BEWARE! BOOK CLUBS MAY BE ADDICTIVE

                                               BEWARE! BOOK CLUBS MAY BE ADDICTIVE

I was hoping my seat mate on the plane was not a talker. My hopes were for naught.
“I see you are a reader.” (She had spied the paperback novel I was retrieving from my purse.)
“Well, when I travel I try to read.” (Maybe she would take the hint.).
“Do you belong to a book club?” (She wasn’t going to give up.)
“No. I’ve never given it a thought. Besides I don’t have time. I’m very busy with my work and family.”
“That’s too bad. I find book clubs to be relaxing, as well as stimulating. I wouldn’t give up my two for anything.              
“Two book clubs? (I carefully placed my book behind the netting in front of “The Airline Magazine.” I knew this would not be a relaxing trip.
“Yes, one I started just to have a group of women to gather once a month and talk about things other than church fund raisers and family problems. Those things are important but I wanted something more
She was beginning to make sense. I gave her my undivided attention.
“Tell me the best thing about book clubs.”
“Well, for one, I have two families. No, maybe I should say we make a choice to be close friends. We are there for one another in the good times and the bad. So, yes, we are like family.
“Why do you think you become so close?”
“I’ve given that a lot of thought and the best reason I can find is that we talk about emotional and physical problems in the books we read. Before you realize it you are talking about similar happenings in your own life. This seems to be the glue that bonds us. Don’t misunderstand, Everything is not serious. We laugh a lot.”
“You’re probably right. Sharing one’s feelings can do that. Are most of your members long time members?
“Most of them. We have lost two to death. They are missed greatly.”
“Do you have a list of rules?”
(I notice a smile.) “No, only one. It is simple--there must not be any talk of church activities during the book discussion…You see all of the members except your truly belong to the same church. If they begin, I ring a bell!”
“Just one rule? You’re not that strict. Are you required to read the book?

“Everyone in the group usually reads the book. If something prevents them from finishing it, they finish it later. They are faithful readers.
Just then the voice of the pilot comes on and says that we will be landing shortly.
The book club lady turns to me and says, “I hope I haven’t kept you from something important. I know I talk a lot, especially about my book clubs.”)
“That’s perfectly okay. I cannot wait to find a book club to join."

Dear Queen Bees,

I wrote this little story to show you how much I enjoy being the leader of our club. We always have a great time, even if we don’t care that much about the book. We have so many good ones that they make up for the lesser ones.

Wishing everyone a great year, filled with good health, good friends and good reading.

Fondly,
Darlene

AN AUTUMN MEMOIR

I am prejudice and I don't feel one ounce of shame.  The object of my affection is my home state of Virginia.  I think it is the most scenic of the fifty. You may disagree but that is okay .  There is enough beauty in this country for all to enjoy.

Recently we took a bus tour from Myrtle Beach to the Great Smokies, the Blue Ridge Mountains and Parkway, in to Virginia through the countryside of rolling hills bordered with trees of changing colors. It was a beautiful day in the foothills of the Blue Ridge. As we age our memories become hazy. But it took only a short time to bring back some of
those memories as we rounded one curve after another and saw wild life we never expected to see and breath taking views of golds, reds and yellows adorning the trees. Each area had its specialty--the valley views of towns appearing as if they were a child's building block display; the Blue Ridge took one's breath away., Mabry's Mill brought back memories of annual visits to buy molasses and corn meal. The gentle, rolling land of the Piedmont, dotted with grazing livestock, reminded those of us who had been to Scotland of that exciting terrain. We enjoyed a train ride in the dining car leaving from Bryson city.  It was quite relaxing and the mountain scenery was more than we had anticipated.

Woodrow Wilson was the first president on our trek of the area. We toured the museum, his boyhood home and had a special lunch in the Library. The softly falling rain did not dampen our spirits.  Staunton has a special aura as the travelers quickly felt.

Our history lessons continued at Monticello, the home designed by its owner Thomas Jefferson. I'm always surprised at his ingenuity and his innate ability to see into the future of this nation.

 Then there was James Madison's home, Montpelier, a new experience for me.  At the time his family built the home it was in the wilderness.  The front view faced the Blue  Ridge Mountains, beyond that was unexplored wilderness.  Today the highway cuts through the mountains to West Virginia. A surprise to me was what a colorful character  was James Madison's wife, Dolly.  She was known as a great hostess who didn't blink if she had a hundred guests for dinner.  She liked her drinks, smokes and she dipped snuff, but still a lady of her day.

James Monroe was probably one of our most effective Presidents but his accomplishments are understated. A visit to Ash Lawn reinforced the simplicity of his lifestyle.  I found it interesting that his alma mater, William and Mary, owns and manages his home.

The D-Day Memorial was a special place for several of the men who were World War II veterans...one person had been there on D --Day.  Another visitor remarked that it was the most impressive war memorial of all.  It is set on a hill overlooking the small town of Bedford where a large percentage of D -Day casualties were from.  We could see the Peaks of Otter on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was bittersweet for me when I thought about my parents and grandparents who were no longer living. Oh, if I could have travelled just a short distance down the road and walked into my great grandparents home and felt their presence and smelled the aromas of Nannie's cooking.

We had lunch on a boat on Smith Mountain Lake. The sun glistened on the water as our guide told the history and purpose of the large man-made lake. I thought of my Aunt and her family who owned many acres of land, some now a part of the lake floor.

Onto the Booker T. Washington Museum and Memorial...a part of history some would rather forget.  He was an amazing man and the world is better for his contributions to it.  I knew a tidbit of history that won't be found in history books. I know who taught him to read--a brave and illegal thing to do.

What a tour.! I have left out the fun we had as a group, our lunch at Michie's Tavern and at Applebee's, and just chatting on the bus. It was a trip to remember forever. Thank you Naomi and John for your kindness and professionalism

And I'm still prejudice--about Virginia!

 

SOMETIMES IT'S GOOD TO GO HOME

Thomas Wolfe wrote that you cannot go home again. We know that he was talking about emotionally, not physically. I went home a couple of weeks ago, almost.  I attended a Fall Festival and book signing in Pulaski, Virginia, the county seat of my home county.  If I had gone home it would have been about ten miles away in the little mountain village of Belspring. I would have been limited to looking at the small white Cape Cod with the red tin roof from afar.  My father retired in 1975 and he and my mother moved back to their "home" in Bedford County.  After a few years had passed, I asked her if she were sorry they left their home of over thirty years in Belpring.  She never gave me a direct answer but hinted that she only came because Dad wanted to build a retirement home on land he had "worked" as a young man. She knew you can't go home again.  My Dad seemed to be continually searching for the home he remembered through a boy's eyes.

