Love and Peace

I am a little bit clairvoyant in that I can sense things before they happen or I’m able to see things before they occur. It doesn’t happen often and is sporadic to say the least. I inherited it from my father.

When he was a young man, he went home to Beaumont, TX to visit his parents, leaving my mother and new born baby, me, in Gulf Port, MS. It was a necessary trip I was told later in life as my father and his parents had been fighting and he felt it was important to reconcile with them.

He failed. Leaving he was halfway to Mississippi when he had the overwhelming sense of doom and turned around only to find his brother in the driveway telling him their mother had died. My father never forgave himself for leaving mad and not being able to tell his mother he was sorry.

Fortunately, I’ve never experienced such a vision with tragic repercussions. Mine are more whimsical. For example last night the hostess for our book club forgot that two members don’t eat shrimp and that she had intended to buy some chicken for them. I offered to go get some for her and she said the local Mapco (gas station) had the best fried chicken on our mountain so I made the quick trip to the station. As I got out of the car I saw a shiny penny on the ground. I said to myself, “A lucky penny.” And I picked it up. I entered the station to find only two chicken breasts left and no more being cooked.

However there was a day in our country’s history where many people woke and found that if only they had said this, or done that, or kissed their love one goodbye…if only they could know the future.

This morning I woke early to do my devotions and as I lit my candles I began to shake and cry and could not figure out why. And then I opened my book and saw the date 9/11. You would think that after eight years, I would not still be affected by the tragedy of that fateful day. And then I thought to myself, if I am feeling this way and I only witnessed it through television, how are all the many people who were actually there dealing with it?

Then I realized that if my reaction in some way could help relieve the pain in another then so be it. I may not be there in person with those that lost loved ones or were injured themselves, but I can in Spirit share their pain and loss and if that helps then I welcome the opportunity. It is the least I can do.

I firmly believe that it’s important to remember and honor this day but I also believe that it should be so that it in no way gives the people responsible credibility. They win if we continue to give them credit for ruining our lives. Instead we honor the ones that died for our country even if they did so unwillingly by remembering this day with love and peace in our hearts.

Time is Never Wasted

I'm supposed to be at a workshop right now, "writing your family stories," sponsored by the Chattanooga Writers Guild, of which I'm a member. We tried to get a grant to have this workshop and the planning committee realized it was too late so we decided to go with the concept and see what happened.

Designed for Hispanics in the community to learn to write their family stories, the committee had translators, facilitators of small groups, and assistants (such as me) all lined up to help. But not one Hispanic signed up for the course.

But God works in mysterious ways and instead over fifteen people heard about the workshop and came to learn to tell their family stories. Men, women, young, middle-aged and old showed up, each on a mission to share their stories and pass them down to their children and grandchildren.

Since there were enough helpers present I decided to leave once we broke off to small groups, knowing that I will be there the last two Thursdays to help if needed. And in the meantime, the CWG Vice-president and I talked and decided this was a good lesson for us in that we need to find out why the Hispanic community was not interested and how great it was that there were so many others who were. This is important too because I am the president-elect for the CWG board which begins a new year next week.

Sometimes when I volunteer for things and then find I'm not needed, I become frustrated but this time I was not. Going downtown after dinner I was treated with so many different delights that I don't often have the pleasure of seeing that it was worth the drive. First of all I followed a line of cars driving slowly down the mountain behind a huge truck filled to the brim with recycled cardboard from the recycle center in town. Most people were being patient, however the car in front of me seemed out of sorts and then I realized they were on the telephone. At least they were not texting!

My son Jason sent me a You Tube video today of a reenactment of a crash that killed a lot of people including a baby, which tore him up. The driver who caused the crash was sending a text message to a friend.

As I crossed the Tennessee River, the cool breeze coming in from the open windows picked up the scent of the new tar the state was pouring on the highway under construction downtown. Oddly it was a pleasant smell. I was amazed at the number of orange barrels lined up along the highway and was reminded of the black kerosene lanterns that lit up the roads when I was a child marking a construction zone.

Coming home, I passed the National Cemetery and saw the symmetry and angles of the headstones lined up one hill after another. The sun setting behind them cast a shadow so that the number of tombs appeared doubled. Out of place were the satellite discs standing behind the offices at the cemetery - beautiful mountain stone building and huge gray discs?

And then I was driving toward town through the university and there was no car, no student, no one in sight but I kept to the speed limit and drifted toward downtown only to look in my rear view mirror and see a car behind me being pulled over by a Chattanooga police car. I guess 25 was too slow for the person behind me.

Happy I was paying attention, I was even more happy when I passed through town to be rewarded with a magnificent sunset. Yellow skies, low clouds orange on the bottom and purple on top and I watched as a breeze passed by me and picked up a group of birds that flew together first swooping down then up then down again all in rhythm as if it were choreographed just for me.

