Irma" who was powerful, royal, a Queen. I could picture her in my mind--a female Viking with brass breast plate, a helmet with horns over two blond braids, a sword in one hand, and a battle ax in the other! Queen Irma the Wagnerian Visigoth!!!

   Then my daughter-in-law asked me what I wanted to be called by this new little person who was coming into the world. In truth, I was to become a step-grandmother and I thought the two biological grandmothers should have first choice. They had chosen, my daughter-in-law said. I began remembering that I had wanted to change my name for a long time. Here was my chance. I would choose a name that could be used in non-grandmotherly situations, too. I had just started storytelling and wanted to develop a persona with a different name from "Irma." I remembered I had recently heard a grandchild call her grandmother "Mimi" and I knew that Puccini had found it a fine name for his Bohemian heroine. Daughter-in-law liked it, and the decision was made.

   And that's how one of the biggest April fools made a wise decision, because "Mimi" fits me and has served me well both as a grandmother and a storyteller.

Irma Diederich performing a monolog (storytelling) in high school.

"Irma" performing a monolog (storytelling)in high school.

Carmen & Sam's Visit

2011-03-27T21:45:00.000-04:00

Sam Horne and Carmen Wren Beckett spent the last two days with me. They are University of Maryland students who live in Takoma Park, MD just NE of Washington. D.C. They plan to be married in August, and I'm excited to be planning to attend their wedding, which will be a Quaker service.

I've known Carmen since she was about two years old. She was a very independent little girl and had a mind of her own. Her mother wisely home-schooled her and she proved to be a natural learner with definite likes and dislikes. She and her parents moved away to Elkton MD when she was about 6 or so. But they continued to come for visits as Carmen's mother, Leslie, who I had met as a girlfriend of my son, Alan's, and I had grown to be very close friends. Leaving me very disappointed and Alan heart-broken (for awhile) Leslie married someone else, Spencer.

Eventually, Spencer became welcome at Castle Yonder too, and either or both parents would bring Carmen to visit. One of her favorite things to do was to go to the comic book store in downtown Bristol. She was a fan of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.

Mimi and Carmen, close friends already, at the comic book store.

On this most recent visit, Carmen said, "Why did my parents let me go out looking like that?" I thought she looked cute (and I still do). She's a young teenager here.

And then she discovered the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival and came several years in a row to attend it with me. I remember she loved Patrick Bell and Carmen Deedy. She's about 14-15 here. Before she left that year, she asked if I'd be her Grandmother.
So I now refer to her as my "foster granddaughter."

And here Carmen is on this visit. A sight for nostalgic eyes.

She is now 23 years old, is making wise career decisions, and still knows what she likes and dislikes.
Thankfully, she still likes me.

This weekend, we spent time knitting. Carmen is an amazing knitter. When I saw her web page, I said to myself, "I've been knitting for 50 years, and I can't knit like that!" Yesterday, she gave me a lesson in using a circular needle!

Sam is in his late 20's and will enter graduate school in the fall to get his teaching certification. He plans to teach Middle School and is passionate about history, especially the Civil War. With this generation, the computers come along on trips.

Friday, Sam and Carmen went on a hike while I made brownies. We ate out at a Japanese restaurant, then watched The Girl With The Dragon Tatoo on BlueRay. Note Sam's scarf above knitted by Carmen. She's an expert on sox, too!

Sat. we played the board game "Ticket To Europe," knitted, and ate at home with stuffed chicken breasts, creamed corn, biscuits, wine spritzers, all pulled from the freezer and frig since no one wanted to go to the grocery store. The best kind of meal for the cook!

And here we are this morning, Foster GrandMimi and Granddaughter, she in her traveling clothes and me still in my bathrobe. Big hugs and kisses and looking forward to a beautiful wedding on August 20.

Rocky's 81st Birthday

2011-03-06T19:33:00.000-05:00

Rocky's 81st birthday would have been March 4, last Saturday.

Here's a poem I wrote to remember and honor him.

Smile down on me from the moon beams,

Smile up at me from the Caribbean seas,

No matter where your spirit is

It's your smile that emergizes mine.

Smile up at me from the bloodroot, the coltsfoot, the may apple,

Smile down on me from the mist and the rainbow,

I feel your warmth and wit always

Hugging me around my shoulders

Like your old grey sweater

On a chilly day,

Smile down on me,

Smile up at me,

Smile at me across the land,

Smile at me from wherever you are,

So I can smile.

Mimi Rockwell

March 4, 2011

Review: SOUTH OF BROAD by Pat Conroy

2011-02-20T14:53:00.000-05:00

South of Broad by Pat Conroy held my attention although it wasn't that hard to put down and take a break. Full of characters, the primary one is the city of Charleston, South Carolina. It is lushly developed with Conroy's substantial vocabulary, and rarely does a place take on the character that Conroy's favorite city does.

The author chooses a clever way to develop his favorite character. The protagonist and narrator is a newspaperman who is writing his memoirs beginning with his life as a young teenaged newspaper boy. This gives Conroy the ability to describe the homes and characters along the newspaper route of Leo King, nicknamed "Toad."

It also provides more than a glimpse of the boy's mind as he recounts his traumatic experience of finding his idolized older brother's body drowned, suicidally self-mutilated, in their shared bathroom. Leo cannot deal with this tragedy and is admitted to a mental institution.

He continues to ruminate about the six other young people, new to Charleston, that he meets during his summer before starting high school. Along with three Charleston natives who have gotten into some minor drug trouble, they all become friends. Four of these are emotionally disturbed with lives that began in tragedy. None of these characters are developed fully to my satisfaction like Leo is. Conroy focuses more on their behaviors and victimization than on character. He tells the reader a lot about what they say and how they look, but little about what's going on in their emotional lives.

There is a tremendous amount of drama that happens over a period of 20 years, but all of it during high school, or mid-life. I wasn't even sure what the career was for one major character, Niles, who originally came from the North Carolina western mountains, until near the end when it was casually mentioned. The intense drama includes childhood sexual molestation, alcoholism, a murderous perverted father, exciting football games, a cold distant mother who is also the high school principal, a Hollywood star, a wayward wife, Hurricane Hugo, suicide, a perverted Catholic priest, and a search in San Francisco for one of the friends who is a lifelong effeminate homosexual dying of AIDS and kidnapped by a villain who is taking his welfare money. Whew!

There is just too much of one thing throughout this novel and not enough of another.

Everything is tied up in the denouement, however, although two of the glamourous friends have had tragic endings. Everyone else ends up with the spouse they began with. Except for Leo, our narrator. But even then, there is a small hint that there is a woman for him waiting in the wings.

The real story here is the relationship between a man and his city. I quote from one of the last pages when Leo, now a middle-aged man takes a bike ride along his old newspaper route, "I am riding hard through the most beautiful streets in America, my native city. I know I have to cure myself with Charleston. There is nothing that the Holy City cannot right...I ride past concealed gardens flush with morning glories, ligustrum, white oleanders, and lavender azaleas galore."

Yet, I read the entire book which is on the lengthy side. The lushness of the descriptions of Charleston was one thing I enjoyed, and the dialogue was another. I admired the structure. Overall, I couldn't help but think that Conroy was writing about himself. That would have been enough to satisfy me without adding so many tragic characters to create a literary overload in hopes of producing a best seller. You have so many fans, Mr. Conroy, that just your last name guarantees a best seller. I'm glad I read your book because now I can see Charleston with more appreciative eyes.

Happy Valentine's Day 2011

2011-02-13T14:09:00.000-05:00

This is my first Valentine's Day without Rocky. However, Mr. R. wasn't very sentimental about birthdays, let alone Valentine's or Mother's Day. That didn't mean I stopped nagging him, but I finally settled for gently reminding him, and then buying something for myself if he didn't come through, which was often. In our later years, he finally caught on and at least gave me a card, although sometimes they were typewritten notes from his word processor. They were always funny sweet, so I adored getting them.

I usually gave him something like a funny card or sour ball hard candy.

Last year was different. Valentine's Day was only one month before Rocky went into the hospital and he was having lots of down days. On Feb. 14, he felt good enough to drive the two miles to the dump where the trash man helped him empty his truck. He didn't come home immediately, but as I found out later, he had driven up to a small country florist a few miles away. He finally brought me six red roses for Valentine's Day which really touched my heart.

So, it isn't unusual for me to think about my Valentine's gift to myself, especially in the middle of a cold winter. I jumped the gun and bought it last week. A month before, I had admired it at the 606 State Street Gallery where our group told stories. Then I couldn't get it out of my mind, and decided I could afford it for a Valentine this year. Here it is:

The title is "Watch Out, Little Red." Look carefully and you'll see the shape of a wolf in the background. The artist is Elizabeth Scroggins of Bristol. It speaks to me because I live in the woods, I tell fairytales, and I love the color red. Also, as a widow I need to "watch out" too. After all, Little Red's Granny got swallowed up by the big, bad wolf. (Although somedays I say "Bring him on!)

Happy Valentine's Day to you all. And instead of moping around if you don't get a valentine, go buy or make one for yourself! Flowers, candy, costume jewelry, books of poetry are within most budgets. Be kind and love yourself!

Mimi

An Open Letter To My Family and Friends

2011-01-31T22:02:00.000-05:00

My daughter-in-law, Ann, is in the real estate business, so it was only natural that she became upset when she received an e-mail saying the Obama Health Care Plan contains a section saying that people selling their homes will have to pay an additional 3.8% real estate SALES tax. One quick click onto www.snopes.com showed that this tax will only be applied to certain wealthy people who sell their homes for at least $500,000, and then there are qualifications that this is connected to investments. Very complicated but definitely not applicable to ordinary middle-class sellers and in keeping with Obama's campaign speeches.

I noticed that she had sent this real-estate email to her children as well as her husband. These are my grandchildren and since I live 4 hours away and don't get to see them too often, I decided they need to know my simple philosophy of my relationship to my country's politics as I'm sure they're bombarded with Internet messages of all kinds. I want them to know what I have learned through my 76+ years.

Now I've decided I will let all my friends know where I stand. I am no economist and no public policy expert let alone a politician, so this is pretty simple advice.

Dear Ann, Jessica, and Christopher, Don't believe everything you read sent by a political party. Go to a website that is objective. I use www.snopes.com and www.fact.com

This thing about a 3.8% real estate tax is covered very well on snopes.com. If you're interested, read it.

If you are watching Fox commentaries on tv, switch once in awhile and watch MSNBC. If you're watching MSNBC, switch once in awhile and watch FOX. Then watch CNN; personally I find them the most objective of the 3 channels.

Politics can be fascinating, but in my 77 years, the ones BEHIND the one running for a political office are often very dishonest and will do anything to WIN. The playing of the game is what is important to them because they are trying to outwit the competition, and they lose sight of consequences. When you live in a democracy, you've got to be watchful, compassionate, and educated and then keep yourselves that way as you age. (I say "compassionate" because Jesus taught us to watch out for our brother, and his teachings have made up my personal ethics.)

The reason many politicians get so far is because they are charismatic. They may have speechwriters who are literally putting words in their mouths, then they make fantastic promises, and uneducated people respond just like they would to a celebrity. The common man (some educated, some ignoramuses) casts his vote and then has to abide by whatever becomes the law.

What it comes down to is that as long as we live in a representative government, someone has to take money from us (taxes) to build roads, schools, bridges, National Parks, the mail service, the Treasury jobs, dams, reservoirs, utilities, communication systems, etc. It seems like the Preamble to the Constitution which says make laws "for the general good of the people" causes most of the arguments. Is the Health Care Plan for the general good of the people? Is an educational system for the general good of the people? Are National Parks for the general good of the people? Is the Post Office for the general good of the people? Is an agency dedicated to helping people during and after a national disaster for the general good of the people? If the national disaster is in New Orleans, is it? If it's in North Dakota, is it? Is providing money to support college education for the general good of the people? Is providing money to support music programs for the general good of the people? Research for a cure for cancer? Alzheimers? Money for Dance programs? Sports? Olympics? Theater? Paintings? Storytelling?

The way you answer these questions places you on that continuum between Conservatism and Socialism--the right wing and the left wing, neither of them are all good or all evil. Conservatives want a minimum of government services, with a minimum amount of federal aid. They want the states to provide more and pay for it (which means American people may get some services in Virginia and very few services in Indiana). The Socialists want government to provide a lot of services and have departments to be in charge of them so there is uniformity across the country, but it creates a huge bureaucracy. (Bureaucracy means, however, lots of jobs for data processors, computer technicians,office managers, accountants, lawyers, window washers, teachers, mining administrators, Park rangers, pollution experts, water control experts, social workers, and foresters, as examples.