If I had stood across the street and observed my childhood home, it would have looked different. The large Norway maple tree would be standing tall and majestic to the left of the front porch.  I would imagine bracing myself  in the yoke of the old tree.  I was hidden from the world and I could observe many goings on outside the near-by homes and the busy street that ran by my house and through the middle of the village. I has grown and had left home when my Dad knew the beautiful old tree had to go because of decay and disease in its trunk.  I felt as if an old friend had passed away. In its place now is a huge evergreen tree, taller than the house. It is not a "climbing tree." Such a pity if there are children in that home.  I have a feeling climbing trees is a lost art today in our world where there are so many rules to protect us from ourselves.

I take another look at the house and I notice the hedge in front has been replaced with a chain link fence.  Such a fence,  has no eye appeal, but is good to keep in small children and dogs.  It keeps out dogs and other children, as well. I'm certain that when my Dad was trimming the hedge on a hot summer day he longed for a fence.  But he never put one up.  Hedges seem more neighborly and the road trash is not as obvious. 

Other than the tree and the fence the house looks pretty much the same as it did when I left on the day of my marriage, December 8, 1957. The red tin roof and the painted columns.  I remembered my Dad taking a small brush and painting the mortar white.  My Mother said that he painted things that didn't need paint.  How many women would be glad to say that?

I wonder how the inside has changed over the years.   I 'm sure that it has in many ways. That is not important to me.  I know my parents are no longer there. The aromas from Mom's Southern cooking have long disappeared.  Just a hint of the scent of Dad's pipe tobacco would bring a flood of memories but it's not there.

So Thomas, you were right, "you cannot go home again." But the memories will never be erased.

Your comments are welcomed.

 

TROUBLED TIMES

I went to the movies last Tuesday afternoon. It was not an action picture or a torrid romance, nor was it an animated show  for children.  Some critics call it pure propaganda, others view it as a professional means of perpetuating the extreme political views of Obama.  I have not decided on the exact category for the film.  Some critics are asking , "why movie theaters would show it?"  As Americans we know the answer to that.  Freedom of speech.... and money.  I had heard very little about the movie before I went to the theatre.  I became  curious when the people waiting to go in were told that it would be a few minute's wait.  The patrons in the previous show had "trashed" the theatre! My friends and I were just a little apprehensive about seeing the film but we were not going to turn back at this point.

As I settled into my seat, preparing to watch a movie I had not heard of until a few days before, I had mixed feelings.  One was one of apprehension.  Why would senior citizens (students were at school) "trash" a movie theatre?  Was it that controversial? I felt a twinge of guilt because I probably wouldn't tell any of my friends who had different political views that I came.  But here I was and I would try to watch it with an open mind.  After all I had decided who I would vote for.

The movie began and I was pleased with its professional presentation.  Of course I knew some of it was propaganda but I thought the facts were well documented.  I'll have to admit that I slept through the part where Obama returned Churchill's statue to Britain.  I'm glad I slept through that---my blood pressure may have gone up if I had seen that one.

I heard the vitriolic comments about so called injustices committed by the United States.  Silently I refuted a greater part of them because no one or no country is perfect.  My mind went back to a kinder, gentler time when politics could be discussed in a civil manner-at the dinner table, preparing for a school mock election, and in a social setting. The House and Senate could unite on matters that not only affected American citizens but the World Community. Again, it is not a perfect system and we voted out those who were "asleep at the switch."

It has been several days since I watched the movie. I still feel a sense of loss and depression.  The loss is for the country I see disappearing bit by bit every day.  We are in troubled times.  The depression is for the days of civility and respect toward others that I suspect will continue to be memories.

Go and see OBAMA-2016.    I hope the theater isn't trashed.

Darlene Eichler 9/22/12

Your comments are welcomed.

 

THE VILLAGE THAT DIDN'T GROW UP

I grew up in a small mountain village in the Virginia Appalachians.  As a child I thought this an ordinary place to live, actually it seemed caught in a time warp.  Often I felt that life had passed it by.  Would I be able to escape when I became a grown-up? I wanted to leave and move to an exciting, bustling city. I just knew life was better in other places.

There is a reason Belspring never grew up.  Here is the story the best I can remember.


Belle Spring, Bell Spring, Belspring, whatever it was called was a beautiful little cluster of mostly modest houses filled with hard working people with names like Tice, MCClaugherty, Chumbly, Webb, Brown, Buckland, Ratcliff, Frazier, Gordon,Kirkwood, McCoy,Sifford, Long, Bland, Newcomb, Harris, Cloyd, Bruce and Calhoun.
  The legend goes that Belspring was named for a spring located in a hollow just as you entered the village.  The running clear, cold water had a distinct sound of a bell.  The spring has long dried up but the name remains the same.

In the late 1800s a railroad was built through the middle of the village of Belspring.(I'm not certain when the spelling was changed from Bell Spring to Belspring but the story goes that it was done by the Post Office to save time in writing it.)  The village began to prosper and new businesses were springing up  The planner of the village had laid it out in blocks as you would have in a town When my family moved there in about 1944 most of the sidewalks remained.
It was about the turn of the century (1900) when the railroad officials decided the incline into Belspring was too steep.  They changed the route of the railroad to flat land along New River.   The little village which was about to take off and become a bustling town stopped growing. At some prosperous times the village may have had several businesses but it fluctuated, never growing into a town.

As I look back I'm thankful that Belspring never grew up.  It seemed to stay  a kinder, gentler place just as it was in 1900. We were free to roam on its broom sedge covered hills and look for craw dads in the creek. The closeness of its people, the "big family" attitude enriched my childhood and molded me into a better person. The boring life I thought I lived as a child was an adventure as I "retrieve those "memoirs" in my writing.

    Your comments are welcomed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Caldwell,                                                                                             kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

A SPECIAL PET

     "Mama,! Mama!  He said we could have her!" The door slammed behind three overly excited children.
      "Who said you could have what, I mean whom?" I couldn't imagine that one of the neighbors was giving away one of their children but stranger things have happened       "Mama, the little puppy.  You know, Tiki. 
        "He's giving you that sweet little dog?  But why?  Won't the mother dog be unhappy? You didn't go and beg for her, did you?"
        "No, Mama, her owner, Mr. Johnson, has already left for the war.  Mr. Lawson on the corner was keeping her for us until we got back from vacation. He gave the mother to one of his friends.  Can you believe he gave us the puppy?
"Can we go to the store and get some food for Tiki? Mr. Lawson told us she hadn't eaten much but she probably would for us.  You should have seen her jump on us when she first saw us."