The last thing I saw before I made the climb up my mountain was a crowd in the stadium at the Lookouts baseball game. As I crossed back over the river, the stadium to my right almost close enough to touch I glanced at the scoreboard and heard the crowd cheer. Oh how I love a baseball game at night! And then I realized the last game I went to was over a year ago. How did the time fly? It was Jason and Laura's wedding announcement party and he threw out the first pitch - a treat Laura secured for him. What fun that was. The family laughs at me because I keep score of what each player does at bat. But I get the last laugh when they turn to me and say, "What'd he do last time?"

And so it wasn't a wasted evening. Time is never wasted. Every minute is precious and I'm thankful that I have special events, tranquil drives, beautiful sunsets, and special memories to remind me.

It Is What It Is

As most of you probably know my favorite part of each day is just before dawn followed by daybreak, watching the sun rise. From on top of a mountain surrounded by trees, watching the sun rise is a challenge.

It comes to me through the leaves shining as diamonds sparkling, shooting out beams of sunlight. I sit facing the Light so that I can feel God's presence in each beam of light radiating out in all directions.

I sometimes think I could sit all day enjoying the peace of the morning. It is usually at this time of day that I am most inspired to write. I think because it is such a calming feeling to be surrounded by the presence of God. And although I am fortunate to feel that all day, there is just something Holy about that first ray of Light filled with so much love.

Last year I was overcome with the busyness of life to the point that I forgot to Let Go and Let God be in my daily thoughts. I was trying to do it all on my own and there was no peace in my life. And then I discovered the daybreak and it became my precious time to start the day.

I wrote this poem early one morning in June 2008, after watching the sun rise through the leaves of the trees on my mountaintop:

It Is What It Is

So we look into the world and see our lives entwined.
We have to ask ourselves to explain what we see.
For what purpose are we here on this magnificent earth?
To be one; to be a few; or to be a collection of all there is?

We move and lean into the daily grind of wake and sleep.
To be calm one minute and then thrown into the storm the next.
Listening to the sounds we hear call to the person we are.
But is that person you or me or the one down the road?

The candle burns slow and steady moving with grace.
Our life is a reflection of that light as it flickers in the breeze.
And when that light is extinguished the flame is still there.
Only it is hidden from our sight but not from our hearts.

We move, we grow, we let go and then just be.
Our life on a journey is moving from one experience to another.
Never knowing if this is it - is this all there is?
And in the end we rest in peace secure that all is well.


Unlike last year, when my life was not simple, today, I am whole and well, happy and content, and filled with love and so blessed. I can look at the sunrise and know that I am loved and know that all is well. Thanks be to God.

The End of Summer - Friday

This week has been a week of times remembered and I decided today's post would be the last for this week. That is because today was a day of firsts - not lasts.

Today was Paige's first day of preschool for the next school year, still a phase in day, but a real day. Monday was visitation but today they followed a schedule. And upon picking her up the teacher handed me a note. On it the teacher had written Paige's response to what she liked most about the day and it was the playground!

No surprise there. Paige loves being outdoors and playing. But she also has a wonderful gift of imagination and can play indoors just as happily. This is a good thing as she spent the entire afternoon inside "working" at the store with me. Six hours she entertained me and I entertained her and when we had customers, she rang them up and helped me behind the counter.

Although we had set up the back room with the TV, games, books, play-doh, and lots of snack food, it was her Dora backpack filled with goodies that kept us both occupied the most. Her favorite activity the whole day with me was to create games for me to play and for me to make treasure hunts for her to go on.

Paige had a clip board and pen and I gave her ten steps to take and at the end of each step she would find a treasure which I had hidden (in plain view). She would "read" each step with me where some of the words were pictures and others numbers that she recognized so that she was able to follow the step without any problem. She enjoyed the treasure hunt so much that she pretended to write one for me and hid objects all over the store and "walked" me through it just as I did her. It was remarkable to see my little four year old granddaughter appear so grown up.

But the activity that really got to me was the one she invented. She had a whistle and she said she was the "conductor" and that she would count to three, blow the whistle and I was to toss the LIG dog ball into bucket. The bucket she created by standing the shirt folder up on its sides so that it created a tube. She first placed it about fifteen feet from me and I was so poor at getting the ball into the tube, she moved it closer (without telling me.) I moved it back and she said I was cheating. I said she was being too kind making it close to me so I could get it in.

Every time I made the bucket she would turn and write down something on her clip board. At one time I asked her if I could have a second chance and she said, "Girl you had all the chances I'm going to give you!"