A helpful thing you can do for yourself is to figure out just what you believe. Do not copy whatever someone else thinks. Each one of us fits on the continuum in a different place and we all have a right to our own beliefs. No one is all good, and no one is all evil. Figure out what your ethics are (do you ascribe to courage, honesty, loyalty, abiding by the law, citizenship, friendship, trustworthiness etc.) Who or what do you value? Family? Children? Teenagers? The Elderly? Neighbors? Music? Education? The Handicapped? Sports? Nerds? Clubs? Community Service? Who or what are you willing to care for and nurture?

Well, your email about the real estate tax set all these thoughts off in me and I felt a need to share them with you. The United States of America needs thoughtful, educated, and compassionate citizens. Then our country, no matter whether it goes left or right, will be on the right track.

So remember, this advice and philosophy is coming from a woman who has been married three times, has given birth to three unique children, has lived 70 years with a physical handicap, grew up in a working class family, put herself through college after she had started a family, who was born during the Great Depression and lived through World War II, the Korean War, the Cold War, the Space Race, the Viet-Nam War, Desert Storm, the Iraqi War, and now the Afghan War, who got a graduate degree, became a clinical social worker in the mental health field, ran her own business, is personable, makes friends easily, loves her family of origin and her adopted family, tells good stories, and has taken care of innumerable cats and dogs throughout the years. I think I ought to know something, even though I am left of center on the continuum. Love, Mim

A Tribute To CHD

2011-01-17T22:19:00.000-05:00

   CHD are the initials for my Dad's name, Carl Henry Diederich. He was born on January 17, 1896 which would have been 115 years ago. My Dad died in 1982 at the age of almost 87.

   CHD, as he liked to sign his name, lived all his life in Garrett, Indiana--except for his first nine years. He was born in Mellonhagen, Germany in the Province of Mecklenburg. This Province is the farthest north and the farthest east of modern day Germany, right next to Poland. Its northern border is the Baltic Sea. When CHD was 9 years old in 1905 he came with his parents, three brothers and two sisters to America. Older relatives had already come and were leading financially rewarding lives working for the B&O Railroad in Indiana.

   Here is the earliest picture I have of my Dad. It is of his school in Mellonhagen dated 1902. He is in the light suit in middle of the the first row 3rd from the right and left. (I note the boy with the dog and wondered about why old world school masters are purported to be stern.)

This next picture is of CHD on his confirmation day; he is a young teenager. Shortly after that, his father showed up at school and made him quit (age 14) to go to work in the railroad shops. This is where they repaired the railroad engines and passenger cars among other things. He worked there until in his early 20's when he took the exams to become one of the train crews. In 1917 he met my mother, Rosa. They married and started a family, two sons (one died shortly after birth) and three daughters; I am the youngest. Here's a picture of Rosa and Carl shortly before they were married in 1917.

I loved my Dad. I thought he was as handsome as any movie star. Especially when he was in his conductor uniform or dressed up in his overcoat, Fedora on his head, and smoking a fat cigar. Favorite outings were with him and my mother going to the movies, then stopping at the ice cream shop afterwards. Or riding with them on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the DeKalb County Fair. He won a big stuffed Lassie collie for me playing Bingo at the fair. He sang "Oh Tannenbaum" every Christmas and dressed up as Santa. I remember some of the stories he told of his memories of Germany and have told them publicly. Here's my favorite picture of the two of us together; I'm somewhere between 1 and 2 and he's in his Conductor's uniform.

I'm happy to say that life circumstances allowed me to be geographically close to my Dad the last two years of his life. He volunteered to move to a Seniors home and to our great surprise truly enjoyed it. He sang in their choir, befriended a young mentally challenged resident, was a substitute grandfather to a visiting lad from the local school, produced a resident's newsletter, and flirted with the female staff. Here's a photo of him in his 80's.

My one regret about my Dad is that I haven't been able to say "Happy Birthday" more than 87 times. Happy Birthday, Dad, wherever you are.

And That's The Week That Was Jan.2-9

2011-01-10T03:00:00.000-05:00

There's only one word to describe this past week and that's S N O W ! The week started out with snow; that melted, and then it snowed again the middle of the week. The skies stayed overcast but the sun came out Sunday and the icicles began to drip. When the snow slides off my roof, it startles me because it crashes to the ground with a loud rumble. On our trips to Alaska, I learned that's called "calving" when the glaciers do break off over a cliff.

In spite of the melting today, I've still got about 3 inches standing on my deck rails.
And they are predicting more before morning and through Monday, but I'm up late (it's actually Monday morning now) and it hasn't started snowing yet.

   So, I have stayed indoors all week except for two ventures out. One was to the drugstore to pick up a prescription and the other one was to attend and participate in the Beaver Creek Storytellers "Old Christmas" program. I told the story of "Silent Night" and also a brief history of how Old Christmas came to be an Appalachian tradition. Details about this program can be found on the Beaver Creek Storytellers Blog at http://beavercreekstorytellers.blogspot.com

   I promised myself that I would go outside on weather-friendly days and at least walk, so on Tuesday I went out and shoveled off the family room deck. Not much snow on Tuesday to shovel but plenty of dog piles since my spoiled pets don't like to get their feet cold in the snow so they use wherever they are for a bathroom. That's usually a few feet away from the door. I have no photos of that.

   So the highlight of my week other than the Old Christmas event was making chili. I've not made it much in the past because Rocky didn't care for it. But the cold air made me hungry for it, and it tasted so good I've got only one serving left.

   I don't mind the quiet and the computer keeps me from being mentally inactive and my pets keep me from being physically inactive, but I do hope this coming week is a bit more interesting.

For Auld Lang Syne 2010

2011-01-05T17:05:00.000-05:00

The 2010 Report

2011-01-01T22:21:00.000-05:00

   This is a picture of my sons, Eric on the left and Alan on the right, with me in front of a beautiful Christmas tree in the elegant lobby of the Ritz-Carleton Hotel in Philadelphia. It is one of the last photos I took in 2010. I took a lot in Philly, but I'm sorry to report that I accidentally deleted all but two of them; this is one.

   I have to admit that I am borrowing an idea from my Facebook Friend's blog written by Miriam Nadel reporting on her achievements and progress towards goals in 2010. Well, I didn't set any goals for 2010 so I can't report on their progress or completion, but I can report on some of the categories that Miriam included.

   The most life-changing event I experienced during 2010, of course, was the death of my husband, Rocky. It meant that I had to learn how to live alone and make many decisions about my life that I had always shared with Rocky before.
I am still undergoing that process and will discuss it more when I talk about my goals for 2011.

   I read 16 books during the year, enjoying The Help most in the fiction category. Of the non-fiction my favorite was Traveling With Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor. I also read a newspaper The New York Review Of Books which I receive every two weeks. You can see the titles of all the books in the side bar of this Blog.

   I also love movies and have watched so many Turner Classic Movies this year that I lost count. So the movies listed in the side bar are not entirely accurate, but by that count I watched 25 movies, 3 of them in theaters. The three were Inception, Reds, and For Colored Girls Who Consider Suicide When Rainbows Are Not Enough, the latter being the most powerful and therefore my favorite.

   I also took the opportunity to see some plays at the Barter Theatre, Blue-Sky Boys, Violet, and The Full Monty.

   I cut back on storytelling activities this past year, although I did perform four times. One was a children's event at Pumpkin Palooza on Halloween, and at a Sat. night telling at the SW VA Highlands Community College, Graveyard Tales, and Tellabration, the latter three produced by the Beaver Creek Storytellers which I no longer direct. I did do some publicity for that organization, however.

   I attended some storytelling events in which I was a listener, two private parties, one on Summer Solstice eve at Pam Miller's home in Jonesborough, and one honoring Elizabeth Ellis at Linda Poland's home in Tennessee. I was happy to see and hear my old friend, Gay Ducey, at the International Storytelling Center and later in the year attended the Skating On Thin Ice program at the ISC by Kim Weitkamp, Bil Lepp, and Andy Offut Irwin.

   I took five trips during 2010. Two were to Lynchburg, VA which is only 4 hours away. The others were to Indianapolis, Indiana; Taos, New Mexico; and Philadelphia.

   Now for my goals for 2011. My head is stirring with probabilities, especially about living arrangements for the future. Although I haven't made up my mind when and where, I know a move is coming up. So clearing up projects that are already started should get priority.

Finish collecting all of Rocky's memorabilia and biographical information together and preserving it in some fashion.
Finish Rocky's book on humor and find a publisher.
Get clearance from Barter Theatre's Board of Directors and proceed to publish Rocky's book, Jenny Of The Barter.
Clean out garden house and give items away to friends and relatives.
Speak to a real estate agent about selling Castle Yonder; make decision.
Continue to participate with the Beaver Creek Storytellers.
Invite friends to lunch or dinner at least 4 times during year.
Produce a workshop on drumming.
Exercise by walking outside every weather-friendly day.
Finish the crocheted blanket for Stella.
Read 20 books.
Attend the Virginia Gathering in March.
Complete the truck title red tape.
Write my Blog at least once a week; keep the BCS blog and website up to date;

Well, I think that will keep me busy enough for the year. I'll report exactly one year from now. Happy New Year, All

Out With The Old 2010, In With the New 2011

2010-12-30T19:32:00.001-05:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Christmas In The City

2010-12-29T22:43:00.000-05:00

The view from my hotel window

I had a wonderful time over the Christmas weekend in Philadelphia. However, I have only this one photo to show for it. During the snowstorm and downtime in a hotel room, I was reading my Nikon camera guide trying to learn some things I didn't know about my new camera. Unfortunately, I thought I was deleting one picture but it turned out I was deleting about 20, including the horse and carriage ride I took with my son Alan and a wonderful picture of my two sons and I standing in front of a beautiful Christmas tree in the elegant lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. My heart is still crying which is better than the cussing out I gave myself at the time.

The highlight of my weekend was two fabulous, and expensive, meals at two fine dining restaurants on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Paying for them was my Christmas gift to my sons and son-in-law. Then they turned the tables (pardon the pun) and informed me they were paying for the Christmas Eve feast. When I saw the bill the next night, I was very glad they had helped me out that way. But thinking about it, I have always spent that much and more when I've entertained family here at Castle Yonder for Christmas.

We ate at Fish one of the top 10 restaurants in Philly and chose to have the traditional 7-course Italian dinner with the wine pairing. Selected wines were brought in small portions that complimented that course. We started out with baby Bibb lettuce salad with anchovies, then (and I won't remember these all in order, I'm sure) an oyster on the half-shell, clams with linguini, roe, shrimp, octupus (!), and salt cod. These were all served with lovely sauces in beautiful presentations. Dessert was a cake-like nut bread with whipped cream and tiny diced peaches. The restaurant setting was very intimate, and the ambience was warm with dark red walls, and low, artistic lighting.

Our Christmas dinner was at the Ten Arts, a restaurant inside the elegant Ritz-Carleton Hotel. Our table was surrounded by mammoth marble columns, and crystal chandeliers hung above us. It was as elegant as Fish had been intimate. We chose the 5-course dinner with the wine pairing. The courses I remember was a magnificent truffle soup with a parmesan and foie gras embellishment and the thinly sliced skirt steak. I'm sorry I can't remember all the courses but by this time there were just too many unfamiliar foods to remember.

It truly was two of the most elegant dinners and restaurants I've ever experienced. My sons don't eat this way except on very special occasions, but they are fine food conniseurs. My son, Alan, was trained as a pastry chef and graduated from the Philadelphia Restaurant School twenty years ago. I had the same fun I have when I go on a cruise which is pretending to be a member of the jet set. That's what happened to many of us who grew up during the Golden Age of movies. We aspired to be the Beautiful People.

I make no apologies.

Christmas Blessings

2010-12-22T23:02:00.000-05:00

GOD BLESS YOU MERRY LADIES AND GENT'MEN

Nostalgic Christmas Presents

2010-12-19T01:48:00.000-05:00

   What does the recording of The Nutcracker Suite, a toy machine gun, and oversized red mittens have in common? They are all gifts I remember from my childhood that I received at Christmas time.