     The Viet Nam war brought more changes to America and to our everyday lives than was realized at the time. This seemingly small incident of our family receiving a pet wasn't newsworthy to anyone but our family of six.  I'm certain the young college professor was sad to give up two pets. I often wondered how he survived the war or if he did.
This little brown , mixed breed dog (the vet guessed part Manchester and part Chihuahua) brought so much joy and laughter into our home.  We asked the vet what he thought made her such an affectionate pet. He thought it was the characteristic of the Manchester breed.  All I know is if you didn't like dogs before Tiki, you would very soon after she mesmorized you with those big brown eyes. We moved to a near-by town soon after we acquired her.  We heard that the man next door did not like dogs.  but it was really strange that every time we planned to give Tiki a bath , she was next door in her chair watching TV with the neighbor! We laughed and said that he didn't consider Tiki a dog!

      In 1975 we decided to take another trip to California to finish going to all 48 contiguous states.  Of course Tike went along.  She was the best traveler of all.  She didn't mind the youngest child using her for a pillow as they slept in he back of the Travelall.  She was so well behaved that sometimes we forgot she was with us...until she made herself know with a special little growl.

     Shortly after we returned form the trip West, Tike was running around the yard until she spied the young girl across the street.  She was a cheerleader  for the high school football team and was practicing her cheers.  Tiki, always curious where people were concerned, headed across the street.  She usually stopped and checked for traffic but in her excitement she forgot.  The driver saw her too late and Tiki ran into the front tire.  Her neck was broken and she died instantly.  There was not a mark on her.  The driver, a friend from Church was devastated.  As we all were.  The tears flowed freely for days.  Sometime after the driver had gone on his way ,he called to make sure Tiki was actually dead.  We were sorry  but yes. she was.  We buried her in the back yard.  Soon she had a little head stone which we took with us when we moved a few years later.

     Her name was really Con Tiki . She was the runt of the litter but with a will and tenacity to be a survivor

    Her sweet spirit will always remain in our hearts .

OPPORTUNITIES--THE BEST GIFTS

Those of you who are parents have vivid memories of the early days, weeks, months and maybe years of the doubts and uncertainties of your new position as a parent. No doubt your thoughts took you back to your early childhood and how your parents fulfilled their roles. Let's be honest here and admit that we thought in most instances they could have done better. Now older parents and grandparents don't get your feathers ruffled--as our years of parenthood progressed we began to realize you were pretty smart. Don't you wish those "goody packages" given out by the hospital included an OPERATIONS  MANUAL? I would have quickly turned to the index and looked under Ts for Twins.  Yes, I began with two. Doubly blessed.

What phase or stage of rearing your children caused you the most consternation and sleepless nights?  Mine was keeping a good balance of the tangible and intangible--the things and the learning opportunities--the material items and the life skills. How would we as parents keep a balance between what our children wanted and what they needed? We came up with the idea of "learning vacations."  Our children were naturally curious and enjoyed helping to plan these jaunts.

                             CALIFORNIA, HERE WE COME!

It was June of 1972. The International Travelall (with two gas tanks) was securely hitched to the white Norris travel trailer which slept six, if you didn't mind sleeping on the kitchen table, filled with enough clothes and supplies for six persons for a month--almost. We were realistic enough to know that there would be items we didn't even know we would need all along the way.

I teach memoir writing and one of the first lessons is about taking small slices of your memoir to write about.  Adding too many details can make for a boring story.  Often the students are surprised when these slices are put together and they have an interesting life story that will pique readers interests. So, I've set out to write a memoir of our trip and I'll focus on one aspect. .... how we manage to have a wonderful trip on such a small budget.

As we slowly pulled out of our driveway in Radford, Virginia on a clear June day, the air seemed to be filled with electricity.  We couldn't believe the day had finally arrived.  I'm sure the "Driver of the Rig" was checking off items on his mind's list.  I had my clipboard in my lap, hurriedly scanning the list for anything that might have been overlooked. Before we had gone two blocks, "Mom, make my sister tell me how much money she brought.  I told her how much I have." I didn't expect this type of disagreement so soon.  They usually worked these things out by themselves. "I don't think it matters if you know how much money she brought.(Of course it did-they are twins.)Let's forget it and enjoy the scenery." No response.

We were headed for the Great Smoky Mountains.  Mountains! That word put  a queasy feeling in my stomach.  Although we lived in the mountains we had fairly straight roads and a choice to drive on the curvy ones.  One of the twins always got motion sickness.  I needed to be ready...the Smokys were known for bringing on this condition.

The first night would be spent in a rustic campground.  I think there was electricity. The children were not happy about the outside toilets.  We talked to them about their economy but on this first day of the trip economics were not important.  As it turned out this was a freebie...no one came around to collect the fee. This was noted in the record book.

We had a simple hot supper that evening and a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit the next morning.  We brought as many supplies from home as the trailer would hold.  I had bought specials at the grocery stores for weeks before we left.  We always prepared out meals when we were in a campground.  There were other days when we stayed in motels and we ate in restaurants.  I remember the day we entered San Fransisco over the Golden Gate Bridge.  I had a tray in my lap making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.  Add a piece of fruit and everyone had a nutritious lunch for a small cost. It was exciting to stop along the way in the San Joaquin Valley for fresh produce.  We talked about how some of these luscious products would end up back East on our families' and friends' tables.  I'm unable to locate my journal of the trip but I think I remember that we spent less than $150.00 for groceries.  Sounds impossible today.

As far as gasoline for a towing vehicle,it takes a lot.  Remember this was 1972 before the energy crunch.  We were fortunate to find gas for as little as nineteen cents a gallon in Texas.  That certainly helped  the average cost.  We were pleased at the total we spent for the round trip from Virginia to California.

Entertainment is important on vacations.  There were certain places that we agreed  not to miss.  As far as those that cost a large fee, we would limit them to three or four. Disney Land was a must. What a wonderful  opportunity to see so much of this beautiful country for a small fee or for free.  The wonderful National Parks are inexpensive and so different in the sights and wild life.  We decided to go through as many state capitals as possible.  We all learned a lot more about this vast country than we had known. The pictures and slides were used in my fifth grade geography class. My older son enjoyed fishing along the way.  The younger son learned to read by the road signs.

As I have mentioned before we stayed in moderately priced motels every fourth or fifth night to give everyone room to stretch, take a shower in a regular size bathroom.  No price could be put on what this did for morale.!