When it was time to close the store, she insisted on turning out all the lights and taking down the OPEN sign. She was tired and I was tired and we drove home thinking about the homemade pizza we planned for dinner and the sleepover she was going to have with us. And then came the final first for the day. She asked to go home after dinner. She did not want to stay with us overnight.

She backed out of sleeping over at her other grandparents last week, so we were not surprised. It is just a phase. So after dinner we loaded up the car and drove down the mountain and met her mommy in the Bi-Lo parking lot as she was on her way home from her company golf tournament which she helped organize. Paige was so happy to see her mommy.

I was reminded of all the times I spent the night out at my grandparent's house while growing up and what a wonderful feeling it was to come home the next day and see my parents. And I do remember a time or two changing my mind and someone coming to get me. I didn't love my grandparents any less, I just wanted to be home.

Just as Paige is growing up and experiencing a lot of firsts these days, I too must grow along with her. I just have to be patient and know that she will always love her Mimi as much as I love her.

The End of Summer - Thursday

The first thing I remember about being on my own was that I could do things without asking permission. Not living with my parents meant that I was in charge of my life; however it didn't mean I stopped asking for advice, recipes, and help now and then.

I remember the fist time I wanted a Coke and all I had to do was open the refrigerator and get it. There was such a sense of freedom. Cokes were a treat growing up. And since I didn't work when I was first married, the first thing I did each morning was turn on the TV. And the last thing I did at night before going to bed was turn off the TV. Something we were never permitted to do growing up.

Today I have a TV in the kitchen, den, and two bedrooms and rarely do I watch it. Yes, it's off and on throughout the day, but never on ALL day.

But I find that is changing when the grandkids are at the house. It came to me on Thursday, when baby Hayden was with me. He likes the noise of the TV and really likes Play With Me Sesame Street or Fox News. At almost six months, he's trying to sit up by himself. So we sit together on the afghan I have on the floor and he struggles to play with his toys in front of him or look up and watch TV. It is so funny, but I'm happy to say, the toys usually win out.

I didn't realize how much TV I was watching with him until my husband and I sat down in front of the TV to eat dinner (a habit I hate) the other night, and I found myself talking out loud to the commercials, responding to the questions before the actor could. Pretty sad...I thought to myself, I have to stop watching so much TV.

But here is the funny part. My husband tunes the commercials out and so when I talk he thinks I'm saying something to him and we go through this routine like Abbott and Constello's "Who's on First":

Him: What'd you say?
Me: When?
Him: To me?
Me: I don't know
Him: You just said something
Me: I did?

Well, you get the picture. And then I am suddenly reminded again that I've got to stop watching so much TV. So when my husband came home on Thursday, instead of sitting in front of the TV with baby Hayden, we walked outside and sat on the stoop of the porch and watched the cars go by, birds dart in and out between the trees, and squirrels dance around and around the trunks of the trees or throw their acorns down to the ground like bombs. Hayden just loved it, laughing and giggling and smiling.

And when his daddy drove up and got out of the car, his face lit up and he reached for him with such love. I knew that he would have a pleasant drive home to N. Georgia after spending time outside in the fresh air instead of inside by the TV.

Maybe I should follow my own advice and go outside instead of sit by the TV....who knows what I might see. After all I am in charge of my life!

The End of Summer - Wednesday

Okay so the week is going faster and faster and yet time seems to be slowing down.

Really...

Summer heat has finally settled on our mountaintop and it is suffocating me so I'm forced to stay inside...inside the house, the store, the car...where air conditioning is sending out its cool breezes that keep me sane.

I know I should not complain. My friends and relatives in Louisiana and Texas have been sending me messages on Facebook to stop bragging about the wonderful temperatures we've had this summer. But the summer is ending and NOW we get hot weather?

The crickets are chirping so slowly you can hear their heartbeats in between each chirp; the birds have all gone silent; and there are no children playing outside after school. It is pretty lonely on our street.

I remember one very hot summer in Houston just before school started and the kids were bored stiff and getting on each other's nerve and completely destroying what little bit of mind I had left. They were doing anything and everything to stay occupied and although I tried to wipe this out of my memory I was reminded today of what happened one afternoon when I used what I thought was the ultimate last resort comment:

"I have had it up to here (pointing to that spot just under my chin); now go to your rooms and don't come out until your FATHER comes home." Like that was going to do any good. My husband wasn't due home for several hours thanks to a two-hour commute, the threat was an empty one and my kids at the young age of middle and elementary school knew it.

But it did give me some peace and quiet for a little while...and then it got too quiet.

I remember hearing some noises that seemed out of the ordinary so stepped outside onto the patio only to see the neighbor's cat walking along the roof line between the garage and house. I thought it odd, but the heat was horrible and so I retreated back into the house in the cool of my bedroom to read a book behind closed doors.