   I think The Nutcracker Suite was my favorite. My brother-in-law, Bud, worked on the B&O Railroad in Garrett, Indiana where I grew up. He loved to go shopping on Maxwell Street in Chicago when he had to lay over there on his trips as a fireman on the steam engine. Laying over meant he shoveled coal into the engine's furnace all the way from Garrett to Chicago; then the rules prevented him from turning right around and riding an engine back to Garrett. He would go to a boarding house, bathe, eat, and rest and then wait until his assigned engine made the trip back to Garrett. Maxwell Street was an infamous city street where great discounts and sales could be found, both inside the stores and outside on the streets. Bud loved to get a bargain.

   One year when I was about 8 he brought home an early Christmas present for me. It was a small electric turntable in a brightly colored case that had a small record with it--The Nutcracker Suite. I had never heard music like that before, and immediately fell in love with Tchaikovsky. I'm sure I wore that record to grooves and scratches. I have no idea what happened to it or the turntable, but I still have the memory of Bud and his present whenever I hear "The Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies," and all the other compositions.

   I grew up during the Second World War. I was 7 when it started and 11 when it ended. These were my "tomboy" years. The street on which I lived, Second Street, was full of kids my age, eleven if I count everyone from a little older than I and a little younger. Some people called us "The East End Kids." We loved to play War although all of us played American soldiers, and the Nazis and Japs we killed were all imaginary. One neighbor had a beautiful bing cherry tree with one low branch that made an ideal airplane, and we were excellent marksmen as we bounced on it up and down. Amazingly, it lasted a couple summers before it finally broke.

   Another battleground we created was in the large empty lot next to my house. My brother, who was eight years older than I, had found a discarded telephone pole, erected it in the field, and put a basketball hoop on it. However, when he joined the Navy at age 18 and left home, my Dad took the pole down. This left a large hole where the pole had been which became a perfect foxhole. We knew about these military things because many of the movies we saw had battles and war themes.

   In keeping with my Army spirit, even though I felt loyal to the Navy because of my brother, I wanted a toy machine gun that made a eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh clicking noise that would make our games more realistic. I don't think I still believed in Santa anymore, but I could still make out Santa wish lists, usually based on the Sears, Roebuck Christmas catalog. I put a toy automatic machine gun on my list, and amazingly, I got one! Fortunately, it didn't shoot bb's or I might have put my eye out!

The third memorable Christmas present was more of a lesson than the machine gun had been. I was a young teenager and both my parents and I were shopping in The Boston Store in my little hometown. It was unusual for the three of us to be shopping together because my Dad worked for the B& O also, and his work schedule was erratic since he went to Chicago also when certain trains went. The Boston Store had a little bit of everything in the way of clothing for babies, children, juniors, women, and men. We were easing around the aisles picking up and unfolding things, feeling material, appraising and generally shopping. Then I saw the most amusing item. Bright red fuzzy, and oversized, mittens. They must have been a good 12 inches long, sticking out way past the end of my fingers when I tried them on. We all laughed when I waved them in the air. "Do you like those?" my Dad asked. "Yeah!"

But honestly I did not like them well enough to be my major Christmas present that year! But they were, and I wore them and at first had fun when my friends saw them. But the fun and the novelty soon wore off, and then I was stuck with bright red fuzzy oversized mittens for the rest of the winter. I learned to be careful what I enthused about on future shopping trips.

These are lovely memories that let me know now that I was loved. Happy Christmas presents to you all! Mimi

A Personal St. Nicholas Eve

2010-12-11T01:51:00.000-05:00

When my family came to the United States from East Germany in 1906, they dedicated themselves to becoming Americans, especially my father and mother who started their own family in 1917. Through each year they put more and more of the German traditions and customs aside--except for Christmas.

My mother continued to bake her special Papanut cookies. That's what she called them using the low German dialect, the language of the folk who lived in the lowlands near the Baltic Sea in the northern Province of Mecklenburg. This is not the high German taught in the schools and used by authors in literature.

My father loved to belt out "O Tannenbaum" every day of Advent. He also joyfully decorated the Christmas tree and loved to sit and look at it in the silence of the evening. Every year he'd tell the story of how his mother baked Papanut every Christmas holiday, a ginger cut-out cookie, and hung them in a china cabinet and how he got in trouble because he ate them one day when all the family had gone to church.

He took an active part in putting the tree up, twining all the lights around, and then hanging each ornament hook by hook. He let me help him a little more each year. When the tree was loaded with every last ball and bauble, we would throw packaged icicles on all the branches for the finishing touch. Then we'd turn off all the overhead lights, run out the front door and across the street to ooh and ahh over our lighted tree which was placed right in the middle of our living room window.

But even more magical than that moment was the moment I saw Santa Claus on St. Nicholas Eve. This was a well-loved legend that had come across the pond with my family members who hung onto it until their four children had outgrown Santa. I, as the youngest, was their last chance to vicariously enjoy the innocence of childhood.

The saint for whom December 6 is named has many legends and mythology based on his life although the facts of his bio are brief and obscure. His legends have now been documented back to the Nordic pagan culture. The evolution of many myths have now been traced throughout the northern area of Europe. St. Nicholas eventually came to be known as Sinterklaaus in the Netherlands and Belgium. One can easily see how Sinterklaaus eased into Santa Claus. In fact, my father always referred to S.C. as Santy Claus which is very close to the European.

Sinterklaaus came into the United States with the Dutch settlers of New York. However, the English speakers eventually prevailed and it's been Santa Claus ever since. For more history of St. Nickolas, type it in the Search box on Wikipedia. For my personal memory, read on.

I was five years old. December 6 had been a snowy day, and when I came home from school my mother met me at the door and swept me off with the broom because I had made snow angels all the way home and my snow suit was covered with snow. She took off my boots and set them on the doorstep leading into the house.

At the supper table, my 13 year old brother started talking about Santy Claus and wasn't this the night he flew overhead and left presents in children's shoes if they had been good? My mother answered yes and then passed around dishes of Jello with sliced bananas. Suddenly, my brother jumped up and said, "Listen, I think I hear sleigh bells!"

My mother agreed and grabbed her heavy sweater that hung on the doorknob of her bedroom door. My sister, Vi, grabbed my snow suit jacket and started pushing my arms into it. Everyone was talking at once, about hearing sleigh bells. I didn't hear a thing.

We rushed out the door and down the porch steps. They started looking up in the sky and pointing. I remember seeing bright stars overhead. "Look, there's Santy Claus," my brother yelled and was jumping like he always did when he got excited. My sister knelt beside me and my mother held my shoulders from behind me. "Do you see him, Irma Rose? Do you see him?" I didn't see a thing.

But they insisted, and I wasn't one to give up even at age 5. I looked and looked, strained my eyes looking at black spaces between the stars. "Look Irma Rose, it's Santy Claus, look right up there." And my sister gently turned my head a trifle and tilted my chin upwards. And suddenly I could see him. I saw him in his sleigh gliding across the dark sky. "Can you see him?" they asked and I nodded my head, too overwhelmed to speak.

And then Santa was gone. Off to somewhere else to excite a family and bring wonder to the wee ones. We walked toward the house, and as we climbed the porch steps, my mother stopped, and said, "Look Irma Rose. There's something in your boots." I looked and there was a flat package wrapped in white tissue paper with a red ribbon around it. My sister, Vi, took it out of my boot and handed it to me. "It looks like Santy Claus must have left you a present. You must have been a good girl this year."

We walked into the house and Vi pulled my jacket off me. I sat down next to the hot air register and pulled the red ribbon off the package, and then I tore the tissue off. It was a book! It was an Uncle Wiggley book! I opened it, and started looking at the pictures. "I'll read it to you when you get ready for bed," Vi said.

And she did.

I eventually outgrew Santy Claus and the next generation of my family let the St. Nicholas legend become only a memory. But when I tell it, it becomes a story.

Top Ten List - " I Know I'm Not Aging Gracefully When..."

2010-12-04T23:41:00.000-05:00

I've been trying real hard to age gracefully, but I just can't do it.

Oh, I age all right--just not gracefully.

I try to be joyful about it, put on a happy face; I say aging doesn't matter; quote articles about how older people's brains work better in some instances than younger ones; how exercise, fiber, and pedicures keep one feeling sexy; how aged wine is quality wine; how other cultures revere the aged; how people grow wise, not old.

But it's no use. I hate aging and never have been particularly graceful. I hate losing my figure, getting wrinkles on the back of my arms, psoriasis on my legs, breasts that look like pendulums, colorless hair, not being able to walk across the room without poot poot pooting six or seven times.

I cannot deny my own behavior. Every 24 hours I'm reminded that now I'm a day older. Not wiser, not revered, not even graceful--no more "Master of my Fate;" no more "Commander of my Soul." Since my body grows more ungraceful, how on earth can I say I'm aging gracefully? Who even suggested such a thing? It must have been some social worker who didn't want her clients to look so unhappy. "Gracefully," I can imagine her saying, "A real lady (or gentleman) ages gracefully."

Here's a Top Ten List I created:

Ten Ways I Know I May Be Aging, But I'm Not Doing It Gracefully

I may need a rolling walker; I order it and use it to fight my way through stores on Black Friday,
I use my cane because I love style and bought it online at fashionablecanes.com,
I prefer to rest in the evening with a glass of wine to socializing at a church social,
I play computer games all night and get my rest by sleeping all day,
My favorite TV shows are nostalgic pieces like Mad Men, and Boardwalk Empire because they use "dirty" language and it helps me stay in touch with the younger generation,
I accept dinner invitations not so I can be social but so I can bring home the leftovers for lunch the next day,
I refuse to call cotton t-shirts "layers." I call them underwear because I'm cold and that's what my Mommy put on me when I was a little girl,
I cuss like a rapper after measuring myself for new clothes and discover my chest, waist, and hips are all the same size,
I substitute a bag of microwave popcorn for my veggies; after all, corn is a vegetable,
I write lists like this to get people to pay attention to me, an old lady.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! 2010

2010-11-23T02:31:00.000-05:00

     I wanted to write something holiday-ish this week for the Thanksgiving weekend. The ordinary thing to do would be to tell about my grandchildren's and step-son's upcoming visit and our plans, and I'm happy about spending the time with them, but it didn't seem interesting enough to be blogged.

   I thought about researching Wikipedia and writing some Interesting, but dull, facts about this first banquet the English settlers shared with the native Americans that has more legend in it than fact. Too common and ordinary!

   I mused about going to one of the photo sites and finding photos to create a slide show or a collage or something. While I was musing--I lift my chin sometimes when I muse--I noticed the turkey and roaster salt & pepper shakers I had added to my fireplace mantel Autumn decoration.

See the little yellow and brown spot just to the center right of this picture of my fireplace mantel which is a very old chestnut log saved from a demolished local log cabin. That's a set of salt and pepper shakers belonging to my collection; I've been collecting since the 1940's. The long-barrel rifle hanging above the mantel is an antique Pennsylvania long-rifle dating to c.1820 that Rocky purchased in his teens in Delaware.The quilted pumpkin on the left was purchased in Jonesborough at this year's story festival. The cornshuck witch that you will see in the next photo was given to me by Rocky purchased from the Blue Ridge Folk Art Center near Asheville. Here's a better picture of the witch and the salt and pepper shakers.

The roaster is one shaker and the turkey is the other. I still collect s&p's and have 350 or so. Many of them are known as novelty shakers, which makes sense since I was only 7 or 8 when my mother started me off with a little bride and groom that she had been given as a wedding gift and let me play with them in my doll house. A number of my early ones are chalkware which is a very fragile material and chips as easily as plaster. It is not a collector's choice because of this. Chalkware was used during the Second World War for novelty goods since metals and glass were restricted for war use. The turkey and roaster are ceramic. Plastic was not well developed until after the war.

In the right-hand side bar are some photos of my other salt and pepper shakers which have something to do with our wonderful American thanksgiving legend although some of them are a stretch. For instance, the people look more Amish than Colonial, but they're all I had. Mimi

The Wayne Project

2010-11-19T16:19:00.001-05:00

This is a picture of my friend, Wayne. He has been Rocky's and my friend for the past decade when he first attended a Tellabration! late in the '90's and then joined the Beaver Creek Storytellers. Rocky and I mentored him, but he is a naturally-talented storyteller. Shortly after, he attended a workshop in Bristol led by Gay Ducey. She was quite impressed with him, and encouraged me to keep encouraging him.

