Every morning after a restless night, listening for the trains on the East side of the property, I would awake to the smell of bacon coming from the Grandma Dot's kitchen. Running downstairs, grandmother was in the kitchen, powdered, groomed, wearing a simple dress and nylons, finishing the final touches on breakfast and standing next to a table set with dishes, mats and glasses embossed with "The Great State of Virginia." Those glasses seem to announce what I felt about being in the home. It was great.
We said grace before every meal. Sometime into the breakfast, Anna would knock on the door bringing with her a voice that had a high hollow bell tone in a deep southern dialect difficult to understand. Her voice sang and fluctuated with a cadence and lyrical value beautiful and alluring. She welcomed the day; she welcomed me back into her life. We continued our bacon, eggs, toast and butter breakfast to conversations of what was happening that day and the gentle rhythm of human interaction bound to a place that calls to us, bringing back memories both pleasant and sad. It was like Christmas but the presents were the presence of those around the table. These adults surrounding us were infatuated with our childish aura. They filled our cup with attention and adoration. We were a novelty and something about the way we grew was very important to them.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
So this is a couple and the foundation of a family...
The end of November (28th), Aaron Danielson asked my daughter Marie to marry him. The next day, she was surprised by Stan's and my delighted reaction to the news. We had observed Aaron in groups at our home on numerous occasions and more importantly watched Marie's opinion of Aaron develop based on his behavior in numerous social settings, church and institute attendance. Like many other people, we thought they should date a long time before they actually did, based on their obvious attraction and similarity of goals. It seemed so natural that they would fall in love and want to devote themselves to each other in a marriage. However, watching a couple form a family is both exciting and alarming. So much is at stake when it comes to the happiness of the future family. That happiness is also out of everyone's control except the two individuals.
One night as they were talking about how they made their decision, the conversation was lighthearted and giddy. I stopped in my tracks with the piercing reality that I really didn't know very much about this young man. Questioning them as I did about the wisdom of leaping into such an important decision, Aaron reassured me that he had thought long and hard about it and this was what he wanted and the Lord was okay with it too. His eyes focused on my face responding to my challenge with a demeanor calm and convincing. Marie merely laughed quietly to herself while snuggled in his arms. I surrendered, feeling a deep love for both of them.
The Christmas season came quickly. I found myself frequently reflecting on the lyrics in "Winter Wonderland"; "To face unafraid the plans that we made..." There they were right in front of me forming a family with two little boys in tow. Aaron was patient. He waited for his relationship to develop at the boys' speed. Marie let down boundaries, gradually allowing Aaron more access to their hearts as like all children, they melted into the security of one more adult's love. Together, they bonded to each other while talking out their future, voicing concerns and quelling tides of doubt through maintaining their relationship with Heavenly Father. They struggled, laughed, relaxed, tensed up, and moved forward, molding their affiliation into a problem solving union called a couple, a pair or beloved.
It takes such a leap of faith to trust anyone with your life's happiness let alone the happiness of your children. To face "unafraid" is reflected clearly in a quote from Bishop Richard C. Edgely listed as one of Marie's Facebook posts: "I say choose faith. Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen and choose faith over pessimism. :)" And she ends her post with a smiley face.
One night as they were talking about how they made their decision, the conversation was lighthearted and giddy. I stopped in my tracks with the piercing reality that I really didn't know very much about this young man. Questioning them as I did about the wisdom of leaping into such an important decision, Aaron reassured me that he had thought long and hard about it and this was what he wanted and the Lord was okay with it too. His eyes focused on my face responding to my challenge with a demeanor calm and convincing. Marie merely laughed quietly to herself while snuggled in his arms. I surrendered, feeling a deep love for both of them.
The Christmas season came quickly. I found myself frequently reflecting on the lyrics in "Winter Wonderland"; "To face unafraid the plans that we made..." There they were right in front of me forming a family with two little boys in tow. Aaron was patient. He waited for his relationship to develop at the boys' speed. Marie let down boundaries, gradually allowing Aaron more access to their hearts as like all children, they melted into the security of one more adult's love. Together, they bonded to each other while talking out their future, voicing concerns and quelling tides of doubt through maintaining their relationship with Heavenly Father. They struggled, laughed, relaxed, tensed up, and moved forward, molding their affiliation into a problem solving union called a couple, a pair or beloved.