I will never forget the night of June 30th.  We were in Las Vegas and it was my birthday.  The temperature was 122 degrees and we knew we couldn't stand the heat in the camper.  We stayed in a motel in the city.  The children were fascinated with the brightly lit city teeming with people at 11:00 in the evening. I read months later that that was the longest day ever recorded. It certainly seemed that way!

This memoir is getting long and I will close with just a few suggestions if you are planning to make a similar trip.

1. Have enough cash set aside for emergencies.  Fortunately we didn't have any.

2. Plan your trip down to every detail because you will have forgotten a few things.

3. Know where you want to go and be aware of the cost.

4. If you're camping or have means of preparing meals, take along supplies.

5. Keep a diary and take lots of photographs.

6. Leave an itinerary with someone back home.

I would encourage families to take similar trips.  It is an experience the children will never forget and they will be the smartest kids in geography and history classes.

Written with fond memories.

Darlene Eichler

dargeeic@aol.com

LIVE EACH DAY TO THE FULLEST

              A TRIBUTE TO MY FRIEND, FLO ANN BENDER

Its happened again. Just this past Friday evening.  Another friend has passed away.  The memorial services are coming too fast and close together. I was bemoaning this to a friend and she reminded me of my age. Of course I hadn't forgotten  I just celebrated my seventy-fourth birthday. Now that number does not seem old to me.  Have you listened to Willard Scott on the Today Show call out the birthdays?  Today we have  a lady who is 106 and a man who is 108.We are definitely living longer.

My friend Flo Ann was a couple of years younger than I. She had gone through three bouts of breast cancer and the third time it metastasized into her vital organs.She was a strong lady, a woman of deep faith. She set an example for all of us to follow.

I first met Flo Ann at a book signing.  We hit it off immediately.  We had similar backgrounds..... both grew up in a rural area, she in Ohio and I in Virginia.  Both had fought breast cancer, going through the unpleasant effects of chemo.  We were in our senior years when our first book was published. And I could list more but the one thing that brought a closer relationship was her taking my Memoir Writing class.  It was here that I learned what a special person she had been all her life. Her memoirs were from her heart, speaking of childhood experiences on the farm or stories about her family.

Shortly before I met her she was one of several co-authors of a book called, "Reflections From the Heart."This is a collection of poems, stories, and meditations of inspiration. She has several selections included in the book. One of my favorites is "The Best Gift."("Reflections From the Heart," by Cherri Bingham with co-authors, Book Stand Publishing, c2007)  This is a letter to her daughter to be kept and read when she is an adult and has children of her own.  It tells of a time when money was in short supply and she gave her daughter some clay to make a creche.  In doing so her daughter revealed she understood the true meaning of Christmas. Another selection, "God is In Control," ends in this way--"You need to always have a goal. Dream it. plan it,and fulfill it.  God will give you strength for whatever you are doing.  He will be with you every step of the way.  I am grateful for this life that he has given me.  I have realized that God wants each of us to celebrate life everyday to the fullest.(pp116-117)

by many. And yes, you dreamed it, you  planned it, and you fulfilled it.  Rest in peace, my friend.Flo Ann, you will be missed

Darlene Eichler/July 23, 2012

LABELS

Labels

We do it every day. It has become accepted in today’s society but that doesn’t mean it is always right and good. The ‘it’ I’m talking about is labeling persons and groups. Some negative examples might be: (1) “damn Yankee” (2) “red neck” (3) “liberal” (4) “conservative” (5) “geek” (6) “fundamentalist” (7) “loser” (8) “racist.” I said “could be” because some might not consider them as such but in most cases they tend to be inflammatory.

If you have never been on the receiving end of one of those negative labels in your lifetime, you probably aren’t aware of the hurt and misunderstanding they are capable of causing. Have you as a parent tried to soothe your child’s hurt feelings over name calling by another child or adult? Often we feel so helpless--- the hurt cannot be fixed with a simple kiss----and the damage may be devastating.

An incident happened a few weeks ago at a Book Fair in Louisville, Kentucky which started me to think about labels. On the Friday evening prior to the signing, the authors attended a get-to-know-you gathering. We took our turns in introducing ourselves, telling where we were from and our genres of writing. We were more than half through the group of about fifty writers when one man stood up to introduce himself. He took a deep breath and in a raised voice said, “I’m a bleeding heart liberal!”

It seemed that everyone breathed in at the same time and the room was devoid of air. (Remember we were in Louisville, Kentucky.). As if on cue we exhaled and a scattering of nervous laughter could be heard throughout the room. Thoughts which went through our minds were probably a little different in about fifty ways. My first thoughts were, is he doing this for shock value or does his writing show a positive side of this label?

No one asked him, at that time, what he meant by the label he obviously felt pride in wearing. But I was curious! I waited to near the end of the book fair to walk over to his table. I wasn’t quite certain what to say but I finally blurted out, “so you are a liberal?” He smiled and proceeded to tell me why he introduced himself in that way. He had been a Southern Baptist minister and in studying the New Testament began to think about how Jesus would deal with the problems that plague us today. He came to the conclusion Jesus would be classified as a liberal. On that premise he rewrote parts of the New Testament as if it were taking place today. He asked me if I would read his book. I answered in the affirmative and he gave me a copy. He continues to be a pastor in another denomination.

I would surmise that some authors missed an opportunity to talk to this interesting person. I don’t have to agree with him on everything but he has the right to say it.

So, remember the next time you are confronted with a label, peel it away and see the real person. You may be surprised in a positive way.

This article was written before the shootings in Tucson. As I listened to the rhetoric of finger pointing with name calling and labels thrown into the mix, my thoughts turned to Jesus’ commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves. If we kept that commandment negative labels would disappear!

Darlene Eichler

　

TALE OF THE BIRTHDAY WEEKEND

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of South Carolina, the Realm of Columbia, on day 30 of June in the year of our Lord, two thousand and twelve, a marvelous thing happened. Some called it a miracle. Others credited it to luck. But whatever helped it along, I’m thankful. Family members came in all directions in their carriages. The majority came form the Kingdom of Georgia and the Realm of Atlanta, and one from the Kingdom of North Carolina, the Realm of Marion, There was only one serious mishap along the way. One of the carriages from the Realm of Atlanta broke down. There was nothing left to do but turn around and retrieve the stranded guests.