Wayne crept into all members' hearts as he began to perform with BCS. For Rocky and me he became our trusted house and dog sitter when we traveled. He also helped us with yardwork, mowing the sides of our long lane, blowing off leaves, running the pressure washer, and planting bulbs etc. as we grew less able to do those things. Every tulip I now have was planted by Wayne who had never before, in all his life, planted tulips!

Tulips 2007

But bad luck seemed to follow him, especially in his employment and health. He had several jobs that ended in lay-offs or company failure, but he finally settled into a low-paying job in the warehouse of a Christian publishing company in Johnson City. Then his health began to deteriorate once he developed adult diabetes and some other problems.

A couple years ago, Wayne fell on his apartment house stairs and broke his ankle. He did not stay off it as he was told to do because if he didn't work, he didn't get paid and he needed the pay. The pain meds the doctor prescribed interfered with his clarity of thought and judgment, he neglected himself, and his wound became infected. He was hospitalized, but the wound continued to worsen and he ended up having his left leg amputated.

Wayne in 2008-9?

I encouraged him to apply for social security disability but, in his late '50's, he wanted to work and went back to the warehouse as soon as he could talk a doctor into letting him. His workplace gave him a scooter to ride, but his health just kept getting worse. Finally, last winter I knew he had been hospitalized again and could no longer work, but by Spring I couldn't find him in any of the hospitals or rehab centers to let him know Rocky was in serious condition.

A few days after Rocky died, Wayne's son brought him to Castle Yonder; Wayne had been living with them for a short while. His daughter-in-law understood the health and social security system and had located a HUD apartment that was only 3 miles away from our house. Wayne had not been able to say "goodbye" to Rocky which bothered him a great deal.

Since that time, Wayne has continued to be hospitalized off and on usually due to medication problems. He has been in rehab centers and nursing homes. But last month he was released back "home" to his apartment. I have discovered that I feel so much better if I am helping him out in some way. I have provided transportation for him, helped him shop for a car, taken him to the grocery store, shared groceries and meals with him. So many angels showed up during Rocky's ordeal to help us that now it feels good to be in the "angel" role, which is what Wayne calls me.

Last week, Wayne was notified that his furniture that had been stored in a truck that belonged to his former work place 30 miles away had to be removed because the truck was to be sold. He was given last weekend to get it out. There was no way Wayne could do it, even with the help of his son over the weekend. I have a truck but it would have taken more than a few trips to Elizabethton and Wayne had access to no other labor.

So, Mimi came to the rescue. I paid for a U-Haul (Wayne hasn't been approved for SSI yet) and we drove it to the former workplace. Yes, Wayne can drive just fine even with an artificial leg. We lucked out and two of their employees unloaded the furniture from their truck and loaded it back into the U-Haul. Then the company was kind enough to let those two guys follow us back to Bristol where they unloaded some things at Wayne's, then brought the rest to Castle Yonder where my garden house and basement have become depositories.

It is fine furniture, Thomasville and Bassett. The above photo is of a cherry sofa table, solid wood, reproduction Federal style, that Wayne gave me to reimburse me for my expense. He once worked for Thomasville in Johnson City and when they closed their business there, Wayne accepted his pay in furniture which he needed at that time. Unfortunately, a few pieces were damaged from being stored haphazardly in a truck-type van, which took away some of the joy of recovering it . But he'll get over it--with a little help from his friends and the angels in his life.

Wayne, on right; Pastor Robt. Rainwater on left.

My Grandson's Birthday

2010-11-17T03:22:00.001-05:00

Chris Rockwell, my grandson who lives in Lynchburg, celebrated his 17th birthday on Nov. 10, last Wednesday. I had promised to drive over, but changed my mind about the driving because I've had two episodes of becoming extremely sleepy when I'm driving on the Inter-state. In fact, once I found my eyes closed and my head nodding and when I jerked upright, realized I had almost fallen asleep.

However, I really wanted to go because with Rocky being gone this year, I thought it very important to make a special day for Christopher. I had already given him my present, some money towards the car his family has just purchased for him. However, I had a special present of a pocket watch that had belonged to Rocky since 1952. It belonged to Rocky's father from 1902, and to his father before that. During the year before Rocky died, he showed the watch to me and told me to give it to Christopher. I had taken it to a jewelry appraiser who confirmed that indeed it was old and was in very good condition. In fact, he wound it and instructed us to look at the time 24 hours later and if it had not stopped and was on time, it wouldn't even need to be taken to a jeweler for cleaning or repairs. When we checked it the next day, it was accurate with my atomic watch. There was hand engraving on the front of the watch case that said "Merry Xmas '02."

So, not feeling secure enough to drive, I decided to take the Greyhound bus. It would leave at 9:30 a.m. on Wed. and arrive around 3:00 p.m. I planned to take Chris, and other family members out to dinner and spend the night there. My return bus wouldn't leave until 3:00 Thursday afternoon which meant I would have all morning to sleep late as I am wont to do, and have plenty of time to get to the bus station.

The most interesting thing about the trip was the wait at the Bristol bus station at 9:00 a.m. The station master was most accomodating and friendly. He let me park my car right in front of the bus station where it would sit overnight and it would be dark before I could pick it up again.The bus was one hour late. There were four passengers waiting, a female student going to Springfield Mass., a middle aged man from Abingdon going to Atlantic City, and a 20-ish woman going to New York City. The wait was tolerable since a good-sized group of musicians were playing bluegrass music in the adjoining room.

The bus stopped in Marion, Wytheville, and Roanoke. The stop in Wtheville was at a McDonald's which was the only place one could get a meal. The other stations had only snack and drink machines.
It also had a clean functioning restroom where the other station's restrooms were poorly maintained. In fact the bus stations themselves looked like a 1950's movie set with wooden benches separated into sections with wooden arms. I did not use the restroom that I was told was on the bus, so I can't report on it.

The ride was bumpier than I expected and there were no seat belts. There was room for two people to sit side by side, but there were so few people riding that everyone got two seats to themselves. As we got closer to the East Coast, however, more people got on. I really didn't notice until I boarded the return bus for Bristol on Thursday and had to go about 3/4 of the way to the back of the bus before I found an unoccupied seat.

My grandson picked me up at Lynchburg in his new car, a 2005 Jeep. It was immaculate both outside and in. I was so excited to see it and ride in it with him driving that I forgot to take a picture. I had not taken my Canon Power Shot so I had only my iPhone camera. When we got to their home, I gave him Rocky's gift of the pocket watch. No one else was home yet so we had some quiet personal time to ourselves. I had written out the history of the watch the best that I could remember so he will have written documentation of its history.

He helped me take my bags downstairs to his bedroom where I was going to sleep. He had done a great job cleaning it up and had even re-arranged his furniture and created a little "studio" for himself that he called his "office." Here's a picture of him sitting at his keyboard where he composes music for his trumpet.

He is a very talented young man and has a great passion for music. He was a really good Little Leaguer and had several parts in plays with a Lynchburg theatre arts group, but he has given all that up in order to follow his dream of becoming a musician and composer. He has spent two summers with the International Drum and Bugle Corps traveling and performing in many of the U.S. states and plans to tour with them again in 2011.

Chris, his sister Jessica, his mother Ann and I went out to dinner at a restaurant called Jimmy's-On-The-James. I slept well under bright yellow sheets and a black down comforter and was up by 10:00 the next morning. Chris had left for school, Jessica had gone to work at a restaurant, and Ann was meeting a client for coffee at Starbuck's. So I had some quiet alone time until Ann came home and then she and I went to lunch at the restaurant where Jessica works. That was fun to have her as our "server" and I left a big tip. Ann and I made a quick run to Chico's where I bought a dressy scarf and some earrings.

Then Ann took me to the 1952's bus station on time only to hear that once again the bus was running an hour behind. When it finally arrived, it was fairly full and half a dozen people were waiting to get on. There was still enough light for me to read and when we got to Roanoke I was able to find a seat closer to the driver where I had been advised to sit. Once again we stopped at Wytheville McDonald's for half an hour and I ate the first Quarter Pounder I'd had this year.

As far as traveling as an older woman alone with a majority of men as fellow travelers, as was the case returning from Lynchburg, as it got dark I became more aware of that fact than I had been in going over to Lynchburg. Overall, I observed that most of the young men simply ignored me, and the middle-aged and older men were perfect gentlemen. One man chatted with me while we waited to re-board the bus asking where I was going (he was going to Dallas) but did not try to sit near me or pay any attention once we had boarded.

A mature adult male of Spanish descent sat opposite me and one row ahead, and when he turned his overhead light on he got out a book and began reading. I could see that it was printed in two columns and had those little indentations to mark the chapters and I realized he was reading the Bible. Not many overhead lights came on. Most people dozed, a few chatted especially on the earlier bus trip (interestingly, about the government and politics).

Except for one instance, the women also ignored me. The exception was a lady who chatted a lot and had participated in the political discussions. She engaged me in conversation in McDonalds on Wed. She was on her way to Richmond.

So overall there were no unpleasant incidents, smells, or conversations. Even the restrooms smelled o.k., just the reminiscent odors of 1950's paint and tiles. I think if the Greyhound Bus Company wants to expand its services, then they ought to fix those restrooms up a bit and have more food available. The bus upholstery was clean and the seat protectors for the head looked very clean. There were no lap trays which would have been nice. The windows are very large and gives nice views. When the sun shone in, however, I noticed that the blinds had been removed so I was glad I had remembered to take my sunglasses.

Once I got home, compared to other trips where I'd done a lot of driving or flying, it didn't take me as long to recover. In fact I've been working on another project since I got home, and I'll tell you about that in my next post.

Mimi

The Egg And I

2010-10-17T02:27:00.000-04:00

Little discoveries are becoming the highlight of my day. I've been passing an odd house on the back road between Bristol and Abingdon for months now that has a sign on the front fence post "Eggs For Sale." But the house is a wee bit intimidating because it looks so odd that I've never stopped. I don't know why the style of a house would intimidate me, but perhaps I irrationally thought that if I stopped at an odd house, I would be thought to be odd. Or maybe I expected odd people would welcome me, like the Addams Family. Saying that out loud doesn't make sense, but there has been some reason that I've never stopped.

The house is odd because it's in the style of architecture developed by Buckminster Fuller; it's a geodesic dome. It sits close to a very traditional house on its one side. In fact, all the rest of the houses for 8 miles are Traditional homes, suburban ranches or southern colonial with faux columns. There's even one or two that could be called mansions with long tree-lined lanes leading to them. And there's an upscale Country Club just up the road with large traditional houses around the golf course. And mixed in with all that is the occasional farm that hasn't been sold for residential development yet and a couple small houses that have been there for at least 50 or 60 years. The geodesic dome sitting on a flat level plane that once was pasture land or a tobacco field clearly looks strange.

However, I have grown so tired of store-bought eggs that seem to be growing more and more tasteless. Last week I friend two eggs because I hadn't had any for awhile and was hungry for eggs over easy, toast, and orange juice. All I could taste was the canola oil I had fried them in and maybe the salt and pepper. The yolk (the best part)had no taste and neither did the white. I was disgusted and that's when I decided I was going to check out the egg house.

I did my errands in Abingdon and on the way back I turned into the lane with the sign that said, "Eggs For Sale." The driveway led me to the back of the geodesic dome where several trucks and cars were parked. There was also a golf cart and a gas grill. Clearly, active people lived here.

I remember growing up in small town Indiana. My sister was married to a farmer so we often got fresh eggs from her. But if her hens weren't laying, I guess hens take vacations,

we'd drive out to some farm to buy eggs from a nice country farmer's wife. So I remember what free-range eggs from free-range chickens taste like, and I hadn't had that taste in my mouth for a very long time.

I knocked on the back door, and a very up-to-date woman answered. "Do you sell eggs?" I asked. "I sure do," she answered. "I want a dozen," I said without asking the price, "Oh, I'll take 18, a dozen and a half, if you've got them." She walked across the entry room and brought me a dozen and a half; she said her mother only takes half a dozen each week. Three dollars is all they cost me. I was delighted for buying; she was delighted in selling. We smiled at each other.

Then we exchanged names and chatted a bit. We could see my lane from her back yard.

