Tuesday, October 19, 2010

P. O. Box 93

I was robbed.

Yesterday around 9:00 a.m., during an apparent attempted robbery, two men in a maroon Chevrolet Malibu reportedly shot and killed two women:  Paula Robinson, 33, and Judy Spray, 58, neither of whom was known to me personally. That's the who, the how, the what, the when, and possibly even the why

It's the where that is personal.  So very personal.  Because of where this crime occured, I spent a restless night, trying to process what had happened.  I'm hoping that writing about it will help.  Please indulge me.

Most of you know, or have figured out, that I'm a native Tennessean.  While I was born and spent the first three years of my life in the Big City 50 or so miles to the south, I grew up in the tiny town of Henning in Lauderdale County.  When I say "tiny town," I'm probably being generous.  As I recall, there were fewer than 500 residents, counting "dogs, cats, and gophers," as they used to say...although I can't ever recall actually seeing a gopher in Henning.

N/M/E...my mother...had come to live in Henning at the age of 13, from the farm of her maternal grandfather in Hardeman County.  Her father, called Jimmy by one-and-all...except for my brother, our first cousin, and me, who called him Papaw...had finally been able to provide his children with a stable home, six years after the death of his wife, their mother.  It was the early 30's and in the depths of the depression, but he was fortunate to have found a permanent job as a teacher...the profession of his Cummings ancestors and a profession he'd trained for at State Normal College (now known as the University of Memphis).  He would eventually be named the principal of the Henning School, before moving on sometime in the late 30's to the job that I identify with him.

N/M/E always said that she hated leaving the farm, hated leaving her grandfather (Nan-nanny, as he was called, since she couldn't manage "Grand-daddy" early on), and hated Henning.  Hated. It.  That she would leave there as soon as she was grown and would never come back there to live.  Never-ever.

"Never say never."  Much less never-ever.

Shortly after my brother was born, our family of four did indeed move to Henning...for a couple of very specific reasons.  My dear Daddy was then an electric lineman, climbing poles and helping keep the lights on for Memphis Light, Gas & Water.  Doing a job he loved, for sure, but still a job meant for a young man.  You can't climb poles forever.  And, at that moment in time, the U.S. Government had a mandatory retirement age of 65...which my Papaw was poised to have to accept.

You see, the job that Papaw had moved on to after teaching was that of Rural Letter Carrier for the U.S. Post Office.  A job that was steady and that paid well for the times.  A job that meant he had to have two cars...one for work and one for "town"...and that suited Papaw's sense of pride and ownership.  And a job that was reportedly a political plum, which is supposedly why my family was always identified as "Republican," when the majority of West Tennessee thought that was the same thing as saying "Damn Yankee."  I guess the powers-that-were in Lauderdale County were Elephants at the time he got the job?


Easter at Papaw's in Henning
 Anyway,  Papaw was "being forced out," as the story was told in our family, so he wanted to help Daddy get "in."  Daddy took the test, scored the highest score possible (Daddy had very little formal education, but he was a smart man), and was notified he was at the top of the hiring list.  So we packed up and moved away from the house on Lynbar.  Moved into Papaw's century-old two-bedroom house.  Moved to the town where Momma said she'd never live again.  That's a photo of me on Papaw's front porch at Easter (left).

Soon we were renting Miss Minna's house across from the Methodist Church.  I only remember five things about that house...three bad, one good, and one that still makes me laugh. 

First, I remember my brother getting so sick that he had to be rushed to the hospital emergency room...not once, but multiple times; he was sick in bed for a long time, it seems.  Second, I remember burning my fingers on the hot iron...which I had touched in spite of being warned NOT to touch by Arbella because it was hot; had to see for myself, I suppose. I tried to cool the burning sensation by hiding my blistered hand in a velvet sofa cushion; hiding the burns mainly because I was more than a little afraid of Arbella's reaction.  And third, I remember standing in the front porch swing and flipping backward, cutting my chin which bled profusely. Shouldn't have been standing, I know, but still...a bad memory, nonetheless.

The good thing I remember is so vivid that I can almost smell the flowers.  I was headed out the back door to go play with my friend Linda, who lived around the corner and down the street toward town.  It was a bright, sunny, newly-warm Spring day, and daffodils were blooming everywhere it seems.  It must have been one of the first decent days after a long, cold Winter.  Anyway, I remember being so happy.  So absolutely happy.