It takes such a leap of faith to trust anyone with your life's happiness let alone the happiness of your children. To face "unafraid" is reflected clearly in a quote from Bishop Richard C. Edgely listed as one of Marie's Facebook posts: "I say choose faith. Choose faith over doubt, choose faith over fear, choose faith over the unknown and the unseen and choose faith over pessimism. :)" And she ends her post with a smiley face.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The House in Alberta
Memories of my grandmother's house bring immediate feelings of longing and home sickness.
The house was set far from the road down a dirt lane. We always parked in the back and entered the house through the back porch and into my grandmother's kitchen. Off of that back porch were the entrances to Tine and Anna's study, Anna's bathroom, the back hall entry to the main house and the door into my grandmother's kitchen.
The hall entry opened into a wide hall, probably 10 to 12 feet wide, that ran the length of the home straight to the front door. About four feet in from the back door, the stairs led up to the second floor. Along the South side were doors leading into Tine and Anna's parlor and master bedroom. On the North side were entries into my grandmother's large living room and a small door under the stairs leading to the cellar.
On the second floor were six to seven bedrooms depending on if you were counting before or after the remodel when Dot joined two of the bedrooms on the South side to make a very large master bedroom and if you counted the small laundry room that was my uncle Tommy's bedroom for a while, located on the East end. All the bedrooms shared one large bathroom at the West end of the hall.
A fragrance graced each room; the smell of bacon in the kitchen, Irish Spring soap in the bathroom, the musty, moldy smell of the cellar, my grandfather's pipe smoke in the living room and grandmother's powdered perfumed presence in whatever room she was in.
The house was set far from the road down a dirt lane. We always parked in the back and entered the house through the back porch and into my grandmother's kitchen. Off of that back porch were the entrances to Tine and Anna's study, Anna's bathroom, the back hall entry to the main house and the door into my grandmother's kitchen.
The hall entry opened into a wide hall, probably 10 to 12 feet wide, that ran the length of the home straight to the front door. About four feet in from the back door, the stairs led up to the second floor. Along the South side were doors leading into Tine and Anna's parlor and master bedroom. On the North side were entries into my grandmother's large living room and a small door under the stairs leading to the cellar.
On the second floor were six to seven bedrooms depending on if you were counting before or after the remodel when Dot joined two of the bedrooms on the South side to make a very large master bedroom and if you counted the small laundry room that was my uncle Tommy's bedroom for a while, located on the East end. All the bedrooms shared one large bathroom at the West end of the hall.
A fragrance graced each room; the smell of bacon in the kitchen, Irish Spring soap in the bathroom, the musty, moldy smell of the cellar, my grandfather's pipe smoke in the living room and grandmother's powdered perfumed presence in whatever room she was in.
Friday, January 28, 2011
The Reason for January
My first thought was that there is no reason for January. On January 1, I generally feel lack luster, unmotivated and tired from Christmas. Just getting down the decorations and harvesting the dust bunnies takes most of my energy the first week. My resolutions have new motivations with a wedding in the planning. And I am somewhat proud that my first resolution this year is not to lose weight, although it is my fourth.
By the second week, I am scanning the yard looking for green, impatient for spring. I can't dig in the dirt because it is too cold but the yard is so barren of color, it feels like I need to dig in the dirt. I really want to plant those bulbs I didn't in the fall. Frustrated I haul out a shovel and test the soil to see if I could plant. I notice our carport has a new collection of dry leaves, blown ahead of December snow storms. I ignore both jobs because it feels too cold to clean or dig outside. The excitement of new December snow has melted into the inconvenience of dealing with its accumulation. Gray skies seem to extend downward to the frozen ground and snow lined roads; slushy mushy mess, that discourages my wanderings and muddy ups the floor when the grandkids come.
Toward the middle of the month, there are some clear days and when the inversion lifts, the air feels clean and frosty. Yesterday's sky looked like a blue Caribbean sea hovering over the pristine mountains freshly dusted with snow. The sunsets have been phenomenal, framed in the skeletal branches around our house and reflecting on the snow fields. Deer come daily to forage around my shrubs for any green, (like me, wishing for spring) leaving us gathered around the windows watching their grace and soft brown eyes widen as they search for us. In the orchard, Stan found a forgotten bundle of apples protected from the cold by multiple tarps. He transfered them to the refrigerator for our winter apple crunch. I can smell the cinnamon just thinking about those apples.