I told her I was a storyteller and she wanted to know where I told stories. (Everyone asks if I tell in Jonesborough, meaning the National Festival--I wish!) She gave me her e-mail address so I could put her on my mailing list for Bristol events--she said her daughter would love that.

I drove away cheerfully! Not only had I bought a dozen and a half eggs, but I had met a new neighbor as well. I wondered how many other people have (not) stopped at that odd house. I was so glad I finally did.

When I drove into my driveway, I felt like I should go in my house first and put on an apron--I was just that nostalgic for the days my mother and sisters and I would drive into the country to buy eggs.

I carried them gingerly and all by themselves into my house. I opened the cardboard containers. The eggs were brown and large. I carefully removed one egg. I fried it in margarine and salt and peppered it. I flipped it over so I could make an egg sandwich for lunch. I laid two pieces of Arnold's harvest wheat bread on a small plate and put my gold and white beauty between the slices. I poured a glass of orange juice and put it all on a tray so I could eat lunch in front of the fireplace. The taste of my egg sandwich was wonnnddderrrfulll.

If you don't have a farmer's market near you, take a drive out into the country and don't be afraid of odd houses.

Mimi

Antique Appraisals

2010-10-09T16:57:00.000-04:00

It was necessary for me to have an appraisal done on the antiques here in the house that are to go to my step-son Geoff when I am finished using them. So all summer I have been trying to find a Bristol appraiser and had two leads and neither one worked out. So I called the Ken Farmer appraisal company in Radford, Virginia and on Sept. 20 an associate of Ken's, Bob Miller, came to Castle Yonder and did an appraisal of 12 different items, mostly furniture.

He did not have the expertise to appraise two musical instruments I have, a Gibson mandolin and a Gibson banjo. So we decided I should bring them to the fundraiser for the Bristol Public Library on Oct. 9, last Thursday, when Ken Farmer would be present who does have the expertise.

Gibson Mandolin from around 1918 or so.

Gibson 4-string banjo, c. 1920's

   I need to send these photos to Ken Farmer and then he will give me a written appraisal of their value.
He will need to research them more fully in his Musical Guides which he did not have with him.

   I had a good time at the fund raiser. Because the instruments were bulky and awkward, I put them across the hand rails of my new rollater (a walker on wheels) and rolled them in. Jud Barry, the library's Director, carried them out for me and put them into the truck.

   I thought readers might like to see some of the things that were brought in by the public. There seemed to be a lot of art, some original, many prints, and a few engravings. There had been another session during the day so if it was anything like the evening session, some unusual items were appraised.

A German WWII Uniform with medals and swastikas

The audience gathers and compares items. Lots of stories!

Ken Farmer examines an old fiddle.

Bob Miller called this 1950's portrait done in oild "iconic American."

Bob Miller, a retired history teacher and lifelong collector, explains this original painting is done "en grise" French for "all in grey."

Bob Miller shows an antique primitive locally made wall cupboard.

Bob Miller holds a regional face jug. The face is applied in slip on the other side. Ken Farmer comments about its rarity.

Ken Farmer called this "the ugliest cookie jar." C. 1950-s, 1960-s.

Jonesborough Storytelling Festival, Day Two

2010-10-03T00:40:00.000-04:00

I managed to get to Jonesborough by noon, time to get a pizza slice and roll on over to the Library tent to hear Kevin Kling tell his stories "Chicken Soup For The Chicken." Kevin had a series of well-crafted tales of his search for courage, adventure, and self-knowledge. He has a wicked sense of humor (meaning it's sharp and on-target) so the audience is highly entertained but each vignette had an inspirational, but not sentimental, ending. I really enjoyed the whole hour and left with great admiration for this teller.

I moved over to the College Street tent when Kevin finished to hear Andy Offutt Irwin in his program "Maybe He'll Get It Out Of His System." I'm sad to say I listened for half an hour and then left and moved back to the Library tent to hear the last half of Eth-Noh-Tec, "The Stories On Which We Stand." The subject was the story of three generations of a Chinese family in America and I'm happy to say it gave me some ideas about how to present my German-American family.

Saturday's audience waiting for Andy Offutt Irwin

A few comments about Andy's program. I found it dragged, in spite of the laughs. This is only the second time I've heard Andy; the first time, he portrayed his Southern Aunt Margaret which I really liked and was disappointed this time when he told a nostalgic family story.

Andy Offutt Irwin playing his guitar for a sound check prior to his show.

   I want to add here some second thoughts about the Susie "Mama" Whaples stories I heard yesterday. A friend of mine and I compared notes today and she loved the same program that "Mama" did with which I had found fault. Where I thought it seemed like a comedy routine, my friend said she likes the "fast pace." So, it is all a matter of taste. My friend assured me that she has heard some of "Mama's" stories that she is sure I'd like.

   I try to make only positive comments to storytellers because most of those who I come into contact with locally are amateurs and get easily discouraged. But I've decided "only" positive feedback can be a disservice to tellers who are already professionals. So I'm planning to be as honest as I can be, especially in the written words of a Blog, and share feedback that includes both the positive and negative with the understanding it is only my opinion as a listener and observer and I am certainly no professional storyteller or expert in any way.

   I've been waiting many months to hear Jay O'Callahan tell his long story "Forged In The Stars," which he was commissioned to create for the National Space Administration. Somehow I had downloaded a recording of the story over iTunes during the summer. Yesterday I had an opportunity to chat with Jay and he told me that the final version which he was telling today was somewhat different. So I was very much looking forward to his show.

Jay O'Callahan speaks privately to M.C. Beth Horner

One of the reasons his subject matter excited me so was because my family and I lived in Houston for seven years during the moon landing and early manned space flight. My ex-husband had been an electrical engineer who worked for a NASA subcontractor and his office was on the Space agency's campus in Clear Lake City. Several of our neighbors and many of our friends were involved with some aspect of the space flights. So, even though I had nothing to do with the space work, just being in the same locality and knowing a couple people who had important involvement gave me an emotional investment in NASA.

Jay O'Callahan waits to be introduced.

Jay O'Callahan's 80 minute story was amazing! The two main characters provide a love story complete with dramatic tension and an opportunity to combine science and imagination in dialogue including the history of the space flights. Jay's creativity and organized mind has been able to arrange his words in such a way as to totally engage and mesmerize the audience. Providing evidence for this is the fact the audience jumped to its feet at the conclusion and then applauded so long that Jay made three "curtain calls" back onto the stage. I wish you could all have been there.

Here are a few pictures of people you may recognize, or not since some are just shots of audience members:

Connie Reagan Blake waits to M.C.

Charlotte Blake-Alston and Doug Elliott after Charlotte's performance.

Jim May with fan from audience

Friend Millie Sieber from Tennessee Storytelling Association

Paul Conco and Me

Sisters In Story, Norris Spencer, Me, Diana Conco

Jonesborough Storytelling Festival, Day One

2010-10-02T01:13:00.000-04:00

   My red rolling walker (rollater) was a super help for me today at the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival. It did just what I'd hoped, gave me something to lean on and steady myself so I didn't get out of breath. We walked on asphalt, bricks, grass, sidewalk, and straw to get to the Library Tent.

   Because I had to go to the bank this morning, then get gas and a cup of coffee, I didn't get to Jonesborough until noon, but I stayed until a few minutes after 7:00 p.m. I had arranged for a reserved parking place at a house just across from The Visitor's Center and down aways, so I was close to the two tents I wanted to go to and it turned out because of the programming, I had to alternate tents for all the sets. But that gave me the opportunity to do my daily exercise of walking and running into (not literally) good friends and acquaintances.

   I'm amazed, however, at the multitudes of people I don't know and sometimes find out this is the first festival they've ever attended. It's the 23rd for me! Last year I wondered if I'd be able to continue attending. So I've been planning some kind of alternative transportation around the grounds. My cane is good for short distances, but wasn't doing the job for festivals. I thought about a power scooter, but with the doctor's order to walk daily, my "Red" friend is ideal.

   The first teller I heard was my good friend, Kim Weitkamp. This is Kim's first year there as a "New Voice." Her first set in which she told the potholder story and then sang a song about her father was terrific. She was energetic, she was fast paced, she appeared relaxed, and definitely enjoying herself.

   Kim was followed by the storytelling icon, Kathryn Windham, who tells her age graciously as 92. She told a story about trying to downsize her home and her presentation was full of images that allowed me to "know" her and imagine how she lives. Kathryn is always able to draw people into her stories with seemingly little effort and afterwards you get the sense you've had an intimate visit with her.

   I changed tents to listen to Rafe Martin and Carmen Deedy. I heard Rafe Martin years ago and wasn't impressed by him and that continued today. I'd be happy to have him in my local guild because he can tell a fine story. It's just that he doesn't elicit the power, or excitement, that other national storytellers can achieve.

   Carmen Deedy is a different story, thankfully. I've known Carmen's work since 1996 and have hosted her in my home for a Barter Storyteller's event. The story she told was "Waltzing Hilda" which I've heard before, but I enjoyed it all over again. I haven't seen Carmen for several years so I stayed after and "Red" and I stood in a long line just to say "Hi." She said she had just found out that Rocky had passed away and was glad I had stayed to chat with her a moment.

   Then it was West Virginia's turn, our neighboring state, featuring Suzie "Mama" Whaples and Bil Lepp. Bil informed us that they were the only West Virginia storytellers to appear at a national story festival so far. "Mama" started out fine with a story about the West Virginia State Fair, but then it began to sound like a comedy routine, with a punch line coming after every few sentences. She has some wonderful body movements that are both girlish and charming and I hope she develops these and times them appropriately to enhance her presentation. I enjoyed her set, but was conscious of these things I've mentioned. I also noticed she ran only 20 minutes, although she may have willingly given her time up so Bil could tell a story that ran over his half of the hour.

   Bil's story was hilarious, as usual, about how he had met his wife, Paula which involved his first time riding a horse, which turned out to be a "devil" horse. It ended as a tall tale which kept up Bil's reputation and fame. He is one funny fellow.

   My day ended with the Exchange Place, a favorite session of mine because I often hear excellent tellers there and sometimes they go on to get a spot on the national stage. In fact, Kim Weitkamp was an Exchange Place teller a year or so ago. Each teller represents his or her region of the country as they have been traditional divided by the storytelling organizations. I won't take time to review everyone's story, but my favorite was Hannah Harvey, who told a powerful and riveting story of a Virginia coal miner. She alone of all six tellers got a standing ovation.

   Here are a couple photos I took today with my iPhone. I am not satisfied with the quality of the pictures because, perhaps, my hands are not steady enough and there seems always to be a fuzziness to them. Of course it doesn't help that no photography is allowed during the performances, so most photo ops are of close friends with their arms around each other, someone posed with a featured teller, or in my case, of the audience.

Audience, the gentleman standing up in the background is Jay O'Callahan talking to a fan.

More audience in the College Street Tent

Programs over; let's go eat

(In my case, it was time to go home)

Peeking through shoulders in the row in front of me, take my word for it, it's Jimmy Neal Smith and Kim Weitkamp.

Get Out Of The Way; It's Mimi

2010-09-24T23:32:00.000-04:00

A new accessory for the Storytelling Festival

Getting around at festivals has become a real problem for me. For the past 16 months I've had to use a cane because of lumbar pain due to my spinal curvature

that I've had since age 8 and which is worsening at the rate of one degree each year. The neuro-surgeon who I saw recently described me as "the leaning tower of Pisa being supported by a cane."

In addition, the upper part of my curve is restricting my lungs resulting in shortness of breath when I walk or exert myself in any way.

In August when I flew to Indianapolis, I found myself in the Atlanta airport sitting in the boarding area in a wheelchair. I had been pushed and parked there by a porter and chose to remain seated in the wheelchair because most of the available seats had been taken.

I wanted a snack, but not the pretzels in my pocket. I was thirsty, too. If I had been sitting in one of the seats, I would have had to get up, strap my shoulder purse across my chest, grasp the handle of my wheeled carry-on, and grab my cane with my other hand. Then it would be clunking and pulling breathlessly to the magazine stand 100 yards away, and gasping and feeling my heart fluttering and my lungs trying desperately to get some more oxygen as I chose a candy bar and a bottle of water.

Instead, the light bulb went off over my head. I stood up, placed my purse and carry-on bag, and Kindle in the seat of the wheel chair, got behind it and pushed all my things across to the magazine stand. It was so easy, like pushing a super-market cart.