The memory that still cracks me up will tell you something about life in a small town.  I had gone to church with Linda.  Her father and her brother (who was my age and in the same grade with me at Henning Elementary School) attended the Methodist Church, where my family were members.  But, Linda and her sister belonged to the Baptist Church with their mother.  On this particular Sunday morning, Linda and I apparently did a bit too much chatting in the pew because the preacher called us down from the pulpit. Told us to be quiet, or something close to that. Linda's mother was appalled and told us so at the end of the service.

I thought I would get away with the transgression, though, because Momma wasn't in the congregation; she was at the Methodist Church.  But, when I walked in the back door, she let me have it.  Told me how embarrassed and ashamed she was to hear what I had done.  Talking out loud during the Service!

How had she found out?  Well, before I could walk the half-block back home from the Baptist Church, which "let out" later than the Methodist Church did, no less than 3 "helpful" neighbors had told her what had happened.  Truly, it was a lesson to be learned.  Oh, not the one about not talking in the service.  I'm talking about the lesson of "when you live in a small town, someone always knows what you are doing...and usually before you do it...and they are eager to tell your parent(s)."

We eventually made the move down the street, past the water tower, around the corner, and up the hill to the rambling house my parents bought...and devoted most of their money and time to renovating over the next 16 years.  I have many, many memories of that house, the majority of which fall in the "good" category.

What street was it on?  What was the address, you ask?  Well, that's just it.  There weren't any street names or house numbers in Henning.  It was just known that we lived in The Mann House.

[Funny aside:  my brother was at a party once.  Told someone that he was from Henning.  Oh, really?  I know Henning!  Where did you live?  Brother J described where we lived, and then fell back on "we lived in The Mann House."  You mean The Lunn House, don't you?  Apparently, we lived there long enough to have the house identified with us rather than with Mr. Mann who was the original owner and builder!]

I've mapped it on Google and found out that the streets do indeed have names now.  It appears that I lived all those years on Thum Street.  Who knew?

No, for all the years that I lived in Henning, in all three of those houses, my address was P. O. Box 93.  There was no home delivery of mail.  Just like everyone else in town, we went to the post office to get our mail.  You walked in the building on the main street (then, Highway 51), spun the dial to the correct combination, opened your box, and retrieved your mail.  I wonder if I could remember our combination if I tried really hard? 

Sometimes, especially if it was Summer or if we had a school holiday, I'd ask to walk to the post office so that I could take a detour to Turner's Cafe for some lemon ice-box pie and a 7-Up...if I still had some of my allowance left.  But, most of the time, there wasn't anything left in our box to retrieve. You see, even though there was no home delivery of mail in Henning, we had our own Mail Man in our house. 

Daddy carried the mail out of the Henning Post Office to those folks residing on Rural Route 2.  Out Highway 87 to Glimp (I kid you not...:), on to Fort Pillow and the Tennessee State Prison, and then down to Fulton and into the bottoms where the prime farming land was...and which was prone to flooding in the Spring when the Mississippi escaped her banks.  He worked from 7:00 a.m. to 2:00ish, six days a week, and he always brought our mail home with him.

During the other day-light hours, and many times into the night, Daddy cared for his coin laundry business, located on the main street, same side as the post office.  The washer and dryers were slot-operated and required quarters and dimes.  Hence, it should come as no surprise that my allowance came in change...all rolled up in tubes.

Daddy loved being a Rural Letter Carrier.  Even though he sometimes clashed with Mr. S. over some rule or regulation (hint:  if Daddy said it was written a certain way, you could take it to the bank...it was written that way], he loved delivering the mail...and he loved his patrons, as he called the folks on his route.  Heck, he even liked going to the Prison and getting a hair cut or a steak lunch for less than a $1.00.

Eventually, he transferred to the Millington Post Office, where he carried the mail on the rural route that included Shelby Forest...and the Rev. Al Green's house.  And, he retired after a few years on a rural route out of the Germantown Post Office.  But, looking back, it was the Henning Post Office that was his favorite.

Because of that post office and his job there, I got to go on vacations and do things in places that others in that county only read about.  Because of that post office and his job there, I got to get a car while I was still in high school, when I was barely 16, and charge the $.299/gallon gas at Johnson's Gulf Station for all our running around.  Because of that post office and his job there, I got to go to college and get my degree.  I owe that post office a lot.

So when the news story came across the internet yesterday that those two women...one of whom was a Rural Letter Carrier...had been shot and killed inside the Henning Post Office (which is in a different building now), I wanted to put my head down on my keyboard and cry.