In the fourth week, January sends us a magical snow. Everything is frosted again like a flocked Christmas tree, snow edging every limb, branch and twig. Limbs bend from the weight, I anticipate an afternoon thaw which doesn't come, only more snow layering the first flakes with others extending the magical scenery. I think this is as beautiful as my yard has ever been, coated in white, sparkling, new snow. As I drive to the mall, a dog is perched on the sidewalk outside his house sitting and looking at the snow. Further down the road, a group of grade school children have rolled the snow down their sidewalk into a gigantic white ball, larger than their little brother. Watching them struggle gleefully to push this further, I want to help too. Cars are moving slowly. All of us are moving slowly, admiring the snow and cautious of the danger of slippery roads. Snow seems so quiet, so simple and sparkling despite the gray skies above.
It is the January 28 and the magical snow is melting. All that muddy soft dirt cries for planting. I am mentally making a note that it is time to coat the grass with pre-emergence chemicals. January is almost over and I can see many reasons for January. Its like that magical snow. Quietly we realign our life. Our New Year's resolutions have time to bud and grow. And there is time to plan the garden. A new beginning, a fresh start. January
By the second week, I am scanning the yard looking for green, impatient for spring. I can't dig in the dirt because it is too cold but the yard is so barren of color, it feels like I need to dig in the dirt. I really want to plant those bulbs I didn't in the fall. Frustrated I haul out a shovel and test the soil to see if I could plant. I notice our carport has a new collection of dry leaves, blown ahead of December snow storms. I ignore both jobs because it feels too cold to clean or dig outside. The excitement of new December snow has melted into the inconvenience of dealing with its accumulation. Gray skies seem to extend downward to the frozen ground and snow lined roads; slushy mushy mess, that discourages my wanderings and muddy ups the floor when the grandkids come.
Toward the middle of the month, there are some clear days and when the inversion lifts, the air feels clean and frosty. Yesterday's sky looked like a blue Caribbean sea hovering over the pristine mountains freshly dusted with snow. The sunsets have been phenomenal, framed in the skeletal branches around our house and reflecting on the snow fields. Deer come daily to forage around my shrubs for any green, (like me, wishing for spring) leaving us gathered around the windows watching their grace and soft brown eyes widen as they search for us. In the orchard, Stan found a forgotten bundle of apples protected from the cold by multiple tarps. He transfered them to the refrigerator for our winter apple crunch. I can smell the cinnamon just thinking about those apples.
In the fourth week, January sends us a magical snow. Everything is frosted again like a flocked Christmas tree, snow edging every limb, branch and twig. Limbs bend from the weight, I anticipate an afternoon thaw which doesn't come, only more snow layering the first flakes with others extending the magical scenery. I think this is as beautiful as my yard has ever been, coated in white, sparkling, new snow. As I drive to the mall, a dog is perched on the sidewalk outside his house sitting and looking at the snow. Further down the road, a group of grade school children have rolled the snow down their sidewalk into a gigantic white ball, larger than their little brother. Watching them struggle gleefully to push this further, I want to help too. Cars are moving slowly. All of us are moving slowly, admiring the snow and cautious of the danger of slippery roads. Snow seems so quiet, so simple and sparkling despite the gray skies above.
It is the January 28 and the magical snow is melting. All that muddy soft dirt cries for planting. I am mentally making a note that it is time to coat the grass with pre-emergence chemicals. January is almost over and I can see many reasons for January. Its like that magical snow. Quietly we realign our life. Our New Year's resolutions have time to bud and grow. And there is time to plan the garden. A new beginning, a fresh start. January
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Owl-berta Virginia
In about the fall of 1953, we were driving from Baltimore, Maryland to Alberta, Virginia for a visit with my Grandmother Dot. I was about six at the time and could not remember the name "Alberta". Finally someone in the car, I think my Grandma Vera or maybe even Aunt Ellen told me to think of an "owl". Owl-berta is located about 50 miles Southwest of Richmond, Virginia right off of old Highway 1.
Highway 1 was a memorable experience. On this three lane highway, my father constantly reminded us how dangerous it was because either lane, south or north-going, could use the suicide middle passing lane. The landscape was green rolling hills wandering through small towns and shanties, frequently surrounded by dense forests of trees. No wonder my mother's stories about the little people invoked such strong beliefs in elves. If ever there was a magical place it was those mysterious forests gliding past me as we drove. Virginia creeper spread menacingly over the trees like a giant spider's web, suffocating their source of light and eventually turning them into skeleton trellises. The damp, humid woods was always in the continuous act of growing and decaying so the black rich soil seemed part wood full of bracken, bugs and worms and smelling of rich moist Virginia where anything would grow.