Then I realized I push a cart all around the market leisurely every week, and don't feel breathless until I have to lift the groceries into the car.

That's when I decided the rolling walkers I've seen would be the way I could traverse the unlevel ground of the storytelling tents. I would need a seat in case I had to stand awhile so I could sit down, and I would need a basket to hold the snacks I like to take, my water bottle, the Program, and a cushion for the uncomfortable metal chairs Festival attendees have to sit it.

On the Internet I discovered these rolling walkers are called "rollaters." I located one in a medical equipment store in Bristol, bright red it is, and I picked it up yesterday. Now I'm looking for a bicycle bell and I'll be all set for Jonesborough next week. See you at the Festival--ching, ching.

Mimi

My New Mexico Vacation

2010-09-19T00:19:00.000-04:00

This blog has been neglected since late August because I was preparing for a trip to Taos, New Mexico. My friend, Jean Gay-Asher, and I were gone for only six days, but regaining my energy upon return has wiped out the last two weeks. I've slept and slept and slept. Probably at fault was the higher elevation of 7000 feet. Our Appalachian "Castle Yonder" is only 3000 feet. Jean and I were active every day, exploring the town of Taos and surroundings. Fortunately, I had ordered alternative oxygen for nighttime use, so I kept going until I got home.

I want to thank Jean for the help she gave me in friendship. She drove her car to Raleigh, NC so we would get a really good deal on Southwestern Airlines. We flew in to Albuequerque where we rented a car, and she drove the two hours to Taos. She helped me with my luggage and when we started exploring or going out to dinner, she figured out ways to keep me from having to walk so far. Plus, she was a great traveling companion, cooperative, good conversationalist, and reading the Travel Guide religiously and suggesting where we might want to go. She also went out every morning to buy good coffee while I was getting up and ready for the day. We never ran out of things to talk about.

Me and Jean in front of the Pueblo Taos church.

Jean and I have a lot in common. First off, we are both mental health professionals. Jean is still working as a private therapist (she's about 15 years younger than I am) whereas I retired a decade ago. She was one of the first people I met when Rocky and I moved to Bristol in 1982. Storytelling is my "thing" while Jean loves art, modern art especially which is one of my secondary interests. She befriended both Rocky and me through the years, inviting us to gourmet dinners because she loves to cook. Hooray for us, because I have grown VERY tired of cooking. She stayed close to us with her support when Rocky was dying and afterwards helping to plan his Memorial and right up to the present. We have history together.

We also have books in common, and movies, and television. We both read a biography of Georgia O'Keeffe in August and were really looking forward to seeing her homes near Taos. However, we found both of them closed so we settled for touring the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe on our way back to Albuquerque. One of the things we really wanted to do in Taos was to tour the Taos Pueblo.

Taos Pueblo

I quote from the brochure given us at the Admissions Center, "Taos Pueblo is considered to be the oldest continuously inhabited community in the USA. The Native legends and detailed oral history trace our existence back to the beginning of evolution of man and all of creation."

The original church named San Geronimo Church was built around 1619 by Spanish priests with Indian labor, but the natives were forced into Catholicism and slavery. Taos Pueblo was headquarters for a revolt which was successful, and into the 1700's the Pueblo people of New Mexico lived freely until they were reconquered by the Spanish. The church was reconstructed in 1706 while the US War with Mexico was underway. However, it was burned in 1847 by the government of the United States who left only the bell tower standing and because many lives were lost, the land on which it stood became the cemetery. The present church was built in 1850, now a National Historic Landmark.

Jean standing in the archway of the San Geronimo Church

Me and friend

I couldn't resist including this picture. Here I sit, short of breath, while Jean explores some more and shops. Tourists were asked not to feed the Pueblo dogs, so I did not. But this one waited patiently with me in the shade quite a while before he/she gave up and moved on. I attracted several dogs, and Jean remarked that I must have good energy!

Both of us succumbed to urges to buy drums made in the traditional way by a full blooded member of Taos Pueblo, Frank Mirabal. Jean bought two smaller drums that she plans to play with her grandchildren. She found a large totebag and carried them home on the plane. There were five drums hanging from a beam overhead in the shop, and one of them really attracted me. I asked to see it and I swear I could feel it speaking to me. It fit perfectly on my lap and has a most pleasing sound. The sides are made of aspen and cottonwood and the drumheads are made of elk hide. I decided to have it shipped to Virginia by UPS, but I haven't received it yet. I plan to sit on my deck or in front of my fireplace and play it for my own pleasure. Or maybe Jean will bring hers over and we'll drum together.

Another great place we spent some time in was Earthships which is a bio-tech ecological housing development. The houses are built into the earth and use recycled materials, discarded rubber tires covered by adobe, recycled cans and glass bottles. There is an inside cistern used to catch rainwater, and three processes to reuse water. Electricity is provided by solar panels. Here's a picture of the model home:

Crazy me, but I'd love to live here for awhile. There are growing plants inside which is a part of the interior ecological system.

And here are three more pictures to close this posting, Roasting green chilis, the Troubadours, Sunset:

Stormy adopted 1999-2010 Rest In Peace

2010-08-24T18:40:00.000-04:00

I think we should have a Pets Day--like Mothers Day and Fathers Day. It would be nice to memorialize all the pets we've had through our lives. Most cats and dogs live less than 20 years so a mature adult human who has reached the age of 80 has lived intimately with at least 4 pets, and often many, many more.

Currently, 3 dogs and 3 cats share my home. Up til today there were 4 cats. I took our old Mama cat to the Vet because she was overdue for her rabies vaccination and hasn't looked "right" for some time now. Her fur looked ruffled and she had a voracious appetite although she was skin and bones. She was alert and responses were good, especially to food. She was highest in the pecking order so she had her choice of places to lie out on my bedroom deck where they all live during the summer. She liked best the small dog kennel shaded by a plastic tablecloth and padded with a faded bath mat.

The latest photo of Stormy taken late Winter 2010.

   I wasn't expecting the vet to tell me that he suspected several of Stormy's organs were full of cancer. He and I discussed all the pros and cons and finally decided it was in Stormy's best interest, as well as mine, to put her down. He brought her in for me to say my goodbyes and I told her that if she should see Rocky, he would pick her up and cradle her and love her. I left with a huge lump in my throat.
   Stormy came stray to our house in May 1999. We became aware of her because she rummaged through some garbage bags that had been left in the truck bed. Then one day when we were doing yard work, she came out of the woods and made herself known by a "Myow." We fed her and gave her a home after checking her out with the vet who reported that she was expecting.
   So a month or so later, she had three kittens in our basement crawl space.
Rocky was so afraid our resident black snake would get them that he crawled back to where she was sheltered by a piece of plywood and brought out two all-grey kittens and one with Siamese markings, actually a reverse image of Mama Stormy. The latter who developed blue eyes which she still has, we named "Smudge." The other two, one with yellow eyes like Stormy's and one with green eyes, we named GreyBoy and GreyGirl, respectively. We tried calling them Shady and Shadow but GB and GG stuck.
   If we had a special day to honor pets, here's who I would recognize and honor:
Dogs: Ritzi, Spitz; Chico, mixed; Tammy, Springer Spaniel; Tommy, mixed; Panda, mixed; Sable, German Shepherd; Pippin, Poodle; Laurel, Springer Spaniel; Jenny, mixed; Moose, mixed lab and Irish setter; Louie, beagle; Abe and Bonnie, both Springer Spaniels. I still have the last 3.
Cats: Tiger, Muff, Puff, Koko, Tom Bombadil, Goldberry, Syn, Twit, Sherman, Sylvester, Stormy, Smudge, GreyBoy, GreyGirl. I still have the last 3.

Video of DCE Finale Aug. 14, 2010

2010-08-23T14:05:00.000-04:00

A Loud and Brassy Weekend

2010-08-17T23:01:00.000-04:00

I'm a proud Grandmother. I had the pleasure of flying to Indianapolis last weekend to see my grandson, Chris Rockwell, participate in the Drum Corps International World Championships. Chris plays the mellophone, a field trumpet, in the Blue Stars Corps. All the corps are sponsored by the city in which they originated, which for the Blue Stars is Lacrosse, Wisconsin.

This is Chris in his uniform. The red ribbon around his neck is for the gold medal he was awarded in Atlanta two weeks ago for his participation and placing first in the brass ensemble competition. Chris is 16 and this is his second year in the Blue Stars and DCI. Members can stay in the organization until they are 21.

The above pictures are of the DCI corps who finished the finals in the top 10. The Blue Stars can be seen in the top picture 2nd Corps from the left. The instruments that make up each Corps are trumpets (all types), tubas, baritones,

cymbals, and drums (various types). There are also dancers and a color guard, and an ensemble that does not march. It is made up of xylophones, drums, percussion, and, sometimes, a piano. The various corps tour the U.S. from June to mid-August performing every night in some different city. Needless to say, the corps members must be dedicated and passionate about their music and performance.

This is most of our Rockwell family. From left, Grandaughter Jessica, me, Chris, and ex-daughter-in-law, Ann Parnell. Chris was finished after the Saturday night finals (Blue Stars placed 8th) until next year so we were able to have a late supper together as well as an early morning breakfast. Then we parted, they by car to Lynchburg, VA and me to Bristol by plane via Atlanta. Hopefully, it won't be long before we can be together again.

Mimi

Bill Clifton - Longing for Old Virginia

2010-08-10T01:01:00.000-04:00

My friend Jean and I decided to drive to Mendota to visit some old friends after our Sunday brunch at Ruby Tuesday's. Mendota is northeast of Bristol across the North Fork of the Holston River.

This is a barn I've always wanted to photograph and Sunday I did. The huge rock is one side of the barn, and yes, that is a "little white church in the dell," to quote an old song. If I remember correctly, it is a Baptist Church and is very well maintained as are the grounds. You can see how curving the road is which is named Nordyke Road. Coming home, our GPS got a little mixed up and we drove on a narrower road named "Barnrock Road" and sure enough it eventually joined Nordyke and we knew we were on our way home.

A closer look at the barn rock.

Bill (Marburg) Clifton and Tineke Labrie

Mendota is the home of Bill Marburg and Tineke Labrie, old friends of ours we'd lost contact with until Rocky's memorial service. They sang several duets a cappella and Bill told a story to remember Rocky by.

Bill's performing name is Bill Clifton and he has been a performer of folk songs and country music for over 50 years since he was very young. He came to Hiltons, VA, which is just down the road from Mendota, when A. P. Carter was still living to study with him. A. P. took a liking to Bill and they developed both a musical and personal relationship that lasted until A. P. died. Bill has performed all over the world and was admitted to the Country Music Hall Of Fame a decade ago.

I first met Bill through his wife, Tineke, who is from Holland. I was a social worker and she was a volunteer at the Crisis Center where I was Assistant Director when I first moved to Bristol. I remembering meeting Bill at a pot-luck dinner at the Center, and he and my husband, Rocky, hit it off. We began a lot of visiting back and forth. Mendota is a long drive from Bristol because the roads are now back roads and very curvy as they respect the river and the low range of mountains and hollows.

   I know Bill on a social basis and as a personal friend. His impressive musical ability was really lost on me, I hate to say, until recently. Ironically, he is better known to the public in Europe and Japan than he is in this region except for Appalachia and Nashville musicians. But what a delight to discover him now. One of his more recent performances is published below at the end of this post.

   Tineke, Bill's wife, is an extremely charming and interesting person. She is very creative artistically and enjoys a challenge but once she's mastered it and made as many items as she wants, then she is ready to go on to another challenge. Her most recent project that she's about completed is making stain glass window inserts for some of her windows. She is now more interested in setting up what she calls her "museum." A handyman neighbor built a small cabin in their large backyard, right next to the river, and Tineke is putting up shelves and then displaying all her small gifts friends from other countries have given her and souvenirs she has brought back. I didn't think to take a picture of it, but I will the next time I visit when it will be more complete. So far she has shelves devoted to Russia, Japan, Thailand, and Holland, of course.

   So Jean and I had a delightful time and I'm pretty sure Bill and Tineke did too. What a pleasure for me to have finally discovered Bill's professional side. I'm going to iTunes to buy some of his cd's very soon. Here, have a listen:
This was recorded in 2006 and sent to YouTube by "americanamama". Enjoy, Mimi

A New Friend

2010-07-23T01:27:00.000-04:00

What a boost to an old lady's ego to meet a young seventeen year old who is full of talent and intelligence, make a connection, and then bond.
After 24 hours we were in love! She is Jessica Miller, the granddaughter of my friend, Molly Catron.