Cry for the victims.  Cry for their families.  And, cry for what I had lost.

I have always had this strong sense of security, deep down in my being. I might not be sophisticated, and I had a lot to learn after leaving Henning, but I have always felt grounded.  I had a sense of place.  No matter where I lived at the present, I knew where I was from.  It was comfortable...and comforting.

And, that safe, secure, sense of place was taken from me yesterday.  I came face-to-face with what I've heard others say:  "it's just not the same as when we grew up there." 

I read a quote the other day.  "Nostalgia is the desire to repossess what you never had."  But, I tell you we had it.  We had a quiet, little town with neighbors who cared about you, where we felt safe. 

Henning may still be able to lay claim to being a little town (although I see in some of the news stories that the population has grown to 1200); Henning may still have neighbors who care; but it will be a very long time before anyone there...or from there...can feel safe.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Fall Has Arrived...Finally!

Just when we thought it would be Summer forever...and ever..., Fall put in an appearance here in the Piedmont of NC. Instead of temperatures in the 80's and 90's (!) during the day, we've had more seasonable 60's and 70's. And, the night-time temps have even dipped into the 40's. Ahh...much better.

Still...

The football games we've attended have all been scorchers. Not score-wise, mind you, 'cause we are fans of the Duke Blue Devils (scoring a touchdown...finally...in their game against Miami over there in that photo, left...you don't want to know the final score), the Carolina Panthers, and the Memphis Tigers...none of which are threatening to win a single game, much less have a winning season. Sigh.

No, temp.-wise. Mr. T donned his Duke sweatshirt on Saturday, saying it was a little chilly outside when he took his morning Coffee Walk in the garden; so, I followed suit and found a sweater to layer over my Duke T-shirt.

Did not need either one of those toppers! As soon as I sat down in Section 20 at Wallace Wade Stadium, I shed that sweater...and started wishing I'd remembered to use some sunscreen on my exposed arms. Fortunately, my face was covered, shall we say, since my make-up has SPF 15, and I had remembered to wear my new sun-visor I got in Hawaii. Mr. T did the manly-man thing and kept his sweatshirt in place...although I noticed he pushed the sleeves up as high as he could. He had a baseball cap to keep the blazing afternoon sun out of his eyes, but he said it was too hot on his head. Whew!

"So why do you even go to those games, if you know your team's likely to lose?" I was asked that by a friend recently. Well, simply put, I like football. What can I say? It's a Southern thing, where football has been compared to religion in this region of the country. Grew up going to Tiger games, always anticipating a winning season...or, at best, a win over Ole Miss. I like to think that contributed to my positive outlook on life. Hope springing eternal and all...anything being possible if you want it bad enough. Right.

Anyway, in my advanced age, I've embraced the whole pre-game rite known at Tailgating. What fun! We've about got it down to a science, too.

  1. Ice down the cooler.

  2. Add cold drinks from the 'fridge. Bag up some extra ice for those team-color Dixie cups.

  3. Either pack sandwiches, salads, 'n chips...or plan to pick up some fried chicken 'n fixin's on the way (depending on what the weather is...hot or cold). [Hot foods require another cooler to keep them warm.] Mr. T is not a fan of fooling with charcoal away from home, so grilling is not on our menu.

  4. Don't forget the cookies...or cupcakes...or, some kind of dessert.

  5. Grab the picnic basket, which stays packed with all those necessities: plates, napkins, salt 'n pepper...even a cheese board and knife, red-checked cloth napkins and tablecloth, along with a corkscrew, if we want to get a bit fancy. [I'm a fan of fancy...:)]

  6. Toss the folding camp chairs and table in the back of the car, along with a couple of blankets and our gel-pack stadium seats (which can be pre-warmed in the microwave, if it is a really cold day...:).

  7. Plug in the I-pod, on which I've created music mixes for game day...go [insert team mascot name here]!

  8. Arrive at least an hour ahead of kick-off and find a parking space where you can enjoy all the above...and soak in some of the atmosphere.

  9. Have fun!


Of course, Fall isn't all about football fun. This year, it's been about a productive Fall veggie garden, too. I am so thrilled with our success with this first-time adventure that I can't wait to go out each day on the Coffee Walk...almost like I was in the early Spring!

