tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81429343979875356622024-02-19T07:12:57.148-06:00Southern Sass - With Just a Little Bit of Class (Sassy Just Writes)Thoughts on life, family, and a whole bunch of other stuff.
"When something can be read without effort, great effort has gone into its writing." ~ E. J. Poncela
Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-47778693100263174502022-02-12T08:58:00.001-06:002022-02-12T08:58:50.701-06:00The Joy of Cooking<p> <span style="font-size: 14pt;">Although the <i>Joy of Cooking</i> was the title
of one of my first wedding gifts many moons ago, I will admit willingly that I
am not a cook. I’ve never claimed to be a cook. In fact, everyone who knows me
would agree with that undeniably. I might have enjoyed it earlier in my adult
life had that part not been so crazy and more than a little distressing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Nonetheless, even though I was convinced that
I wasn’t a good cook, I managed to get by for myself and two sons, whom I raised
on my own in the late 70s and early 80s.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And then I got lucky. I met a
man. I fell head-over-heals at age 36! I seriously had no idea what a great
cook he was. After our marriage, he slowly (and gently) just began to take over
those duties, much to my delight. I always cleaned up afterwards, happily!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The funny "family story" (actually not so funny to me) is about what </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">occurred</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> when I took my two sons to his family’s huge Thanksgiving
dinner for the first time. As we were sitting around the table, my youngest son
just blurted out, “We were so glad that Mom married Dean. Now we get to eat
real food.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">WHAT? “Mac and cheese” is not
real food? Frozen pizza? Popcorn? I was mortified. I wanted to crawl under the
table. The only good thing that came out of his declaration was that none of
the women in the family ever asked me to help out in the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My husband cooked for the rest of our lives together until he became ill, and then I panicked. Luckily, I had a group of wonderful
friends who came by a few times a week bringing casseroles, meals, etc. (Did I
say that everyone knew I didn’t cook?)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Eventually, I began to take
over myself and realized that I actually <i>could </i>cook. I cooked for the two of us
and almost enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed using my old slow cooker. Even I
could make the best pot roasts in that!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">After he passed away, that
enjoyment of cooking left. Who wants to cook for one? Not me. I am now the queen
of heating up things that have either been frozen or brought in from someplace else,
prepared by someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Today, however, I was
watching “Good Morning America” on TV. There was a segment on the show featuring
all of these neat new cooking gadgets and kitchen implements. I found myself intrigued
and almost thought about getting some of them. I could see myself using them,
imagining all of the wonderful meals I could prepare. And then I stopped.
Reality set in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Let’s don’t get crazy. Where’s
the phone? I need to call Panera.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">@2022 Copyright by Carla Love Maitland</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-11003771379780789932018-12-31T08:14:00.003-06:002018-12-31T08:14:58.065-06:00Goodbye 2018 and Good Riddance!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><img alt="" class="cv-O-x" height="577" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnWPtJi69OwDLax6_Aiio6gzRJXJ_ofS6ii_7KfW-2gdtXVNYk-6s_1ckrQe2iERcOuIcXtMPAidQG4N6CzCGhGVMyBgHWY-VAqiT2yE4n2uBoVo1MD5JGOlXYf4AHSYWshgF7W56InC6/h120/Wonder+Woman+-+Copy+%25282%2529.jpg" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: block; font-family: Roboto,Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; height: 120px; left: 0px; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; orphans: 2; position: relative; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; top: 0px; transform: matrix(1, 0, 0, 1, 0, 0); white-space: normal; width: 133px; word-spacing: 0px;" width="640" /></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">One of our favorite movies this past year was Wonder
Woman. It came out in 2017, but we didn’t see it until last year. She became my
(s)hero! I bought the Hallmark Keepsake Ornament of her and stood her on the
table by my couch/bed to valiantly fight off the evil that might come my way
this year! She will stand her ground - of that I’m sure.</span></div>
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</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I love to write. I’ve missed it. I was telling someone
that just the other day. Writing is my favorite way to express my thoughts, feelings,
and enthusiasm about various things. I love to bring people, ideas, histories,
etc. to life with words. It’s why I have two blogs – a Writing Blog and a Family
History Blog.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
But I’ve not been able to write much lately. I’ve not
been able to get “that feeling” together inside of me – that passion that
brings enthusiasm to a subject; the one that can paint a word picture for
others to see and understand.<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">That feeling left me about four years ago when we
learned that my husband had a rare neurocognitive disease called corticobasal degeneration
(CBD). The odds given to us on his life expectancy at that time was about five
to eight years. News like that just sucks the life out of you. Everything else
becomes meaningless. I’ve honestly not felt much of a passion for writing about
any subject since receiving that news.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
But now I have a craving, no really a need, to write
about something. That something? The Dreaded Year 2018, probably the worst year
of my life. I have to get my thoughts about it written down while they are
still fresh in my memory – and before the new year begins.<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">As I sit here writing, I find myself hoping beyond
hope that most of you reading this have actually had a fairly good year. No
year is perfect. There are always ups and downs for each of us. But I wouldn’t
wish the pain and suffering that has overwhelmed our house this year on anyone.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
The Dreaded Year started out with the ever-frightening
visions of days looming ahead; days dealing with yet another year of my husband’s
disease. How would we deal with it if it got worse? How bad could it get? All
the questions that had been plaguing us for the previous four years were
evident when I couldn’t even wake him up to celebrate the ringing in of the New
Year. That had never happened before. In years past, we either stayed up
together, or he had to wake ME up! But last year was different. I should have heeded
that warning and been prepared for the days ahead.<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
The Dreaded Year saw me plunged almost immediately into
Physical Therapy for problems with my back and shoulder, only to be literally
kicked out of PT because my blood pressure was ‘dangerously high.’ They wanted
to send me to the ER. I didn’t have time for that. I remember going home, taking
my emergency BP pill (one of the six I was already on) and calling the doctor to
schedule an appointment with a specialist. Got that done; got new meds; got my
BP under control. That only took about three months to complete – you know,
just most of the first part of the year. Not too bad, I guess, all things
considered.<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
I suppose the stress of the situation at home was
getting to me. Seriously getting to me. In the course of a few months, I saw my
husband go from being able to walk (not well, but at least a little bit) to
hardly being able to walk at all. He became dependent upon being rolled around
the house in a wheelchair and could rarely go outside anymore. He went from eating
with utensils, and then with his fingers, and finally to being unable to feed
himself at all. In those rare moments when I had a respite caregiver come in,
he began getting extremely agitated if I was gone for more than an hour or so.