A wonderful feast was prepared to be served in a Great Hall at one hour past noon but alas the food must wait until the weary travelers arrived. The guest of honor, Lady Darlene and her escort, Knight George, were made comfortable at a table in the Great Hall. They were plied with food and drink and the time passed quickly. Knight John joined them. He had been delayed on the road from his home in the North. It seems that the King had declared a holiday for the following week and the highways and by-ways were teeming with all manner of conveyances. A heat wave was going through the known world and it was taking its toll on humans and animals alike

The carriages from the Realm of Atlanta began to roll in . They contained a large number of overheated and hungry folks. Their ages ranged from four months up to 53 years in age. I shall list them by name for future references:

I. The Household of Sims:
    Lady Robin (also known as “Birdie”)
    Sir Jimmy
     Lad Tucker

II. The Household of Addison:
     Lady Jennifer
     Sir Jason
     Lad Jason, Jr.
     Lad Justen

III. The Household of Ingram
      Lady Heather
      Sir Nick
      Lad John Douglas
      Lad Sebastian
      Lad Julian

IV. The Household of Planer
      Lady Holly
      Sir John
      Little Miss Reagan

The following were from the Kingdoms of North and South Carolina:
V. The Household of Huddle (North Carolina)
     Sir John

VI. The Household of  Eichler (South Carolina)
       Lady Darlene
       Sir George

After the feast at the Great Hall the birthday group left in their carriages for an inn called The Whitney Hotel. Everyone had great accommodations and began to relax ---some took advantage of the bathing pool, others enjoyed the company of family members they don’t see very often. Lady Darlene, grandmother of many there, made plans and decorated for a surprise birthday party for all the little ones under ten years old.

As the time passed the crowd began to grow hungry. What can we do? There is no kitchen in the Inn. Someone knew of a place where huge tomato pies were the specialty. Although this food was foreign to some tastes the lively and adventuresome group decided to order several with different flavors of these strange pies. After another great feast, there were several adults who ventured a prognostication--these large tomato pies would grow in popularity with young and old to the point that there would be many restaurants that served only this unusual food.

Then it was time for the surprise birthday party for the little knights and one tiny lady. The looks on their faces were priceless as they realized that they would have a party, too. Sir John Huddle’s help with the party was greatly appreciated. Everyone seemed happy with their loot and the cake began to disappear. It gave Lady Darlene great pleasure to see the beautiful, smiling faces.

A restful night was enjoyed by all, even the babies. Sunday morning dawned sunny and hot but spirits weren’t wilted by the high temperatures. We were just a little sad to be going our separate ways later in the morning. The carriages were readied, packed and loaded with passengers. Many hugs and good-byes took place before the carriages made their way onto the highway.

It is Lady Darlene’s and Sir George’s wish that we can do this again next year. We gave thanks for a special family and safe travel.

　
                A HAPPY ENDING

THE LIPSTICK SAGA

Multiple births were not as common back in the fifties when I had my first children, a set of twin girls, as they are today. There were no ultrasounds and giving birth to twins was a shock to say the least.  They were two months early and we weren't ready for even one  baby.  They were tiny but healthy and they came home the day they weighed five pounds.  Fortunately for me they came home twelve days apart.  It wasn't long until we had settled into a routine and things were moving along smoothly.

They got off to a good start and became happy, outgoing babies.  Soon they caught up with full term babies as far as the growth chart was concerned. The old adage that "two heads are better than one" was true quite often with my two girls. They even had their own little language and entertained one another, most of the time.

We lived a good eight hours away from our parents.  So when we made a trip we usually stayed several days.  On one of these trips the twins and I  stayed two weeks and then their Daddy came for us.  Needless to say it took a lot of stuff for  twins for a two week visit, and in this was a playpen  we used for their crib, which worked out very well since the girls were used to sharing space.

 One afternoon I put them down for a nap being careful to put anything out of their reach on a near- by dresser. They were good about taking  a nap on schedule and I went downstairs with confidence that I would have a couple of hours for myself. I  believe I did go back and check on them in about thirty minutes.  They were sleeping peacefully. In about two hours (their normal length of nap time) I heard them chattering and went to take them from the play pen.   The sight I saw when I walked into the room  was beyond belief.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I screamed for my Mother to come and see.  By the time she reached the top of the stairs and could see my two seventeen month old girls, I was ringing my hands and starting to cry.  My Mother, a serious woman with a type A personality stood there and laughed until the tears ran down her face.  And I'm saying, "what can we do?"There stood my babies dressed in matching white dresses with various colors of eyelash fabric covered in the brightest red lipstick.  There was not a spot on either little smiling face that was not covered.  Their arms were red, the dresses had huge spots of lipstick on the white fabric.  They had even put lipstick in their sparse blond hair.

My Mother, always calm in an emergency, gave orders.  You take one and I'll take one and straight to the bathroom and the bath tub we go.  I'll get my container of cold cream and we'll start scrubbing.   It took a long time to get most of the lipstick off their skin.  They were just a little rosy for a few days.  Miraculously my Mother was able to wash the stains from the white dresses.

To this day two questions remain unanswered about "The Lipstick Saga."    One--how did they reach the lipstick  and two-how did a tube of lipstick only half full cover so much?

I suspect that Robin, the climber ,used her sister for a footstool and as for the lipstick, I have no clue.

A Mother's treasured memory.

Share a memory if you like.
                                                                                                                               

My Uncle Bill

He was the tallest person I had ever seen.  In my child's eye he was as tall as the house.  He did have to duck when he entered a room. I suppose because he was so tall he had long arms.  He could scoop me up in one quick swoop, throw me up to the ceiling and before I had gotten my breath, he gently placed me on the floor.

My Uncle Bill was a man of few words.  He smiled a lot and from that we knew he wasn't mad.  If anyone asked him why he was so quiet, he would say that he spoke when he had something of importance to say. Wouldn't that be a good practice for some people we know?

 I don't remember him ever telling a story but I can tell lots of stories about staying with him and his family in the hot Piedmont summers.  I was expected to go along with my cousins and "work" in the tobacco fields.  If I had been paid for the work accomplished, my check would have been very small. But my compensation was enjoying the company of my Uncle Bill and his family.

Some of the crops on their farm were probably on land that was later sold for part of Smith Mountain Lake. Even today some of the land is near the Lake and would bring a hefty price.


There was a time when my Uncle and his family left the farm for him to work in a textile mill in Roanoke, Virginia. The big city was fun to visit,, too.  There were no more hot tobacco fields, snakes to watch for, and animals to feed.  There were many things to do-- riding bikes on the sidewalk and playing hide and go seek with the kids on the street.  And the big thing I'll never forget is going to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream treat after supper.  With a twinkle in his eye my Uncle Bill would say, "I bet there's no one here who would like to go for ice cream." We were waiting at the car when he got thee.

My Uncle Bill was a gentle giant.  I never saw him spank one of his children.  He didn't need to, when he spoke, they listened. He was a fair man- -his word was as good as a contract.