We would drive on and on and finally come to the turn off, drive past the Bethel Methodist Church or better yet, go around to main street and come over the railroad tracks, turn left and then on down the long lane lined with old trees leading to my grandmother's home. We were giddy with expectation, so excited to be greeted by Dot and Glenn and enter that beacon in my life known as Grandma Dot's house. Nothing was more warm and loving as going into that place. And it was all because of the way they lived.
Today Alberta, Virginia has a population of 306 people. I can't imagine that it has any more or less than it did 60 years ago.
FROM WIKIPEDIA
Location of Alberta, Virginia
Coordinates: 36°51′49″N 77°52′53″WCoordinates: 36°51′49″N 77°52′53″W
Country United States
State Virginia
County Brunswick
Area
- Total 1.1 sq mi (2.8 km2)
- Land 1.1 sq mi (2.8 km2)
- Water 0.0 sq mi (0.0 km2)
Elevation 397 ft (121 m)
Population (2000)
- Total 306
Website www.albertava.com
Alberta is a town in Brunswick County, Virginia, United States. The population was 306 at the 2000 census. It is home to the Christanna Campus of Southside Virginia Community College.
[edit]Geography
As of the census[1] of 2000, there were 306 people, 128 households, and 86 families residing in the town. The population density was 278.3 people per square mile (107.4/km²). There were 158 housing units at an average density of 143.7/sq mi (55.5/km²). The racial makeup of the town was 59.80% White, 39.54% African American, 0.33% Asian, 0.33% from other races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 0.33% of the population.
There were 128 households out of which 26.6% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 44.5% were married couples living together, 20.3% had a female householder with no husband present, and 32.8% were non-families. 29.7% of all households were made up of individuals and 14.1% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.39 and the average family size was 2.93.
In the town the population was spread out with 26.8% under the age of 18, 5.2% from 18 to 24, 27.1% from 25 to 44, 24.2% from 45 to 64, and 16.7% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 39 years. For every 100 females there were 86.6 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 75.0 males.
The median income for a household in the town was $27,361, and the median income for a family was $31,875. Males had a median income of $27,250 versus $20,833 for females. The per capita income for the town was $14,607. About 10.8% of families and 16.3% of the population were below the poverty line, including 21.1% of those under the age of eighteen and 14.5% of those sixty five or over.
Highway 1 was a memorable experience. On this three lane highway, my father constantly reminded us how dangerous it was because either lane, south or north-going, could use the suicide middle passing lane. The landscape was green rolling hills wandering through small towns and shanties, frequently surrounded by dense forests of trees. No wonder my mother's stories about the little people invoked such strong beliefs in elves. If ever there was a magical place it was those mysterious forests gliding past me as we drove. Virginia creeper spread menacingly over the trees like a giant spider's web, suffocating their source of light and eventually turning them into skeleton trellises. The damp, humid woods was always in the continuous act of growing and decaying so the black rich soil seemed part wood full of bracken, bugs and worms and smelling of rich moist Virginia where anything would grow.
We would drive on and on and finally come to the turn off, drive past the Bethel Methodist Church or better yet, go around to main street and come over the railroad tracks, turn left and then on down the long lane lined with old trees leading to my grandmother's home. We were giddy with expectation, so excited to be greeted by Dot and Glenn and enter that beacon in my life known as Grandma Dot's house. Nothing was more warm and loving as going into that place. And it was all because of the way they lived.
Today Alberta, Virginia has a population of 306 people. I can't imagine that it has any more or less than it did 60 years ago.
FROM WIKIPEDIA
Location of Alberta, Virginia
Coordinates: 36°51′49″N 77°52′53″WCoordinates: 36°51′49″N 77°52′53″W
Country United States
State Virginia
County Brunswick
Area
- Total 1.1 sq mi (2.8 km2)
- Land 1.1 sq mi (2.8 km2)
- Water 0.0 sq mi (0.0 km2)
Elevation 397 ft (121 m)
Population (2000)
- Total 306
Website www.albertava.com
Alberta is a town in Brunswick County, Virginia, United States. The population was 306 at the 2000 census. It is home to the Christanna Campus of Southside Virginia Community College.