Can you go to the grocery store and shop for everything in an hour? I learned
to be very quick. I kept saying that I was going to use one of those services
where the store did the shopping for me, and I could just go and pick it all up
that same day. I never managed to do that. My mind seemed to have been put on
remote control, and I was just doing things in the moment, whenever they were
needed.
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">What I did know was that I had become my husband’s
main link to the world, and I knew how important it was for me to be there with
him as much as possible. More stress? Oh, yes indeed.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In June, all of my sons and daughters-in-law gathered
together for a week of fun and family time. But the “horribly bad, really
terrible” Dreaded Year that was literally half-way over had basically just
begun for us. Only a few days after my two sons who lived out of town had
gotten home, we received news that the Mother of one of my precious daughters-in-law
had passed away suddenly and tragically. What a devastating time; a quick,
hectic and heartbreaking trip back for them…and many, many tears. Grief
Counseling had begun in this family.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
By August and early September, it was evident that my
husband’s condition was changing rapidly. The dementia part of his disease (which
hadn’t really been too bad at this point) set in almost overnight, and so did
the loss of his ability to move at all. It was necessary to hospitalize him (we
thought for only a little while), but we soon found out that he also had Stage
4 small-cell lung cancer. They gave him two to four months to live on that
diagnosis. We thought he still had a year or two left with his original
diagnosis of CBD, so this was a complete shock. He spent a month in the hospital,
was transferred to a nursing home, and died after being there a day and a half - one day before his 63<sup>rd</sup> birthday. He didn’t even get to live out
those two to four months. It was a nightmare.<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Family gathered around from all over the country, plans
were made for the Memorial Celebration, and somehow, with the love and help of
family and friends, we got through the most horrible week of my life. I’m truly
not even sure how. But we did. Grief Counseling called again.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">But the year wasn’t through with us yet. Another
daughter-in-law saw her Father’s cancer worsen quickly and unexpectedly, and he
passed away in November, just weeks after the death of my husband. Grief Counseling?
It just goes on and on for us.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
I had honestly begun to feel as if this Dreaded Year
had tried to personally beat me over the head, but in December I was actually
thinking that I just might find that “new normal” that the Grief Counseling
experts go on about. I thought I was doing fairly well, considering everything
that the Dreaded Year had brought. I soon found out that it wasn’t through with
me yet.
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Last Thursday I began the day running some errands and
attending the memorial service for an “Unclaimed Veteran” here in town. It made
me feel good to be there, knowing that it would not only be an honor to that
Vet, but also an honor to my husband, who was himself a Veteran. Somewhere
around noon I began to feel a slight cough begin, which managed to settle deep
into my chest by that very afternoon, saw me at the doctor’s office the next
day getting a shot and meds, and then saw me get even worse by Sunday. The doctor
told me that the third day would be the worst. It was. The Dreaded Year gave me
an upper respiratory infection that tried to pick me up, shake me by the
collar, and throw me down. It has tried its best to do me in. I have fought it
every step of the way, just as I have fought every step and every day of this
entire Dreaded Year.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">After all I’ve been through, this illness has been
almost like a pesky little fly that I have to simply shoo away.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m a bit better this morning. Not great, but
better.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s New Year’s Eve, and I can’t
wait for this day and this year to end.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I’m looking forward to 2019. There’s always an excitement
to a New Year. What will it bring? What opportunities and challenges will there
be?</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
Here’s what I say to 2019: Bring it on – I am ready
for you!<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Happy New Year, Everyone! May it bring you happiness
and fulfillment – and maybe even a little bit of excitement!</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">@2018 Copyright by Carla Love Maitland </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-50082179218187389282014-08-11T11:27:00.000-05:002019-02-21T05:23:20.692-06:00Moon of My Life...<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My husband and I are “late-comers” to the exciting and
extremely popular TV series, “Game of Thrones.” Over the past few years that it’s
been on TV, we’ve both separately and unknowingly tried to watch an episode or
two and were both left with the idea that it really seemed like a great show,
but we had no clue what was going on. Naturally, we just didn’t try to watch it
again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The fact of the matter is that this is a series that you really
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must </i>see from the very beginning in
order to understand it all. (Cautionary note here: This is most definitely a ‘Rated
R’ series.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Because of recent events in our lives (which I will refer
to later), my husband and I decided last Spring to watch the series together beginning
with Episode One to try to catch up…and catch up we did! In fact, we caught up
and are now among those with “game-of-thrones-withdrawal syndrome!” Seriously,
we caught up during the last season and found ourselves having to wait from
week to week to see what happened next just like everyone else. That was not
fun.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Basically, when we were “catching up,” we would find
ourselves watching two or more episodes at a time, and sometimes (even late at
night) would make the decision to watch “just one more!” The series is that
good.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We were so immersed in the show that I began calling my
husband, “Moon of my life… My sun and my stars.” This is a line that one of the
leading actresses called her husband. At one time I started calling him “My