His memory is special. A visit to his home was a wonderful experience , one that gave me a treasure trove of memoirs.

 Thank you, Uncle Bill.

THE GINGERBREAD HOUSE

     It could have come out of the story "Hansel and Gretel" with its many colors on the gingerbread trim.  Sometimes the colors changed as if by magic.
     When I was a child we made the ninety mile trip from Belspring, to Bedford, Virginia, my Dad's boyhood home, in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.  There were no interstate highways back then and most of  the roads were two lanes.  When we went to our grandparents we traveled Route 11 a good portion of the way.  Those ninety miles seemed almost endless to a small child.  To anticipate certain sights along the way helped to pass the time.  One of my favorites was the Gingerbread House.  I wanted to ask my Dad to stop on the side of the road so I could look at it closer.  I never did.  I turned my head and looked as long as the house was in sight.  Every time we passed it, which was about every two months, I made up a different story about the little house.  The stories always seemed to end up with me as a character. I wondered about the family who resided there.  Once in awhile I would catch a glimpse of a person on the tiny porch or in the yard.  What fun it must have been living in the little fairy tale cottage.
     In a few years the interstate came along and we didn't go by the Gingerbread House on the mountain on our trip to see our grandparents.
     Asa the years passed it's memory faded.  Just recently I thought of the colorful house and wondered it it was still standing.  I did what most of us do today;  I googled it and lo and behold sources came up giving information on the house and its former owners.  As far as I could determine the house is still standing, but not as in its colorful past.  I learned, also, that the reason it changed colors so often was that a local paint company used it to advertise their product.
     I carry only a picture in my mind but the little Gingerbread House along the side of the road remains one of my favorite childhood memories.

THE READING CLASS IN THE BASEMENT

Reading has always been one of my favorite pass times.  As a child I would rather read than do my chores or even go outside and play with neighborhood children.  This got me in trouble at times and at others it was a key to opening doors that were closed to many.

I believe this love for reading  gave me opportunity to create the memory of the  "reading class in the basement."

                        THE READING CLASS IN THE BASEMENT

Belspring was in the poor end of the county and the school facilities gave evidence to that. The elementary school, grades one through seven were in a large brick building built in the 30s that was the high school at one time.  When I was in the sixth grade the county found money to add an addition that included classrooms for the first and second grades and inside restrooms.  This was a modern luxury that most of the students did not enjoy in their homes.  It certainly beat walking outside to the outhouses in the rain and snow.

The first and second grade classrooms had been in the basement for many years.  The rooms were damp in warm weather and boiling hot in the winter--the pipes from the furnace wove their way through the ceiling.  The kitchen and lunchroom were at the other end of the basement.  The open space in the middle was used for activities in bad weather and school functions in the evenings.  Cake walks were a popular fundraiser.

There was no library or media center.  As I mentioned in a previous story the school owned one 16 millimeter projector and one record player.  Other than the teachers' collections of books that was pretty much the extent of the media collection.  But contrary to the philosophy of learning today we did learn with meager resources--a teacher, a book, a student and a chalkboard.  There were students who found it difficult to progress at the same speed as the others. They required remedial classes but it was difficult for teachers to find the time back when life was even slower.

The principal and teachers in that school may have been ahead of their time.  They had taken the model of the one room school and modified it.  The fourth and fifth grades were divided and half of the fourth grade was put in the room with half of the fifth grade.  At first the students thought it a strange arrangement but as the school year progressed we realized it was  pretty good especially if you were in the lower grade.  We learned from others without even being aware of it.

When I was in the sixth grade I was given a reading group of second graders.  We met in the basement in the end of the cafeteria at 10:00 every morning.  The aromas of the lunch on that day wafted into our little corner of the room making it harder for us to keep our minds on reading.  I would guess that the majority of these children from a poor mining village had not eaten breakfast.

I listened and I encouraged.  I laughed with them.  I don't know how much help I gave them in learning to read.  I wonder where they are today and how well they have done in life.  I do know that the benefits I received as a shy, introverted preteen helped me to become a more confident and self-reliant teenager.  It is with great pride I recall my "reading class in the basement" when I was a sixth grader.

As a former teacher of children's literature, I encourage parents to read to their children, even before they are born.  Chances are great that you will have a child who loves words and reading.

Comments are encouraged.





            

MY UNCLE TED, A TRIBUTE

He was my grandmother's middle son, my mother's brother, my uncle, Aunt Ada's husband, every one's friend and he had Parkinson's Disease.This was the first case of this debilitating, neurological disease in our family and we knew very little about it.  No doubt most of us thought it was all about tremors but for the youngest members of the family, Parkinson's could be frightening.  The adults did their best to allay their fears.  "Uncle Ted is having a bad day was about the extent of their explanation.  His eyes were filled with pain after one of these incidents.  My aunt and uncle had no children of their own but enjoyed the presence of their nieces and nephews.  My fondest memory of him when I was a child was the attention he gave as if you were the most  important person in the world. 

Edwin Bennett Woodford, a robust farmer, was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease close to his 60th birthday. This was about the time Sinemet was coming into its own.  At that time the new medication, giving mobility where none had existed,was considered magic. But it didn't work its magic powers for everyone.  It took quite a long time to find the right dosage for Uncle Ted.

As an active farmer since a young child, he had a keen interest in new inventions, especially those which helped to harvest his crops.  The new drug helped with the Parkinson symptoms  but eventually he was told by his doctor not to use his power mower and tractor.  For him, his world as he knew it would end if he could not keep doing a few of the necessary chores on the farm. How would he spend the long days which lay ahead? Sometimes he did break the rules and get on the mower and cut the grass.  He knew he would be scolded(only because she loved him) by his wife.

it wasn't long until he required the assistance of his wife, as well as others who helped run the farm.  He needed help in eating, dressing, and any activity that required the use of muscles. Eventually he suffered difficulty in talking and swallowing.

Both, my aunt and uncle knew that eventually moving to a nursing facility would be required.  Some days were better than others and it was on those days a nursing home seemed far away. But it did arrive, that day they both dreaded.  They chose a small facility in the near-by town.  Uncle Ted was homesick for awhile  but with the caring spirit of those who worked there, he soon felt at home.  Sometimes Aunt Ada would take him home for a visit.  His cat was always happy to see him.

I don't recall the number of years he spent there before his death.  I do remember that he always managed to show a beautiful smile whenever he saw a visitor. He tried to talk but the controlling disease kept the volume  of his words almost indistinguishable.  But we understood he was telling us he was glad we were there.