This all came about because my friend Linda Poland invited me to her home in the country last evening to hear Elizabeth Ellis, Master Storyteller, try out some new stories. About 40 people (maybe 50?) gathered in a half-circle on the lawn under old trees sipping wine and ice tea and listened to Elizabeth tell new stories none of us had ever heard before.

Linda Poland, Hostess

   Elizabeth Ellis, Master Storyteller

   Because the night sky grew dark by the time we finished snacking, imbibing more tea (ahem!) and chatting with EE in Linda's house, it was too late for me to drive back to Bristol, so at Molly's invitation, I stayed at her house for the night. Her granddaughter, Jessica, had expressed an interest in hearing Elizabeth, and Molly had brought her along. She was the youngest person there.

   Jessica and I connected during a story break chatting socially, but we really connected on the 45-minute drive to Molly's home when Jessica mentioned she recently joined the high school band playing the snare drums. To keep the conversation going, I mentioned my grandson is touring the U.S. this summer with the International Drum and Bugle Corps. Jessica let out a squeal because she knew all about the drum and bugle corps and has great admiration for the discipline and precision the members must demonstrate. She expressed surprise that someone my age (this was implied, not frankly shared) would know about band life and music. We talked drums and trumpets all the way to Molly's home.

   Then at the house, Jessica entertained us with some melodies on the electric guitar, many of which she has composed herself. She demonstrated today how she learns a composition "by ear," or as she calls it, her "listening ear." I was amazed at her talent and her passion for music. I am still dumbfounded that I should know two budding musicians with so much talent and potential as Jessica and my grandson, Christopher, and they are the same age, one in Kingsport, TN and one in Lynchburg, VA. They talk the same language although they've involved with different instruments.

   Today, I visited with Molly. She kept me well fed with a frittata from her fresh eggs and garden tomatoes for breakfast, and a tomato tart with a tomato/cucumber salad for an early dinner before I left to drive home.
We sat on her porch in wicker chairs drinking iced tea to escape the heat, then toured her grounds looking at veggie garden, amazing deep red zinnias and other flowers, her chickens and rooster, greenhouse, and two Great Pyranees dogs, a golden retriever mix, and a Pomeranian Molly inherited from her mother. I saw everything but the goats who were grazing on the other side of a hill. That means I have to go back for another visit!

   But Jessica and I had more opportunity today to listen to her iPod that she connected to a laptop so she could play for me different electric guitar artists who play with major orchestras their versions of classical and jazz compositions. The theme for me was that music can bring the generations together. My experience with this young talented musician gives me optimism for a culturally-enriched future. Mimi

Playful Self-Portraits

2010-07-15T20:30:00.000-04:00

I love to play with the computer. I get in a lot of trouble sometimes because I say, "Hmmm, wonder what will happen if I click this."

I had never played with Mac's Photo Booth before. This is where you take pictures of yourself. Since I had been to the hairdresser in the afternoon, I decided to have some fun. I had seen the funny results that my Grandkids got when they came and visited my Mac.

So, above is my normal look. I'm turned slightly away because for someone my age to look dead on (pardon the pun) at the camera is too much for my heart!

I left Photo Booth and then went to citrify.com which is a Photo Editing site. It is limited if compared to PhotoShop, but still a lot of fun, especially since it's free.

The above photo uses the Watercolor Special Effect.

This is still from citrify.com and is the Obamafied Special Effect.

Back to Mac's PhotoBooth and this is one special effect you can use. I had not cropped the photo as much as the other ones and I'm not even sure it's the same photo. But it's close.

Well, let's see what I can click on tonight.

Mimi

Precious: A Movie

2010-07-12T01:56:00.000-04:00

   Last night I watched the acclaimed movie, "Precious" starring Gabourey Sidibe who was able to play a glamour girl role as well as the unappealing character ironically named "Precious." Precious was not the value placed on her, however, by her abusive mother played by the actress, Mo'Nique nor by her father, her mother's boyfriend.

   Mariah Carey also plays a role in this movie, not a glamour role but that of a social worker in a welfare office. I have been annoyed for years that social workers are almost always portrayed as cold, heartless control freaks and it was refreshing to see a more realistic picture, right down to the little make-up that the Director insisted Mariah Carey use to make her look more natural.

The glamorous fantasies of Precious are embedded creatively in scenes of abuse that needed to be brief because they were so abhorrent. The abuse, both sexual and physical, is not far-fetched; I often heard similar tales as a clinical therapist. Nor are the fantasies which are known as a dissociative process so the abused can survive the attacks without a mental break.

As unappealing as the main character looks, she is likeable because one senses that she has "will." She survives by going right back into her responsibilities and demands of her homelife. Her and her child's survival become paramount when she survives a fall down the stairs pushed by her mother. Then I found myself gasping as the mother throws a television set after her and I was sure the baby Precious was carrying in her arms had been struck and killed. Precious picks herself up and with her baby in a bloody blanket leaves her mother's household and the viewer knows she has the will to leave it forever.

Precious now has resources. She is learning at an alternative school and is befriended by all the other students who are misfits in their own right. Her welfare worker is helping her live independently with both her children, the older of the two with Downs Syndrome. She tells her mother that she will not return because she is making good grades, reading at the 8th grade level, and next year will go to high school, "and then college." As she walks down the street in the last scene, carrying both babies, I could only think of what a "push" it was going to take, but that she had the will to make it. Good movie! Mimi

Another Pleasurable Matinee at The Barter

2010-07-08T22:45:00.000-04:00

   Today Molly and I met for lunch at Allison's, a casual restaurant in Abingdon with very good food, and then went to the Barter matinee of "Violet."

   You can read the Barter website's review of this unusual play by following the link listed above. Or you can read my take on it.

   Almost the entire play was sung by the actors with a piano accompaniment that unfortunately occasionally drowned out the voices. Scenery was creative but at a minimum with almost all the action taking place on a bus between North Carolina and Oklahoma.

   Violet is traveling from her isolated home in the Appalachian mountains with the hope of ridding herself of the facial scar she suffered in an accident. Her destination is Oklahoma where she plans to attend the service of a faith-healer evangelist she has watched on television. The playwright chooses to tell the story of Violet's relationship with her father and the accident and its consequences by spotlighting another younger actress and the father in moments interspersed with the present-day bus trip. The songs emphasize the shame and anger of the young Violet and the guilt and distress of the father. The playwright also chooses to present Violet without any facial scarring and the actress must communicate this flaw by touching her face and through song.

   At the same time, the present Violet rides along on the bus meeting various people who react to her scarred face. There are two soldiers, one white and one African American, who are reporting for assignment to Viet Nam. By Memphis, Violet is involved in a complicated relationship with each fellow. Remember, only a little of this is spoken dialogue. The lyrics of the songs caused me to listen closely to keep up with the action as well as to appreciate the wit and the character development.

   In Oklahoma, Violet believes a miracle has happened even though her encounter with the tv evangelist is an emotionally wrenching disappointment. But reinforced by a Gospel choir she does undergo some kind of inner healing. The audience members must decide whether her scar is still there or whether it is gone. Certainly a change has taken place and the evolving relationships with the soldiers illustrate this change.

   It seems to me that the playwright is saying that Violet's low self-esteem due to the scar is no longer controlling her decisions at the end, but I question whether fully entering into a love match is the desired denouement. Perhaps her increased self-esteem could be better established by Violet engaging with the world with or without a scarred face without depending on a man caring for her so she can think better of herself.

Mimi

A Visit With Storytelling Friends

2010-07-07T23:00:00.001-04:00

   What a pleasure it was today to see and hear Gay Ducey tell stories at the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough.

   I've known Gay since sometime in the early 1990's when she was a Featured Teller at the Poplarville Blueberry Festival which was produced by my good friend, Hattie Gentry. She was such a hit that the Poplarville Guild had Gay come back a number of times to tell, lead workshops, and teach Master Classes. I think I attended all of these.

   Rocky included Gay as one of the Barter Storytellers and she conducted a workshop for the Beaver Creek Storytellers Guild while in town. Both she and her husband, Patrick, stayed at our house several times.

   Today, when she saw me we hugged and she whispered in my ear, "I just wasn't ready to let him go yet," meaning Rocky, of course. She loved Rocky's humor and was very helpful to him in one of the Poplarville workshops when he introduced his signature story which we referred to as "Chicken Beebees."

   After the program today at the ISC, Gay, her husband, and I went to The Bistro to have ice tea and peach cobbler and a good catch-up visit. They have two granddaughters now who live near them in Berkeley that they are very involved with. Gay is a very wise woman who was once a social worker and now is a Children's Librarian. The Bay Area of California gives her the opportunity to hear many ethnic stories of a multitude of cultures.

   She told several Asian folktales today and her animated facial expressions and her voice set her style that is so pleasing. I for one hang onto every word and the stories are never boring because I get caught up in the telling. The last story she told was a wonderful woman's story about a lifetime prosaic existence in which a woman lived as she was expected. However, she discovered an artistic way, using a prosaic medium, to express her yearnings. I've heard several stories from Gay through the years that have been memorable and have stayed with me, and this one will be one of those, I'm sure.

   Gay is a special friend to me and many of us who were involved in the Poplarville Storytelling Festival have a special place in our hearts for her. I wish her contentment and hope that she receives the kind of pleasure that she has been giving her audiences for many years. Mimi

The Weekend to Celebrate Independence

2010-07-03T20:13:00.000-04:00

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY

2010

Details After A Death

2010-07-03T01:39:00.000-04:00

   Thursday afternoon I received a call that the death certificate for Rocky had finally arrived at the Sullivan County Health Dept. It had been two weeks since the Tetrick Funeral Home in Johnson City had called and apologized for filing the paperwork instead of taking action on it and the secretary had just discovered it in the cabinet.

   I was told that the paperwork would still have to go to the Medical Examiner (who was coincidentally the doctor at the Hospice House) and then to the County Coroner's office before I could pick it up. So considering it has been six weeks since Rocky's death, I decided to drive down to Blountville where the Vital Records Dept. is located and pick up the certificate immediately.

   I have discovered that I can't cancel or change certain services if they are in Rocky's name or both our names without supplying a death certificate. I can't have his name removed from checks or bank accounts or cancel credit cards in his name. I reported that he had died to Social Security so they would stop depositing his social security checks, but was then told I have other papers to sign to get other benefits and when I return them, I must submit a death certificate. I'm sure the IRS is going to want one, too.

   In normal circumstances, the funeral home takes care of these details. But since Rocky donated his body to medical science, the only thing the funeral home does is whatever is necessary to preserve and transfer the body so it meets the requirements of the university. There are no services to the family.

   This means I get to make these phone calls and run these errands. The only problem I had at Vital Records was having to wait in line and having to explain why a funeral home had not already done this and experiencing the scowl on the clerk's face.

   I was in for another surprise today when I received a letter from the University which said it would be one to three years before Rocky's ashes would be returned to me. I've known of two other situations with two other universities and in one case, returning the ashes took two years and in the other case it took only two weeks! The possibility of waiting for three years just seems too long, but there isn't anything I can do about it.

   I write of this primarily to let my followers know the consequences of this choice should one of their loved ones make it in the future. Please don't misunderstand. I'm not sorry Rocky made this choice, but it is a learning process for me that surprises me at times.

Blue Sky Boys At the Barter

2010-07-01T20:26:00.000-04:00

   My friend, Molly Catron, and I met for lunch yesterday in Abingdon and then went to the Barter Theatre to see and hear "Blue Sky Boys." I didn't know what to expect as I'd never heard of this play and didn't see it during the Abingdon Highlands Festival when it auditioned last summer. I thought maybe it was about the man from Big Stone Gap who wrote the book about his adolescent activities of building rockets years ago.

   I was delighted to discover that it was about the first NASA project of putting a man on the moon before the end of the 1960's. I was a teensy, teensy part of that project in that my ex-husband, when we were still married, worked for a sub-contractor of NASA's and actually had an office on the Houston space center grounds. One of our neighbors was a Flight Controller for the lunar landing and was one of the oft-televised cheering men applauding and passing out cigars. Another connection is that my ex did analysis of the first photos that were sent back from the moon and wrote a paper that he presented at a conference in York, England in 1973 which garnered a trip to Europe for us.