[edit]Geography
As of the census[1] of 2000, there were 306 people, 128 households, and 86 families residing in the town. The population density was 278.3 people per square mile (107.4/km²). There were 158 housing units at an average density of 143.7/sq mi (55.5/km²). The racial makeup of the town was 59.80% White, 39.54% African American, 0.33% Asian, 0.33% from other races. Hispanic or Latino of any race were 0.33% of the population.
There were 128 households out of which 26.6% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 44.5% were married couples living together, 20.3% had a female householder with no husband present, and 32.8% were non-families. 29.7% of all households were made up of individuals and 14.1% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.39 and the average family size was 2.93.
In the town the population was spread out with 26.8% under the age of 18, 5.2% from 18 to 24, 27.1% from 25 to 44, 24.2% from 45 to 64, and 16.7% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 39 years. For every 100 females there were 86.6 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 75.0 males.
The median income for a household in the town was $27,361, and the median income for a family was $31,875. Males had a median income of $27,250 versus $20,833 for females. The per capita income for the town was $14,607. About 10.8% of families and 16.3% of the population were below the poverty line, including 21.1% of those under the age of eighteen and 14.5% of those sixty five or over.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Monday Night is Soup Night
Monday is soup night because Grandma Boyer comes over for dinner. At 96 years old, she is having difficulty eating solid food so soup has become our weekly ritual. We look forward to sitting at the table, visiting with Lorraine, and eating one of several soups that have become dietary staples.
The table is set with place mats and usually the white Corelle plates and bowls because we love to use the white soup tureen Michelle gave me. The tureen is placed in the middle of the table and Marie or I, depending on who is sitting closest, spoon the soup into everyone bowls. Ladling soup into everyone's bowls with the aroma drifting around the table feels like an act of love, part of a woman's nurturing of loved ones. I also make toast sticks by buttering bread, then broiling it to nice warm brown color on one side and cutting the toast slice into thirds. The toast is crunchy on one side and soft on the other. The shape of the toast stick seems to elevate plain toast to a delicacy level.
Our favorite soups include:
Turkey or Chicken Noodle soup
Portuguese Kale soup
Sweet Potato Ham soup
The table is set with place mats and usually the white Corelle plates and bowls because we love to use the white soup tureen Michelle gave me. The tureen is placed in the middle of the table and Marie or I, depending on who is sitting closest, spoon the soup into everyone bowls. Ladling soup into everyone's bowls with the aroma drifting around the table feels like an act of love, part of a woman's nurturing of loved ones. I also make toast sticks by buttering bread, then broiling it to nice warm brown color on one side and cutting the toast slice into thirds. The toast is crunchy on one side and soft on the other. The shape of the toast stick seems to elevate plain toast to a delicacy level.
Our favorite soups include:
Turkey or Chicken Noodle soup
Portuguese Kale soup
Sweet Potato Ham soup
Sunday, November 7, 2010
God's Language
My father was an agnostic and my mother, a non-practicing Methodist. So I have often wondered how as a young child I developed this all encompassing belief that there was a God and that He was intensely aware of my little life. It may of been from my mother's side of the family. They were deep southern Christians with a grace and style that was compelling and attractive. I'm not talking about the way they dressed or moved, although that could be part of it. It was more the way they spoke. How they enunciated, the way they greeted me, their interaction and expression. And the vehicle they used, their speech, their voice, was laced with a deep southern accent peculiar to southeast Virginia. My cousin Betty Ann told me it was God's Language, how God spoke and I believe her.
It was her mother, my Aunt Ellen, who mastered the dialect. Her voice was like honey, cultured, clean, devoid of sarcasm or vileness and edged with love in every syllable. She was a lady in every aspect, sensitive to other's needs, patient, careful about her verbal exchanges. I named my dolls after her and tried to mimic her voice with all its melodic sound.
Whenever I go home to Alberta, Virginia, I launch into mimicking that dialect as if it were natural to me. Going to Alberta is like going to home to Heaven. In Heaven, surely you have to speak God's language.
It was her mother, my Aunt Ellen, who mastered the dialect. Her voice was like honey, cultured, clean, devoid of sarcasm or vileness and edged with love in every syllable. She was a lady in every aspect, sensitive to other's needs, patient, careful about her verbal exchanges. I named my dolls after her and tried to mimic her voice with all its melodic sound.
Whenever I go home to Alberta, Virginia, I launch into mimicking that dialect as if it were natural to me. Going to Alberta is like going to home to Heaven. In Heaven, surely you have to speak God's language.
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