April is Parkinson's Awareness Month.  This post was written to remember the many victims of this debilitating disease and to honor a special uncle.  Thank you, Uncle Ted, for your example of how to make the best of what life gives you.

Your niece and victim of Parkinson's Disease,
Darlene

You're invited to comment.







































































































































































































 complet                                               

The days,

My Grandmother’s Dress

     As I cautiously touched the tip of the iron to the fragile dress, I wished it could tell stories about my grandmother and the special occasions she wore it. I turned the dial to silk and held my breath as I slowly smoothed the wrinkles from the ninety-seven year old fabric.  This was the first time an electric iron had touched this hand sewn piece of my family's history.  No doubt the fabric and lace were bought after the tobacco crop was sold in the late fall.  The tiny stitches were made by a young person whose sight was sharp.  Perhaps by my grandmother herself,

                                IF THE DRESS COULD TALK

     The dogwoods bloomed early that spring of 1914 in the foot hills of the Blue Ridge.  She had always loved the Spring with its bursts of new life, and palettes of color.  She counted the days until the grass of early May was thick and soft as velvet.  Off came her shoes, her feet taking great pleasure in their freedom.  But something was not right this year...no walks to find snowdrops or early daffodils who resided near the warmth of the chimney, no singing of little ditties.  Not even her little son born the day after Christmas brought the sparkle back to her eyes.  Her family was concerned.

     Ethel Davis Patterson was born in 1897, the oldes of three girls and one brother.  Called, Sister, by her family, she was a happy, fun loving child.  Life was hard on a Virginia tobacco farm but h er parents acritficed to see that their children were well fed and dressed appropriately.

     Sometime in early 1915, a widower with several young children started paying attention to the pretty, oldest Patterson girl.  I don't know the full story since I had not been formed.  But the story told around the community was that he courted her as if he were a young man.  In the early part of that year they eloped.  It's here that the story starts to become clouded with gossip and assumptions.  For whatever reason the young bride did not move into her husband's house.  In a little more than nine months she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.  It was a difficult birth and her health seamed to worsen as the days and months passed.

     The little baby  began to grow and thrive in the care of his grandmother and two aunts.  Sister couldn't help but smile when she looked into his dark eyes.  Everyone tried to help her take her mind off her oppressing illness.  She needed a new dress, one that fit.  She ate very little and had lost weight.  Fabric and lace were bought at the local mercantile.  That's when I came into existence.  Her Mother cut a pattern from and old dress, carefully measuring each part.  The sisters, helped with sewing, making the tiniest stitches imaginable.  I will never forget the day the dress was finished.  All the women gathered in the bedroom, helping Sister to get dressed.  I fit like a glove.  Her waist was barely nineteen inches.  She looked beautiful with her dark hair and high cheek bones, her Indian heritage quite evident.  Someone remarked, "She should have her portrait done."  Although that was an expensive venture, her parents found the money to have it made.  I have a feeling they knew she would not be around much longer.
  \
     Much to my sorrow Ethel passed away in childbirth a few months later.  She and the little boy were buried in the same coffin.  He family never got over her untimely death.  I was gently folded and put away in a trunk until many years later, Ethel's granddaughter retrieved me to accompany her to Memoir Class.  I am glad. Ethel would be, too.

HANDMADE DRESS

ETHEL PATTERSON BAYS--1915

MEMORIES OF MOVING

Recently we decided to buy a house.  That does sound exciting until you hear that we're a retired couple.  Our combined age is 156 years!  As I began to sort and pack  memories  flooded my mind.........some humorous, and others sad.  The funniest one took place in November of 2009. I have "tweaked " it just a little. 

DON’T WAIT UNTIL YOU’RE OLD TO MOVE INTO A RETIREMENT COMMUNITY

      Growing old is not for the. faint of heart. That didn’t mean a lot  to me until about 31/2 months ago when George, just out of the blue said, “Let’s move to Brightwater!” (Well, it wasn’t exactly out of the blue since I had been leaving little hints here and there for months...literature I left lying around after attending Brightwater get-to-gathers, making a big to do over the progress of the construction through e-mails I received weekly. “Oh, look, George, they’re making it hurricane proof. Wow! Look, that’s the club house going up--it’ll be connected to the villas and you won’t even have to go outside to go to the dining room or the beauty shop or the pool, etc. Answer, “um hum, that’s nice.” After several weeks of this he finally gave me a one sentence response, “Sweetie, all that is nice but we can’t afford it.”

He was probably right--this was about the time the economy started going sour an cutting  expenses became paramount. In one of those moves I came up with the idea of cutting our lawn care cost in half--brainstorm--we would get a power mower and George could cut the grass every other week. Great, we just saved a hundred dollars a month but George wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Would that be too hard for you?” Then comes the reason for no smiles, “I grew up in Brooklyn and I had a postage stamp yard and I only used an old fashioned push mower. I’m almost 81 years old and you expect me to buy a power mower at this stage in my life?”
“It would be good exercise.”

“ I don’t need more exercise --I go to Wal-Mart at least twice and sometimes three times a day and I walk fast.”

“ Uh, well wouldn’t it give you a feeling of self-accomplishment?”

“I can find cooler and better ways to do that!”

“Oh, so you expect me to give up things to save money and you won’t“. A long silence.

“Okay, get in the car, we’re going to Home Depot and get a mower but I’m not promising I’m going to use it.”

“Well, I’ve cut many acres of grass and I can still do it.” Silence.

“Now, Darlene what kind of a husband would people think I am to let you cut the grass and I’m in the house watching television?”

“ Well, I don’t know but there are a lot of people who come and go over at our church across the street!”

I think George cut the grass about three times before he decided we should move to Brightwater.



THE MOVE

After talking to the powers to be at Brightwater and getting all the papers filled out we were ready to proceed to move. We were given 4 years to sell our house so that was no pressure. Then we chose a realtor and I believe a great one. This was on Friday and the house went on the market the following Monday.

All right, now it was time to get ourselves organized. It would be fun to get rid of some things, help out the kids and grand kids and the church with the rummage sale at the same time. After all this would be my 28^th move and you couldn’t tell me anything I hadn’t encountered at least once. And besides I was a librarian with a masters degree in organization. I made lists and my lists had sub lists and I color coded. I chose two weekends for family to come and take the “stuff” away. We eliminated Christmas shopping except for the very young children by giving away treasures--books, Christmas ornaments, model cars, stamp collections, all sorts of memorabilia Some family members helped clear two attics and two garages and an extra kitchen. For that we will be eternally grateful. But there was still too much left to move. Oh, we had a two day successful garage sale on a rainy, cold week-end.
We made many trips back and forth to
Brightwater before we closed the deal.  First red flag. Something in the back of my mind kept reminding me that short distance moves are like drawing out a root canal for days. There was always something left at the old place to get. And you know we still have stuff in two storage buildings in North Myrtle beach.