As you can see in that photo (right), the turnip greens (Seven Tops, in case you are wondering what I planted; they are good for just the greens, which is the only part N/M/E and I like...not the turnips) have taken center stage. The peppers are still producing, especially the cayennes, which are loaded with red-hots. I've put up about 10 jars of pepper sauce, so far (see same photo...:)

And, I've dug up over a bushel-basket full of sweet potatoes already...with many more still growing in the ground. I think I've shared this photo (below, left) with you before, but it's the only one I have of this harvest...so far.

It appears that every single one of the 57 onion sets I planted recently will make it, with lots of slender green shoots dotting the four rows. The broccoli plants I put in are all healthy looking, although I've yet to see evidence of actual broccoli heads...since I've never grown broccoli, I'm not really sure what to look for anyway. The English (or garden) peas are producing quite spectacularly, albeit with small daily yields due to the small number of seeds I planted; makes me certain that I will plant more of these babies next August! And, the lettuce and spinach are supplying enough for satisfying salads at least a couple times a week. So tender...so tasty!

Meanwhile, I'm doing some prep work for an upcoming challenge. Yes, if Fall has arrived, then November can't be far behind. Time for the Annual NaNoWriMo! You can follow that link to learn more about it, or I'll give you the synopsis: 30 days of November = 50,000 words = 175 page novel. This year will be my third year to participate...and it will be the first year I win! (Don't you just love unbridled enthusiasm?) You "win" NaNo by writing a 50,000 word novel and submitting it for verification/word count on or before midnight November 30th. So, if you don't hear from me for say, oh 30 days or so, don't be concerned. I'm writing...and writing...and writing...etc.

Of course, when I'm not going to football games, gardening, or writing, I'm knitting...another fun Fall activity. I need to get some "before" and "during" shots of my current projects to share with you. I'll be sure and do just that, as soon as I can find some extra time...

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NOTE: This post was composed using the "old" editor setting on Blogger, due to a glitch in their "new" editor involving the uploading of photos. Blah, blah, blah...[insert lots of technical jargon here]...bottom line: where there's a will, you can always find a way. Perserverance, determination...and being just a tad stubborn...help!

Monday, October 11, 2010

Aloha! Part 4 - Riding the Waves...and Returning to the Mainland

Mr. T in Lahaina Harbor - Day 6 - Ready to Sail!
Can it be? A whole month has passed since we boarded American flight #14 for our return trip from Maui. Unbelievable. I guess I'd better try to finish my posts about our vacation, hadn't I? [Talk about "old news"...:)]

Let's see. In the last post about Day Five, we were rippin' and flippin' on the Road to Hana and back, weren't we? [Ahem. That's from a saying about the towns connected by old Highway 51 in Lauderdale County, Tennessee, where I grew up.  "Rippin' (for Ripley, TN) and flippin' (for Flippin, TN) around the Curve (for Curve, TN), through the Gates (for Gates, TN) down the Halls (for Halls, TN), to visit the people in Dyersburg."  The things we remember...:)]



Anyway...



Honu - The Hawaiian Sea Turtle
 Our story is up to Day Six...Thursday...and it's time to recount our catamaran sailing trip from Lahaina to the island of Lana'i on the Trilogy I.  We left our hotel after morning coffee on our lanai, allowing plenty of time to drive to Lahaina, park, and board our beautiful boat (in photo with Mr. T, above/right).  The crew served us breakfast of hot cinnamon rolls (fabulous!), fresh fruits, cold juices, and coffee, as we enjoyed the wind and sun on our faces.  That sun, reflecting off the water, was exceptionally hot, and several of us joked about the SPF of our suntan lotions:  if you put another layer of SPF 50 on top of the original layer of SPF 50, do you get SPF 100?!  During the trip "out," we spotted one of the giant sea turtles (or, honu, in Hawaiian)...a first for many of us.  My photo (left) doesn't do the experience justice...but it all happened so fast!

Got all the equipment?  Check!  Let's snuba!!
After about an hour, we were mooring on Lana'i and being welcomed with shell leis (nice touch).  A short walk to Hulopoe Beach...and then Mr. T and I were receiving instructions from Trilogy crew member Denver for our next adventure:  snuba diving!

Snuba is a cross between snorkeling (where you wear a mask for viewing underwater, with a short breathing tube, which means you have to stay close to the surface to get air) and scuba diving (where you have to obtain certification to use air tanks underwater).  With snuba, you are "tethered" to a floating air tank by 20 feet of air tubing, meaning you can do shallow diving without worrying about the tank...or without going through the certification process.