   Now some stories involving a lot of science can be very dull. However, the playwright, Deborah Brevoort, handled that by including ten roles for imaginary characters, i.e. Buck Rogers, Icarus, Apollo, Galileo, the Red Baron, and even Snoopy.
The total number of 14 characters are played by seven actors, all male. The interaction of the real with the imagined leads to a good many laughs, and the play is fast-moving and highly entertaining.

   We here in Southwest Virginia are so lucky to have the Barter, a professional theatre and the State Theatre of Virginia, so handy. One thing I wish for is that ticket prices would not be so high. The matinee ticket I bought yesterday cost $29 which included a $2 discount because I'm a Triple A member. In the past I've bought six or twelve tickets called a "Passbook" for the season which brings the price down to a little less than $20 for a matinee. The opportunity to buy passbooks ends in April and this April I had other things on my mind and the opportunity passed by. So I will be selective about what I see. I passed up "Annie" because I've seen it before and will not go to see anything with Elvis or rock and roll, because I'm just not a fan.

   But Molly and I plan to see "Violet" next Thursday--it looks really good!

2010 June 26 Full Moon

2010-06-28T01:54:00.000-04:00

Storytelling for Midsummer Magic

2010-06-28T01:31:00.000-04:00

Saturday, June 26, would have been my and Rocky's 34th wedding anniversary. I knew it would be an emotional day for me, so I asked my granddaughter to come be with me. I had planned to take her to dinner, but better yet we were invited to a storytelling party in Jonesborough.

One of my new friends, Pam Miller, had been celebrating Mid-Summers Night on the closest June Saturday for the past few years in which her visitors would read from Shakespeare's Mid-Summer Night's Dream in Pam's backyard garden. This year she decided to switch it to a storytelling event and asked tellers to choose something appropriate to fairies or nature or fairytales. I was one of the tellers as was my friends, Molly Catron, and Linda Poland, and a couple new folks I had not met before.

This is Pam Miller, Hostess

I was dependent on my iPhone for pictures because I couldn't find my Canon before I left the house. So I did not get pictures of Pam's charming "Fairy Tale Cottage." So I'll describe what I could see of it because the living room was full of people on folding chairs mixed in with antique furniture Pam has been collecting for years. First her front porch was hung with buntings of white gauzy muslin and mini lights. The winding path to the cottage which is well set back from the Main Street of Jonesborough was lined with solar lights which her family had brought to her for their annual summer visit. The feel of the living room was light and airy with crystal chandelier pulls, cut-glass lamps, white walls, white curtains edged with cutwork, a white brick fireplace with a mantel holding numerous glass candlesticks with lit white candles. Red and white wine was served in old American glass footed tumblers. The dining room table held snack foods, drinks, and light desserts. Books of fairytales were abundant lying on the sofa table, desk, and coffee table.

This is my close friend, Molly Catron. Molly is serving the wine here, not chugging it down!

As soon as Jessica and I entered, we were crowned with a tiara wreath of lavender, so that delicious fragrance delighted us for the rest of the evening. My wreath now hangs on the cupboard in my private bathroom and should stay freshly aromatic for the rest of the summer.

Jessica; it's dark but hopefully you can see the wreath of lavender on her head.

I knew what story I wanted to tell as soon as I got the invitation which was my version of an old traditional tale that I call "Moon Woman." Then I found out that serendipitously there would be a full moon. Jessica and I stayed up way too late basking in the moonlight while sitting on my bedroom deck and snapping pictures of the moon as it progressed across the sky. It was a clear night but about 2:00 a.m. as I had gotten my nightgown on and came to look out the window one more time, it had clouded up so out came the camera again. I have published a slideshow in the sidebar of photos I took of the moon after Jessica and I got home. Be sure and look.

Getting Used To the Changes

2010-06-08T22:47:00.000-04:00

   I went out only once last week, and that was to the Medical Center to have a SSEP test ordered by the Neuro-orthopedist who I haven't actually met yet. I guess he wants to see my bones and nervous system on the inside of my skin before he sees me face to face.

   I had never heard of such a test before or know anyone who has had one. So I didn't know what to expect. The only instructions before hand were to wash my hair the night before, not to use any gels or sprays on it until after the test, not to drink any caffeine, and bring a driver. The last instruction made me speculate that I would be sedated.

   Not so. The Tech said that I wouldn't have needed a driver and she didn't know why they keep telling people that! But my good friend, Molly, had picked me up and driven me and now during this 2-hour test, she was out running errands, including dropping my new Miele vacuum cleaner off at the repair shop.
(Somehow the handle broke ending up with a huge crack in its seams.)

   I asked why the test would take so long. The Tech said the length varies with the person. It is an "averaging test" she said, and only one area can be tested at a time until there's enough data gathered to figure an average. Then the Tech can move on to another area. There were four areas to test with the elctrodes they pasted to my left ankle, right ankle, left forearm, and right forearm. However, they pasted lots more electrodes around my body, to my legs, arms, back, neck, chest, and head; in fact, several to my head.

   What is this testing, I asked, what are they trying to find out? The answer was that they want info about whether the spinal cord is doing its job of being the central dispatcher of the nervous system. The question has arisen because I have an extreme case of scoliosis, curvature of the spine, and doctors are speculating that my spine is pressing against my lungs which is causing me severe shortness of breath.

   The four "special" electrodes are stimulated with heat that then travels on down the nerve to the extremities. Because I have been retaining some fluid recently that collects around my ankles, it took longer for the heat to work its way through the "water." But overall, the test took only a little more than 90 minutes. Having heat slowly move through your nerves was not comfortable, but it wasn't unbearable. Just tedious--I almost fell asleep a couple times. Which was good because it meant I was relaxed.

   I don't have the results yet and may not have them until I finally see Dr. Lorio on August 12. I've seen his Nurse Practitioner, but not the doctor, the "spine man." I've already had the MRI that was ordered. I asked how long the spine man would give me to discuss my case, and was told, "15 minutes."

   "What?!" I cried, "he's going to tell me my diagnosis, and discuss my options and relevant treatment plans, all in 15 minutes?" He can do it, I was told, because he'll have reviewed my chart (oh, yeah!) and looked at my test results.
Even though he's a surgeon and I willingly am going to see him, I am NOT having surgery on my spine. I don't care how talented he is and how state-of-the-art his techniques are, I'm NOT having spinal surgery. Not at my age. Unh, unh.

   So, I'll keep you posted. I'm calling every week to see if he's had any cancellations so I can move that appointment closer if possible.

   But that was the only reason I went out last week. Sunday, I did drive over to Abingdon to see my best friend's newly remodeled kitchen. We visited and drank tea for an hour or so and laid some plans for the holidays of the summer.
My only vacation plans are for a trip to Indianapolis in mid-August to attend my grandson's Drum and Bugle Corps contest finals. And, excitedly I tell you, my Abingdon friend and I are researching some plans to go to Taos, New Mexico over Labor Day. That will be a real adventure and I hope it comes to pass.

Flower Gardening

2010-06-03T22:01:00.000-04:00

For several days, I've been getting my exercise by pulling some weeds in the flower beds. Here are some pictures of my new Asiatic lilies.

My niece, Rosalie, and her husband, Leslie, planted these for me last November when they visited.

They make easy arrangements to bring into the house. A stalk will have one or two flowers and 4-6 buds so they continue to open in a vase.

There are still a few in the garden yet to bloom.

My New Journey Begins

2010-06-01T12:29:00.001-04:00

   Today is June 1, and I opened my copy of Rich With Years, Daily Meditations on Growing Older and discovered June 1 was turned down with a dog ear. Evidently, I had been impressed with it last year and wanted to note it and had no pencil available. Here's part of what it says: "I want to keep trying, take risks, keep going, experiment with life, undertake new ventures, and find fresh challenges."

   Well, that doesn't seem to be the PROPER thing to do while mourning! But I put PROPER aside way back in the '60's. Rocky made the observation about me once that I like challenges. Oh, not sky diving or getting a medical degree, but problem-solving or organizing or producing a new group, a new venue, a new story. Some fresh interest; some fresh insight; a new friendship. I think he was right.

   But I do have a background in social work so I realize that taking care of myself now involves expressing all the emotions I currently have and not allowing new challenges to distract me. I am choosing no time table and making no big decisions. And no obligations other than feed my pets and pay my bills. I want to have plenty of time available to deal with the grief that I feel and will continue to feel for awhile.

   Writing in the Caring Bridge journal was very therapeutic for me, but I am finished there for now. This Blog and my own personal Journal (the one on my word processor that no one else sees) become my current writing outlets.

   However, I feel there are some loose ends to be tied up before this Blog will feel complete for me. And those loose ends involve some pictures, so let's see if I can upload them into the blog and not have to put them in a side-bar.

   Of course, Rocky's illness and death account for much of the time away from this Blog, but during that time and especially in May after his death, Castle Yonder and I had several visitors. The first was my niece, Rosalie from Ohio, and her daughter, my Great-Niece Annette from Michigan who came to visit the last weekend of April.

Rosalie and Annette

April 25, 2010

On May 5, Rocky's son, Geoffrey, arrived from Georgia and stayed through May 23. Here he is with his son, our grandson, Christopher who is all dressed up due to a concert in Lynchburg, VA that Geoff and I took time out to attend.

Geoff and Christopher

May 21, 2010

Our grandaughter, Jessica, was there also sitting next to me and in my thoughtless state of mind I didn't turn and snap a pic of her!

Of course, the Celebration Of Rocky's Life (in lieu of a funeral) brought several of our family members from Ohio, North Carolina, South Carolina, Boston and Philadelphia. I don't have a lot of pictures yet as I took very few that day. Here are my two sons, Alan and Eric, flanking my nephew-in-law, Leslie.

From left, Alan from Philadelphia;

Leslie from near Toledo; and

Eric from Boston

May 23, 2010

Me with my nephew, Marv, who is from North Carolina.

Marv had a stroke about 3 years ago which has

very much altered his life as a successful businessman.

My son-in-law, Armas, and son, Alan.

May 23, 2010

I just realized that these photos that I did take are all of males! Hmmmmm!

There were a lot of female worker bees keeping the hors d'ouvres and punch flowing from the kitchen out to the carport where the tables were set up. They also prettied Castle Yonder up by supplying their own garden flowers for flower arrangements. My best friends, Jean and Molly, and my niece, Rosalie,

did most of the work. Molly also constructed a Power Point presentation of Rocky's life in old photographs that could be viewed in the carport. Her husband, Wayne, transported guests from the parking lot of the church one mile away from us back and forth on our one-lane curvy road leading to CY.

There's no picture here of my grandaughter, Jessica, although I did see some that were taken by Alan on his Flip video camera. He left them for me on my computer's desktop but I haven't taken the time to import them into my photo software so I can access them singly.

My VASA friend, Norris, from Virginia Beach drove over for the Celebration and then stayed on with me for a week. Here she is:

Norris at Castle Yonder, May 26, 2010

Norris is wonderfully easy to have as a house guest. One of my other friends calls her an "angel," since she goes where needed and is always ready to help. All of my friends, both male and female, have been angels for me and Geoff through these past two months. They are:

Jean, Molly, Rudy, Leigh Ann, Jack, Rosalie, Diana, Paul,

Organizations that fall into the "angel" category are first and foremost,

Wellmont Hospice House staff and Don McGregor, Bereavement Counselor

Susan Early, Social Worker, Bristol Regional Medical Center

J. R. Gilmer, Elder, Beulah Land Baptist Church

David Wilson, Director, Goosepimple Junction Adventure Camp

Pitching in to be part of the Celebration Of Rocky's Life Memorial service was

Leon Overbay, Isaac Freeman, Pat Musselman, Molly Catron, Paul Conco,

Bill Marburg, Tineke Labrie

And then, how interesting LIFE works out. My best friend from Garrett, IN high school, Sue and her husband, Wayne, were attending a conference in Knoxville and drove two hours north to Bristol to spend just about two hours visiting me on May 25 and then they drove two hours back to Knoxville. How sweet it is, and here they are:

Sue and Wayne at Castle Yonder

May 25, 2010

Attendees at the Celebration said they felt like Rocky's spirit was all around Castle Yonder during the day. I think he visited us the next day, too!

Rainbow Over Castle Yonder, May 24, 2010

"Until we meet again, Rocky!"

Mimi