 All of you know moving is just not a fun thing to do, even less fun as my age. I look back at that move and realize there was a third entity there--a monster, if you will. I named him the Downsizing Monster--he was big and ugly and mean.  For some reason he wouldn’t let me stuff him into a 1400 square foot villa. He kept whispering in my ear such things as, “you can’t get rid of Mama’s stained Sunday tablecloth or what would Dad think if he knew you threw his collection of pipes away(even if Mama ruined them when she gave them a good washing). And what about that collection of old cameras and hundreds of cook books? We could go on and on but you get the picture. We are still in the War of Downsizing but we can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel. Oops! Maybe I shouldn’t have used that metaphor.

Since the Monster is actually residing with us we have discovered another bad habit of his. He steals, and the strangest things: like shampoo, hairdryers, eye shadow, jewelry, salt and pepper shakers. Do any of you remember when you had no choice and washed your hair with hand soap? Or brushed your teeth with a dry toothbrush because you couldn’t find the tooth paste or vice verso? Or digging around in your purse hoping to find something to enhance your looks and you just came up with one old eyeliner pencil? Hey, beats nothing. With just a light touch it makes good eye shadow and a dab of lipstick carefully smoothed on the cheeks is a good substitute for blush. This is one time I was thankful for curly hair--no hairdryer and just towel drying--I resembled Little Orphan Annie. But the craziest thing to lose is still lost. My prosthesis! (I had breast cancer). I cannot not imagine where it could have gone. Some possibilities are:

1. IT GOT IN A RUMMAGE SALE BOX BY ACCIDENT. I HOPE IF SOMEONE STARTS TO PRICE IT THEY WILL REALIZE  IT IS PRICELESS TO ME.

2. The cat has dragged it under the couch…. thinking it was a fat, hairless rat.
3. It got put in the wash on the hot cycle and disintegrated.
4. The housekeepers(probably not from SC) thought it was a weird Low County fungus and threw it in the garbage.
. 5. It fell into the trash can and now is disintegrating in a landfill out in Wampee

So if the next time you see me and I look normal you know “It” has been found

One last thing-- Granted moving is not for the faint at heart but I have faith it will be finished someday and the Downsizing Monster will move on to another naive couple who believe their golden years have arrived and they need to move into a Retirement Community!
THE END
Darlene Eichler
Villa 1111

DON'T GO NEAR THE RIVER, YOU'LL DROWN

    Learning to swim was not an easy thing to do if you lived in our mountain village.  New River, claimed by some to be the second oldest river in the world, flowed along the eastern edge of the little settlement with the railroad tracks creating a barrier between the houses and the river.  Our parents warned us to stay away from both dangers.  They claimed that children could not outrun trains.  and if we went near the river we might fall in and drown.  The boys, being more adventuresome and disobedient paid little attention to the warnings and they usually learned to swim. No matter how much we talked to our mothers, they would not consent to our going near the water.
     Since we could not go near the river, we missed out on a lot of fun.  How could we even go fishing if we could not go near the river?  We knew it was dangerous to get into a boat if we could not swim. But as young people we thought we were invincible and so we did go near the water.  We went to Claytor Lake whenever there was an opportunity.  Again, our parents said, "don't go near the water, just stay on shore and watch others swimming and boating." Now that wasn't any fun. "
    I remember one time when my boyfriend and I, with  another couple, decided to go fishing on the lake.  The boys rented a boat with an outboard motor.  I don't remember if we had life jackets in the boat--maybe we did but I don't  recall wearing one.  The man made lake was very deep in places.  The water covered a community of houses and groves of trees. Sometimes the top of a tree appeared above the waterline and presented danger to boaters.
     The boys maneuvered the boat into one of the shady coves out of sight of the boating traffic.  The water was dark and still.  We wondered out loud about how deep the water was in that spot.  The boys seeing how stressed out we non swimmers were becoming, began ro tell stories of fishermen falling in the lake and disappearing, never to be seen again.  When they saw that we were thoroughly frightened they began to laugh.  It was hard for us to find any humor in their scary tales. 
     We did make it back  to shore safely but we could have drown.
     I never learned to swim--I stayed away from the river

Your comments are welcomed..














         

A CHRISTMAS LOVE STORY

Recently something happened to a couple in our church which I consider one of those events clearly in the miracle category. I have changed a few names to protect privacy rights.
 
                                 " A LOVE STORY"
 
Once upon a time there lived in the Kingdom of Horry two beautiful, dark skinned princesses. Not only were they sisters, but they were twins. When they were born, much too early, they would fit into the palm of your hand and weighed no more than a large mug of hot chocolate. The doctors, nurses and family were afraid the tiny babies wouldn't make it....many people who heard this started to pray. Soon the two little girls began to grow and thrive. It seemed that God had planned for something very special to come into their lives in His own time.
     Sometimes things happen in life which keep others from doing what they would like to do no matter  how hard they try.  The princesses found themselves living in different homes.  That wasn't all bad because they got to know a variety of  people.  Perhaps this is why they are good natured and usually have a smile.  But the two beautiful girls wanted to live in one place for a long time with parents who would love and care for them in special ways.
     It was the summer of  2011 in the Kingdom of Horry.  School was out for the season.  Children were looking for cool things to do.  Quite a number of the children had enrolled im a special summer program.  The two princesses were in the group.  They went early in the morning because two men(Mr. John and Mr. Pat) from a church in the town of North Myrtle Beach brought the most delicious breakfast. They had no idea the name, John, meant  God is gracious and Patrick means nobleman.  The girls saw how they could help the two kind men and soon a special bond developed.
     All the twists and turns which came next in the story will be left for the two princesses to write about in their memoirs some day.  But for now we will speak of the miraculous thing that happened the tenth day of November in the Kingdom of Horry  in the town of North Myrtle Beach. The two beautiful girls joined the family of M. John  (now "Dad") and Miss Carry(now Mom) to become one family.  And that is not all the family they gained...Mr. Pat and Miss Sarah have become their official grandparents!
     Now isn't this the most beautiful story, not a fairy tale, but a real miracle story you have ever heard?  This is a shortened version and many of you know other miracles in the story.  Only God our Heavenly Father knows ever  little detail of this love story for He is the Creator, the Granter of Miracles. We give Him thanks for these two special daughters.
     Welcome to our Church family, Ava and Dana.