Now, I always loved Sea Hunt when I was younger (much, much younger...:)...the original series starring Lloyd Bridges as diver Mike Nelson.  Always thought I'd like to scuba dive, but have never taken the time to take any classes or obtain certification.  This seemed like an easy compromise.  And, we "knew" it was meant to be since Lloyd's son Jeff was actually a fellow passenger on the Chicago to LA leg of our trip to Maui!  A sign!!


Is that Mike Nelson?

Ooh!  I see lots of fishes!!
In theory, snuba is an easy process, even for beginners, especially if you have snorkelled before (which we have) and are reasonably good/confident swimmers (which we are).  In practice...not so much.  I loved getting to see the beautiful fish and underwater reefs "up close and personal," but I really struggled with two things:  getting my mask to "hold suction" without filling with water, and wearing the weight belt, especially on the surface.  I dealt with the first thing as best I could, according to the instructions that Denver had given us; the second thing was much harder for me to deal with.  Even though I had the air line regulator firmly clamped between my teeth...and it was working just fine...I couldn't turn off my rising feeling of panic when the weight belt kept pulling me underwater...just like it was designed to do...when I was "on the surface" trying to get my fins/flippers on.  And neither Mr. T nor I liked having the snorkle tube attached to the mask...we didn't use it, didn't need it, and it just got in the way.  Still, I wouldn't give anything for the once-in-my-lifetime experience.  We had underwater cameras so we could document that we really, really did it...and there's the evidence up there in those photos!

Mr. T chills out to some tunes on Lana'i
  At the end of the 45 minutes, we were thoroughly and absolutely exhausted.  Unlike some of the other passengers who headed off to the Four Seasons for shopping or drinks, we relaxed on the beach (photo, left) until time to return to the pavilion near the dock for our BBQ chicken dinner and fixings, cooked by our captain and crew.  Delish!  
Patricia on the Trilogy I return voyage






Then, back on the Trilogy I for the sunset cruise back to Lahaina.  Even though we had little wind, the crew hoisted the beautiful spinaker for our sailing pleasure (photo, right).  And, we were thrilled to see a couple of the flying dolphins as we neared the harbor.  A lovely afternoon and evening.

Red skies on return cruise at sunset


Wheeee!  Let's do that again!


Such an exciting and exhausting day on Thursday meant we had earned a Play Day on Friday.  We spent most of the day lounging around the pool and playing in the Raging River.  Just a couple of kids are we, as you can see from our splish-splash photos!   

Mr. T makes a big splash



Body by Botero

I also enjoyed the special Art Tour of the grounds of our lovely resort, conducted by one of the Artists in Residence.  The Grand Wailea is home to the largest corporate art collection in Hawaii, featuring the works of legendary artists including Botero (photo, right), Leger, and Chihuly...whose glass sculptures we'd seen at the St. Louis Botanical Gardens a couple of years ago.


Our last sunset on Maui...taken from Humu

On our last evening, we enjoyed our final sunset in paradise from our perfectly-placed table in Humuhumunukunukuapua'a.  This restaurant, named for Hawaii's state fish, appears to be floating on a lagoon, with fantastic ocean and sunset views (see photo, left).  A perfect ending for a perfect vacation.

On Saturday, it was time to say goodbye to the Grand Wailea at noon (check out time).  Still, we had a few more hours to spend on Maui before our 9:00 p.m. flight, so we headed toward Maalaea Harbor where we enjoyed a yummy "last meal" at Buzz's Wharf (where we got some of the best Shrimp 'n Fish 'n Chips I've ever had!) before spending the afternoon at the Hawaiian Aquarium at the Maui Ocean Center.  Colorful and exotic fish (see photo, right)...without fiddling with masks, air tubes, or fins!  Woo hoo!!
I wouldn't want to meet this guy in the ocean!

Our flights home were l-o-n-g, and thankfully uneventful.  Still, neither of us could manage more than a cat-nap on any of the 3 flights (Maui to LAX to DFW to RDU).  I knitted most of the way and listened to two audio-books.  Mr. T. finished up one book he was reading and got a good start on another he'd purchased at Border's just as we were leaving Kahului for the airport.  By the time our heads touched our own pillows in our own bed in HPNC, we had been awake nearly 30 hours straight...and coherent thought was becoming a challenge for both of us.  The toughest part?  That last 90 minute drive from Raleigh to High Point!  Excruciating.

Would we do it all over again?  You betcha!  Would we do anything differently? Possibly add another day or two in order to see the North Shore (Kaanapali and Napili), which we missed.  But, we can always say we were saving something for our next trip to Maui!

Mahalo!

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