Lion,” but when “what’s-her-name” betrayed “what’s-his-name” (I’ll not give
away the plot here), I dropped that one like a hot potato!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My husband and I have always had pet names for each
other, so my calling him these things really isn’t as strange as it might seem
to others. He calls me his “Angel,” and also, lovingly, his “Princess PITA” –
an acronym that I just won’t go into at this point. (But you might be able to
figure that one out fairly easily!)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The reason we began watching this series together is
because my husband has developed a health issue that may stay the
same for a while, may advance slowly, or may advance rapidly. We just
really don’t know.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What we do know is that we are spending much more time
together - quality time that is anxiously wanted by each of us. None of us ever
knows what tomorrow will bring.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m writing about this in my Writing Blog because this is
the place that I chose to write down my “thoughts on life, family, and a whole
bunch of other stuff.” </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">These are my thoughts right now:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Moon of my life…My sun and my stars.” How will I live
when those glorious and wondrously glowing lights begin to flicker out and finally dim forever?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><em>@2014 Copyright by Carla Love Maitland</em></span></div>
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Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-32216276161306307152013-12-25T07:07:00.001-06:002013-12-25T09:15:46.368-06:00I'll Be Home for Christmas<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Home. It’s where we live. If we’re lucky, it’s where
our family is and where our hearts truly are. It’s a place full of memories
and, hopefully, full of love. I have and have had homes like that; places where
I raised my sons and later saw them leave to begin their own lives and ultimately
create their own homes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But I have a secret to tell here. When I think of “home,”
I most often think of the four-room apartment where I grew up in mid-town
Memphis. There were five of us living in that apartment, but the rooms were
huge and we never felt crowded. I lived there with my Mother, my brother, and
my grandparents until I was almost thirteen years old. It’s where those solid,
ingrained memories are, and it’s where I travel to so many nights in my dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We lived on the second floor of a three-story
apartment building on Madison Avenue. It was an unusual type of building with
two sets of apartments located on each floor at the front of the building and
two sets similarly located in the back of the building. Our apartment was in the back. The front set of
apartments and the ones in the back were not connected except by the hallway on
the first floor. Needless to say, that was one long hallway! I used to love to
roller skate down it and even ride my bike, but that was amazingly often discouraged
by the doctors and dentists who mostly made up those first floor suites. I really
never understood that. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i>
home, after all!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And home it was. My Mother had to move the three of
us in with my grandmother (Babby) and my step-grandfather (Poppy) when we were
very young. They never complained, and I think even enjoyed the fact that we
were there. I know Babby did. She loved to cook and bake, so having
more people around to eat her scrumptious food made her feel wanted and useful.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As I mentioned earlier, the rooms in this apartment
were enormous. We had our own long hallway to connect the front rooms (living
room and eat-in kitchen) with two enormous bedrooms in the back. The bathroom
with its classic four legged bathtub was located half-way down the hall. The
hall itself was wide enough that my brother and I could play ball, build forts
and even put in the dollhouses which he would sometimes make for me out of cardboard boxes. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There were two special features of the apartment.
One included a screened-in porch that was accessed through French doors leading
from the living room and that also had a door leading into the kitchen. It was
a great play area for us. In the winter, we used a special plastic covering
to go over the screens that would allow us to play and be fairly warm. The
porch itself was as big as the kitchen area, and our imaginations allowed us to create all sorts of wonderful places on that porch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The other distinct addition to the apartment was the
fire-escape landing that we shared with our neighbor across the hall. It was
off of our ‘back door’ and was large enough to have seating if we wanted to,
but we never did. We did, however, have a clothes line strung from one side of
the building to the other and which we used each week. There were two; one was
ours, the other our neighbor’s. My brother and I would often take bread crumbs
out to that landing after meals to feed to the birds in the winter months. We
never did that, of course, if there were clothes on the line!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the two large bedrooms had a fireplace in it.
Unfortunately, it was unusable, but the mantel and the fireplace itself were still beautiful. My brother and I
would hang our stockings on the mantel in that room every Christmas waiting for
Santa to come, and we’d always worry how he was ever going to make it down our
chimney, since it was blocked. He always managed to get there, however, and one
night I even heard him! I actually woke up in the night hearing sleigh bells,
but when I told everyone the next day, nobody believed me. I knew after I grew
up and know even today that it couldn’t have possibly happened, but I will
swear till my dying breath that I heard those bells. I can still hear them now if
I close my eyes and think about that night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m not sure how Mama did it, but every year we got almost
all of the things we had asked for from Santa. Looking back, I think she must
have saved up all year to do that. I never asked her about that as an adult,
and I really wish I had. Nevertheless, she made sure that Christmas was exceptional
for us. There was always a real Christmas tree that my Poppy had helped her carry
down that great, long hallway and up the stairs into our apartment. This event
would occur after we’d gone and chosen one at least a week before Christmas.