And like most mothers I came to my senses and realized I couldn't punish my kids forever so I decided to go upstairs and check on them. I found the youngest son asleep in his bed, the room dark and cool as he had drawn the curtains to keep out the sunlight. And I found the door to my oldest son's room closed. I guessed he and my middle son were inside the room. This was before the days of personal computers, TVs in bedrooms and cell phones so I had to ask myself what were they doing?

I knocked and opened the door to find them sitting on the floor surrounded by a horrible mess of crushed raw eggs. They said the mean girls next door threw the eggs into the room from the outside. There was a flat roof outside the big double window and the screen was missing (later found on the ground below). The window was covered in raw eggs.

My gut reaction was to kill the girls next door - not really but almost. At the very least to go tell their parents what they had done. It was about this time that my husband arrived and when we didn't greet him in our usual manner he went upstairs looking for us. He in his most executive manner, standing in the door with his suit coat draped over his arm, tie pulled a little loose around his neck, and cold Budweiser in his right hand, (which he grabbed as soon as he came into the house), he took one look at the situation and surmised what had happened. The boys began to reiterate their story about the girls next door, however their father pointed out that their story was flawed.

The raw eggs were on the inside of the window, not the outside!

Needless to say I was furious all over again, but really was more embarrassed. Because I had let the heat of the day get to me; the tension of the children get to me; and then instead of finding some fun and calming solution to the situation I was in a way a contributor to the problem, closing myself off in my bedroom and giving the boys an opportunity to get the eggs from the kitchen and then spend an hour or so throwing them at the window enjoying them as they exploded all over my oldest son's room.

I came to realize that at least they kept the mess in the room, and everything would come clean (after I gave them rags and cleaning materials) and in the end the only thing that was hurt was my self-esteem as a mother. Of course they were punished and hopefully did not forget that what they did was inappropriate.

But in truth, the person who learned the most was me. Never ever let the heat of the day or any circumstance control my life. I can't control what happens - only how I respond. And there is great power in that.

So today in the dog days of summer, I welcome the heat and relax in the knowledge that it will pass. All I have to do is breathe deeply and remember the lessons I learned that hot day in Houston many years ago.

The End of Summer - Tuesday

I'm not sure about you, but what can more nostalgic than a funeral? A reunion maybe, but isn't that what funeral turns into? It did for me. On Tuesday, I drove to Atlanta to celebrate the life of my cousin, Florida Hatcher Cobb, 88 years young.

My great-grandfather had three wives and each wife had two children. Florida was the daughter of his first child and my grandfather the son of the second wife, making them second cousins, I think. Whenever the McCrary's get together we go through the same process, explaining to the next generation or two how each is related and who had what grandmother.

Being with my grandfather's family brought back so many memories including my first reunion in 1964 when I was fourteen. Held at a lake outside of Atlanta, we shared two cabins. No one missed the reunion. I came home with two things, pictures of my mother and her cousins dressed in short shorts standing arm and arm and me with sores under both knees from riding a wood board that was being pulled by a motor boat. To make matters worse, my parents made a quick stop in Destin Beach on our way home and stayed at the Capri By the Sea; a cinder block motel that was right on the beach. It was the first time I saw the Gulf of Mexico. The salt water was not good for the sores on my knees which still today can be seen.

I love my McCrary family. With emails, Facebook and letters I keep up as much as possible. I was honored to plan the 2005 reunion in Chattanooga. I missed the 2000 in Mobile, but had my whole family at the 1995 in Montgomery, AL. We chose that sight because as decedents of E. W. McCrary, my great-grandfather, it seemed fitting to be near his home in Orville, AL, called Crumptomia. A plantation now owned by Mennonites who graciously let us tour the home in '95.

But Tuesday was different. Solemn and yet tenderhearted; we talked a lot about Florida and her wonderful spirit and determination, not unlike her precious mother my Aunt Sissy, which was short for Sister, her family nickname. Everyone had a nickname that had no rhyme or reason. Florida's was Aunt Bobby. I never knew why my Mamma called her that. And so we did too until recently. I saw cousins, and my great Aunt Frances who will be 90 on January 6th. We are planning a party for her in Birmingham but she says no, that she is moving so no party. We say something else. This is the woman who was the president of the United States Post Office Auxiliary in 1979 and flew to a national convention in Denver and took time to visit me and my family while there. She is also the person that took a Greyhound bus and rode all the way from Birmingham alone to come to my wedding.

So it was a few hours of my time there and back...so what? It was worth a million hours to be with my family. I was there for my mother and her father, representing them at my cousin's funeral. I was there for Cindy and Jim and there families as they mourn their mother. I was there for myself to remember who I am and where I came from. I cry at weddings and smile at funerals. Call me odd, but I don't care. I am nothing without these memories of my family.