There’s nothing like the smell and the look of a real tree. It had to be cared
for very specially, and each of us took our turns so that it would still be
beautiful even after Christmas day. The decoration of the tree was a special
event, which involved everyone in the household and took time to complete. Mama
always decorated the apartment herself, often with beautiful things she had
made.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Every Christmas morning was a true time of
wonderment for us. On that morning, I was always the first one to awake. (I
still am!) Mama would wake up immediately afterwards and make us wait in our
beds as she went to "prepare" the living room. She would turn on the tree
lights and put on Christmas music to add to the atmosphere as we walked into
that room to see our long-awaited gifts. A huge Christmas breakfast would be
prepared by Babby, who would turn around almost immediately to begin
the dinner preparations. She was such an outstanding cook, a quality that I <em>really</em>
wish I had inherited.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I know that everyone has their own memories of
Christmases past - some good and some possibly not. But the love that we five
people shared in those "growing up years" in that apartment made each Christmas
a very unique and amazing experience for me and for my brother. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Still, I suppose we all see our youth as the Eden
of perfect days…”¹<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps my memories
are a bit distorted by time, but that apartment is still and always will be my “home,”
and I will always be certain that I heard those sleigh bells on that glorious
Christmas Eve!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas. I’ll be here in the
home I’ve created and where I’ve lived for almost thirty years. But I’ll also
be in that heart-felt home of long ago – most certainly in my dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">¹McCrumb, Sharyn, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King’s Mountain: a Ballad Novel</i>, St. Martin’s Press, NY. 2013. Page
63.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">@2013
Copyright by<em><span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Carla Love Maitland</span></em></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-25199975032060703892013-10-18T17:01:00.000-05:002013-10-18T17:11:10.225-05:00Changes<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Autumn has always been a time for change. The weather changes, the leaves change, and I change...my arthritis sets in with a vengeance. At least that last change isn't as bad as it actually is when Ol' Man Winter comes to visit, so there is something to be said for that. But the changes begin with the chill in the air. Even with that in mind, autumn is still (<a href="http://sassyjustwrites.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-autumn-leaves.html">as I've said before</a>) my favorite time of the year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">With the idea of change came the decision to re-work the title of this particular blog. I still had the words 'history and genealogy' as part of its description, and I really want this blog to be separate from my genealogical research and writing blog. I want to "just write" as the former title stated, but I know that I need to add just that little bit o' sass to my completely classy thoughts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Yeah, yeah. I can hear you laughing. I've always loved to rhyme my words, and the particular phrase I'm using as my title has been floating around in my head for a while. I don't know where I first heard it - or if it just came to my superior witty mind out of the blue. I did do a Google search on the phrase and found a few mentions of it, but nothing that actually had this exact phrase as a title. So, I'm claimin' it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I intend to continue to write inane thoughts about my family and friends and in particular, life in general. Don't, however, expect tips on scrumptious southern cooking or anything of that nature. Domestic Goddess I am not. Goddess, maybe...just not domestic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Do expect more stories about my dysfunctional family and the thrills of life that come with our "two steps forward, three steps back" routine. It's hard to keep up with the delights of everything breaking down or going wrong at once, but I think that maybe if I just keep a sassy journal about it all, maybe the class will show itself somewhere. Ya think? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Ah, well. One can only hope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">@2013 Copyright by<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Carla Love Maitland</span></em></span> <br />
<br />Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-14532029084916113912013-10-06T19:02:00.000-05:002013-10-06T19:05:33.450-05:00The Autumn Leaves...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I was a little girl, there was a beautiful song that was very popular. It's title was <em>Autumn Leaves</em>. Every time I heard that haunting melody, I would think how wonderful it would be to have beautiful Autumn leaves drift by my window. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That really never happened much here in Memphis. We have Autumn (or Fall, as we call it), but the season is short and when the leaves fall, it seems to happen so fast that the leaves end up on the ground quicker than you can say, "Jack Rabbit!" No drifting here. On the trees one day; on the ground the next. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every year I hope for a longer Autumn, and every year I hold out hope for the leaves to stay that beautiful color and not hit the ground so quickly. That rarely happens.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nevertheless, Fall is my very favorite time of the year. The air is crisp and cool - not too hot and not too cold. I think I've always preferred it over Spring because of the fact that it meant that I would be going back to school. Yes, you heard me. I <em>loved </em>school. I guess that's why I became a teacher.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This year was the first year in sixty years that I didn't return to a school somewhere, either as a student or as a teacher. I didn't realize how much that would affect me. And in truth, it's only been since the weather here has turned a little cooler that I've actually thought about that and have become a bit melancholy. As long as it was hot and humid and didn't feel like those memories I have of returning to school in sweaters and new shoes, I was perfectly okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not so much now. The high here in Memphis today was about 70, and the low tonight will be in the low 50s. I can hardly believe it. It's been beautiful, and all I can do is think of chalk boards, wooden floors, textbooks, and tons of friends. Did I say I loved school?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I think I need to go out and look for some leaves to rake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;">@2013 Copyright by<em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Carla Love Maitland</span></em></span>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-3034143192379206392013-10-02T12:39:00.000-05:002013-10-02T12:39:42.757-05:00Making Lemonade out of Lemons<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">The morning started out as a relatively normal day within
our increasingly dysfunctional household. If I were to go into a litany of the ‘things’
that have gone wrong for us in our house lately, I’d be here for much longer
than I want to right now. This is just a short ode to “Making Lemonade out of
Lemons.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Around 9:00 this morning, I made a brief run to the
drugstore to pick up prescriptions and then went on to the library to drop my
already-overdue books into the book slot. With those errands completed, I
pulled back into my driveway with a happy heart and a whole list of chores in
my mind that I was going to get done today. That was before I walked into the
kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Water was pouring out from under the refrigerator. I yanked open the freezer door and
saw that it was all coming from our icemaker. I closed the door, checked the
temperature (which should have been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">under</i>
zero for the freezer) and was shocked to see the freezer numbers at 35! Not a
good sign, for sure. The refrigerator had stopped working.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I called my husband on our phone intercom system and woke
him from his sleep. He’s a late sleeper; I’m the early bird. He was not a happy
person, but when I described what was happening, he hurried downstairs. (A few
tears and frantic pleas for his help didn’t hurt either, I must admit!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I started clearing off the top of our small side freezer
in order to put as many of our frozen foods into it as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would have been nice if it hadn’t
already been full. What do two people need with all of that food? I couldn’t
get much into that freezer at all. I even drug out one of our larger coolers, emptied what ice that was left into it and put as much into the cooler as I could</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And why do we keep everything in the world on top of the side
freezer? Just clearing that off was a chore in itself. You might not do that, but
we certainly do. Furthermore, it didn’t help any that we had already been to the store this
week and our refrigerator freezer was completely full. All of that newly-bought food
was thawing and melting, including the one frozen pizza that we had bought just
for the heck of it. We haven’t bought a frozen pizza in years and had decided
that we would try a margherita pizza, since we liked that type so much. The pizza wouldn't fit into either the cooler or the side freezer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">As we worked frantically to make sure that the refrigerator
would come back on (my husband has done this before), we saw that pizza sitting
there thawing and both of us had the same idea at practically the same time, “Pizza
might taste good right about now!” Of course, the words we said were different,
but the idea was the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So as my husband continued to work on the refrigerator (a
light bulb broke, too, of course!), I turned on my ‘new’ oven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, it’s not new. It’s two years old – but I’ve
never used it. That's right...I'm not a very good cook. My husband is the cook in our house, so the idea that I was
going to cook anything, even a frozen pizza, was a bit daunting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, this oven has digital numbers and
all kinds of fancy things that I had no idea how to use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I persevered and managed to overcome that
“new-fangled thang!” By golly, I cooked that darn pizza and it was darn good! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I only wish the refrigerator was. Not sure what’s going
to happen with that, but I’m not going to let any negative thoughts into my
mind. I’m going to dwell on how much fun my husband and I had taking a break, eating
that pizza, and making lemonades out of lemons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">As to the rest of the ‘things’ that want to go wrong, I say,
“Bring it on!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh…wait. I really didn’t mean that. The refrigerator hasn’t
come back on yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We need some good karma here</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-22795453065360115112013-02-01T14:51:00.002-06:002013-02-01T14:51:28.990-06:00Fun and Fabulous February!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm excited that it's February - a truly fun and fabulous month. I love it. The second month of the year - already. It is, of course, the month of love, since Valentine's Day is on the 14th. That date helped make February National Heart Month. It's also Black History Month and International Friendship Month.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I like it for a host of other reasons, too. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">First of all, it's<em> short</em>. I like that. When I was working, payday came sooner, and that's always a good thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Next, it's the birth month of my precious grandson, Nigel. (That should really be the first reason, but my 'progression-thinking' skills appear to have been shortened, probably by the shortness of the month. That sounds like a good reason, don't you think?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here are a few other truly great reasons to celebrate the month of February:</span><br />
<ol>
<li>Feb. 2nd - Groundhog's Day. (Now who doesn't just love to wait to see what that adorable little rodent is gonna say about the length of our winter?)</li>
<li>Feb. 3rd - Elizabeth Blackwell was born in 1821. She was the first female doctor in America. (Oh, and there is something called the 'Super Bowl' going on this year, too. At least, I <em>think</em> I heard that!)</li>
<li>Feb. 4th - Rosa Parks was born in 1913. (Can you tell I was a history teacher?)</li>
<li>Feb. 7th - Charles Dickens was born in 1812. (Yes, I know I skipped a few days, but I just cannot put them <em>all</em> down!)</li>
<li>Feb. 10th - The ratification of the 25th Amendment in 1967 establishing the procedure for Presidential Succession. Also, this year it's the Chinese New Year: the Year of the Snake! (I will not dignify myself to make any kind of remark about those two being together on the same day, but it really is kinda funny.)</li>
<li>Feb. 11th - Thomas Edison was born in 1847. (That's exactly 100 years before I was born. Oops, did I say that?)</li>
<li>Feb. 12th - Abraham Lincoln was born in 1809. (This year it's Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday - definitely the quintessential fun, fabulous, February day!)</li>
<li>Feb. 14th - The afore-mentioned Valentine's Day. (Expecting some flowers or chocolates? Skip those and go for something that lasts longer. Gold would be good - or diamonds!)</li>
<li>Feb. 15th - Susan B. Anthony was born in 1820. (We've certainly come a long way, baby Sue!)</li>
<li>Feb. 16th - King Tut's tomb was opened in 1923. (What a 'Fabulous February' experience that must have been. When asked if he could see anything as he made the first small opening in the tomb, Howard Carter could only utter, "Yes, wonderful things.")</li>
<li>Feb. 18th - President's Day this year - a national holiday honoring all of our Presidents. (I think I've said enough about Presidents.)</li>
<li>Feb. 20th - John Glenn orbited the earth in 1962. (I remember that well. We all gathered in the school auditorium to watch it on a little bitty TV - as if we could actually see anything!)</li>
<li>Feb. 21st - My beloved grandson's birthday! (Nothing else matters on that day.)</li>
<li>Feb. 23rd - The U.S. flag was raised on Iwo Jima. (My Father was there with the 5th Marines and knew all six of the men in the famous photo.)</li>
<li>Feb. 24th - Steve Jobs was born in 1955. (Too short a life for one so talented.)</li>
<li>Feb. 26th - William F. Cody was born in 1846. ('Buffalo Bill' himself!)</li>
<li>Feb. 27th - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in 1807. (My students had to memorize "Paul Revere's Ride," but "The Song of Hiawatha" was always my favorite.)</li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These are just a few of the important events and historic dates that occur in February. I got most of the information given here at a site for teachers: <a href="http://www.theteacherscorner.net/">www.theteacherscorner.net</a>. However, I found one mistake on their calendar: they had William F. Cody born in 1864 instead of 1846. (And this is a teacher's site? Oh, well. I guess that makes me not responsible for any other errors.) The rest came from my own head which is just chock-full of knowledge and....well, we won't go there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Enjoy this wonderful month, as I plan to. It certainly won't take us very long to get through it!</span>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-7194684054920050912012-12-23T13:08:00.000-06:002012-12-23T13:16:23.018-06:00Joy Comes in the Morning<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a typical winter morning for Memphis. December had
been a month filled with days of extreme cold followed by days with highs in
the low 70s; a kind a weather-mania which we Memphians have come to expect. Nothing
new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I awoke at my usual ungodly pre-dawn
hour hoping beyond hope that this would be one of those days that I could go
back to sleep. Unfortunately, my thoughts didn’t take long to come into focus
and deny me that option.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was the Tuesday after the horrific massacre in Newton,
Connecticut. Part of America’s most precious commodity, indeed part of our soul, had been taken from us in a senseless act of depravity. I, along with countless others throughout
America and the world, had been shocked, shaken, and overwhelmingly saddened
since learning of the irrational act that had occurred the previous
Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I</span>nured as Americans seem to have
become to deeds of this nature, this time was devastatingly different. These
were young and innocent children. We had heard over and over during the days
that followed the phrase that “our hearts are broken.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so they were.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I think I was surprised myself at how completely
depressed and yes, heartbroken, I was personally at this vile act. I almost
couldn’t get it out of my mind. I had gone to work the previous day at a school
where I have worked for the past eleven years. Even though our own children
weren’t there that day (winter break had begun for them), those of us who were
there went about our business, often expressing outwardly the sorrow and shock
we felt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember the depression I
felt as I sat at my computer and thought about those teachers and staff members
in that school so far away in Connecticut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wondered how they would possibly be able to go back to their routine
activities when they did have to return to school. Nothing could ever be
routine or normal for them again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Those were my thoughts as I arose that Tuesday
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then something wonderful and
incredible happened. I drug myself out of bed knowing that sleep had escaped
me, went into the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee, and I
heard birds singing outside of my kitchen window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Morning had come, the birds were singing, and
life would go on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life as we know it may
have been changed, but the birds had announced a new day and a new beginning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I cannot begin to explain to you how much the sound of
those birds singing meant to me. The very fact that their singing was
unseasonable and completely unexpected brought a sense of peace and joy to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had experienced a few days of what we call a 'cold snap'
here in the south, but the birds knew that day would bring higher temperatures and
had come out in force.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Very early mornings and the sound of birds singing have
been a source of comfort to me throughout my entire life. After each personal
heartbreak, including the overwhelming loss of my grandparents,
my parents, and four years ago, my brother, I would always listen for the sound
of birds in those first hours of the morning to reassure myself that the essence
of life still prevailed. Sometimes I would have to wait for days and even weeks
to hear that sound, but invariably when it did come, an enormous sense of consolation
would come to me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve always associated that glorious sound with one of my
favorite verses in the Bible, which is found in the book of Psalms, chapter 30,
verse 5: “…Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”
(King James Version)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">No matter what heartaches, trials, losses, or sorrows we
may endure, birds will sing with the dawn of each new morning….and joy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> come.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Amen and amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-18973879925270734112012-09-23T12:16:00.000-05:002012-09-23T12:16:47.536-05:00The Borrowers <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Borrowers are living in my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they’ve been here for years, and I just didn’t realize it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure that all of you readers know who the Borrowers are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re the wee, tiny people who live in secret areas of certain people’s houses and ‘borrow’ things from those people whenever they need something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are supposed to be fictional – just made up by somebody for a book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I can assure you that they’re no fantasy; no way; no how; no sir-ee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re here in my house right now. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For years the joke around our house has been that “if Mama put it up, it’s lost.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never thought that was funny, but I did have to face reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nine times out of ten, if I put something up, it would always be hard to find – that is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if </i>it was ever found. That never seemed to happen to my husband, who (with his 160 + I.Q) never forgets anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The fact that he never forgets anything is why I’m convinced that the Borrowers are living here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months ago, our hot water heater went out and had to be replaced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s located in the back part of a closet in our main hallway. In order to get to the hot water heater, we had to take everything out of that closet and put those things somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no hand in that….just to make everything clear here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, when I say everything was taken out of that closet, I forgot to mention the fact that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything </i>was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i> that closet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have a closet in your house that you’re afraid to open for fear of what might fall out and hit you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, we do – and that’s the one. So, it was difficult to find places to store all of that ‘stuff’ as we worked on putting in the new hot water heater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After the job was completed, the vision of this wonderfully empty and organized closet was pure delight. We’ve been so pleased with the fact that the closet is now clean and empty that we’ve been procrastinating in our efforts to put things back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve actually thrown out many things, given stuff to the Goodwill, recycled some things, and really tried to get better organized before putting things back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, as we’ve begun to put things back in the closet, we’ve realized that some things appear to be missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How can that be?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I realized the true depth of this dilemma a couple of weeks ago, when I started looking for my small table-top ironing board that I needed to iron a new blouse that I had just washed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I started looking for the ironing pad that you can use on a table or bed…can’t find that either!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s the best part; I spent days looking for those two things and finally decided to bite the bullet and set up my big ironing board (I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> know where that is), but I can’t find my iron!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Borrowers must have taken my ironing pad, my small ironing board, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> my iron!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to top that off, they took a small Limoges plate that I had taken out of my china cabinet to put with some things that I plan to sell at auction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s missing, too, and it wasn't even in that closet. I clearly remember taking that plate out of the china cabinet and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thought</i> I remembered where I put it. I even told my husband about it. It’s not there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, nobody has been in our house over this time period that could or would take any of those things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, emphasizing once again how smart my husband is, he doesn’t remember where any of those things are either. He vaguely remembers my telling him about the plate, and he also remembers taking those things out of the closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It goes blank for him at that point, so that’s why I’m convinced that the Borrowers did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My husband</span> could never forget anything. Right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So…point made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m afraid to even imagine how many things might be missing that we forgot we put in that closet, but I’m pretty sure that those irritating little Borrowers have been the ones who’ve taken all those socks over the years and the myriad of other missing objects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had to be them…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I guess the little people needed to iron some things, too, but if I find out where they’ve been hiding out, they’d better beware!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I’d never do any harm to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d just kick them out on their rumps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But before I do that, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">please</i> give me my iron back!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-53639356063788346302012-08-01T11:32:00.000-05:002012-08-01T11:32:46.139-05:00Understanding My WritingI just realized today why I don't write on my genealogy blog more often than I do. It's so very emotionally draining for me. <br />
<br />
After spending the morning writing about my beloved <a href="http://www.sassygenealogist.blogspot.com/2012/08/wonderful-wednesday-loving-tribute-to.html">Uncle Lonnie</a>, I have cried, laughed and am now completely exhausted from the process. Oh, how I admire those bloggers who write every single day.<br />
<br />
I guess I need to really use this 'Just Writes' blog to write about those 'other things' that I love - like books, politics (oops, nope, I need to steer clear of that!), archaeolgy, Egyptology, antiques and collectibles...and the list goes on and on and on. Guess that's why it's hard for me to focus on just sitting down and writing.<br />
<br />
And I guess I'll just think about that a little more - tomorrow!Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-11043093734142486872012-05-25T08:13:00.000-05:002012-05-25T08:13:42.820-05:00ProcrastinatorI'm convinced that my picture appears next to the word 'procrastinator' in Webster's Dictionary. I used to think it was my husband's. I've always referred to him as my "Stubborn Scotsman." In reality, that was just a polite way of stating what a procrastinator he was! Nothing could be done better in his opinion if it wasn't done until tomorrow. That always drove me crazy.<br />
<br />
Now the tables have turned. Since my retirement, I've noticed that he's getting things done in a much more timely fashion than I am. Remarkable. And what the heck happened? I'm blaming the whole thing on retirement. Okay, okay... I'll admit that I've become more laidback and not as stress-driven as I was when I was working full time. But why am I not doing all that writing that I wanted to do?<br />
<br />
I started my blogs filled with a passion for writing and for getting my ideas and thoughts 'put down on paper,' as they used to say. I still have those 'thoughts,' but I find it harder and harder to actually get them written down. Somehow, I've filled my days with things that I've always wanted to do: I've become more involved in my local genealogical society; I'm reading more books (if that's possible) than ever before; I'm having luncheons and dinners with friends that I haven't been able to fit into my busy schedule before; and I'm working on getting my 'proofs' together for a couple of heritage societies.<br />
<br />
The list could go on. I remember what people asked me last year when I announced my retirement. "What are you going to do with all that time?" Are you kidding? I don't seem to have time to think, much less complete all of the things that I want to do. <br />
<br />
Maybe that's the real reason why I've not been writing as much as before...at least I hope it is. I'm convinced that eventually I will get my life organized into the type of schedule I used to keep at work: a couple of hours on this, a couple of hours on that, etc., etc., etc. By doing that, I can work 'writing' into that idealistically wonderful schedule. I'm pretty sure that I'm smart enough to do that. Right? Don't answer that.<br />
<br />
I think I'll just concentrate on making sure that the photo they use next to the word 'procrastinator' is a good one. Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-6717529633980953942012-04-05T18:24:00.001-05:002012-04-05T19:39:39.608-05:00Some Thoughts on Shiloh<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Shiloh Church. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A place of worship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pittsburg Landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Tennessee River. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>April 6 - 7, 1862.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>150 years ago. Sesquicentennial. (I so enjoy saying that word.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A gathering of forces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two days of horror and death. The Bloody Pond. The Hornet’s Nest. The Sunken Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Statues and monuments. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Battle plans and strategic maneuvers. Lost friends and loved ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tremendous and continuous noise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guns and canons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Horrific screams as bayonets strike home. Thousands killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others wounded or taken prisoner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Albert Sydney Johnston – a great loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>W.H.L. Wallace – another great loss.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">An insignificant place not quite one hundred miles east of Memphis and only about twenty five miles north of Corinth, Mississippi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Momentous now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Forces from Memphis rushing to help soldiers there and at Vicksburg, leaving Memphis vulnerable and easily taken by Union forces only one month later.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Outstanding generals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ulysses S. Grant. Lew Wallace. Don Carlos Buell. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>William Tecumseh Sherman. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>P.G.T. Beauregard. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, how I’ve always loved his name: Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a delicious mouthful of words. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But it's n</span>o wonder he went by P.G.T.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to say his whole name over and over to my students so that they would know it, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took those students as often as possible to Shiloh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you understand it if you don’t see it and feel it?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Being there is an awesome and humbling experience. Knowing that you had relatives who fought and even died there brings you yet closer to the uncanny atmosphere that surrounds you as you stand in the quiet groves, and as you read the markers, walk the paths, and view the memorials.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">8<sup>th</sup> graders running around eating ice cream and having fun, but learning, too; a complete contrast to the reality of what happened there so many years ago.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I wrote about relatives who fought at Shiloh on my sassygenealogist blog. Here I only wanted to share bits and pieces of my thoughts and memories.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If you’ve never been to Shiloh National Park, you should go if you can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will never feel the same about the Civil War, or the War Between the States, or the War of the Rebellion, or <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the War of Northern Aggression…or whatever you care to call it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">General Sherman summed the name up best in his now-famous statement concerning his advance on Atlanta:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“War is hell.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Without a doubt, Shiloh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> hell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-57069276972073951242012-03-31T11:50:00.001-05:002012-04-01T09:39:06.206-05:00Another Blog?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I decided to start a second blog (only this morning!) because I realized that in my first blog, I’ve done more writing than concentrating on actual historical or genealogical research. Sometimes I just want to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></i>Most of the writing on this “Sassy Just Writes” blog will still be about my family, its history and other aspects of genealogical research and journaling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just want to add further thoughts and ideas to my writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Have I lost my mind?</span></div>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8142934397987535662.post-20153062895027647882012-03-31T09:32:00.000-05:002012-03-31T09:32:37.046-05:00An Ode to Writing: Will You Join Me?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The famous <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mists of Avalon</i> author, Marion Zimmerman Bradley, once said that the secret of writing was to “put the seat of your pants in the seat of your chair.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boy, was she right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I actually began to do that, I’m finding that I can’t seem to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">get up</i> from that ‘chair!’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Just a couple of months ago, I told a few friends that my dream in life had always been to ‘be a writer.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least one of them suggested I start a blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never in a million years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That vision of mine had been to write stories for students at the middle school level, the age level to which I had loved teaching history for many years and also an age level to which my husband swears I belong. (Let’s not even go there right now…) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Those wondrous accounts that I planned to write would be based on the historical research I had completed as a family researcher and historian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I planned to weave the lives of my own family into tales that would spark an interest in history for those students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So far, that hasn’t happened; I started a blog instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, I only started a genealogy blog, but I soon realized that there was so much more that I wanted to say.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I really have no idea why I started this particular blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although I’m ‘officially’ retired, I still work two days a week at the same school where I served for years as the Middle School Coordinator. (Don’t even ask what that is; I’m pretty sure that it’s the person who does everything that nobody else wants to do.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But seriously, I gladly left years of teaching history for that position, mainly because it involved writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep, that’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the last fifteen or so years, I’ve spent most of that time writing: school improvement plans; curriculum plans; hundreds of letters to parents; letters written for others, allowing them to sign their names instead of mine; articles of public relations that would showcase our school in the best possible light; taking notes for meetings and writing them up for administrative purposes; and the list goes on and on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I never thought much about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just something I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even get too upset when an article I wrote publicizing our school’s championship basketball team appeared in our local newspaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had submitted it to the paper’s educational coordinator, and she published it – under her own byline! However, when more instances like that occurred, I did begin to get a little miffed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did my best to make sure that it didn’t happen again. Hey…that’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> work!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I left all of that behind when I retired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I thought I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the work I’m doing now in my two-day-a-week stint does indeed involve writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But again, I’ve just done my job and haven’t thought much about it. Several times already this year, people have come to me to help them write things, for instance letters of reference, etc. The other day, I was helping a lady come up with phrases to use in her letter of application for a prestigious position when it suddenly dawned on me: I’m not only pretty good at this writing stuff, I also love it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like a light bulb going off in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to write…and I need to do it right now! So I started my genealogy blog, and now I’ve flowed over to this one. (Maybe those historical stories for middle school children will come later.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Obviously, I had forgotten the lesson I learned years ago during a “Writing Across the Curriculum” course I once took.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our wonderful teacher taught us that if you pick up a pen or pencil, or if you sit at your computer and write – you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> a writer. That was a concept I had spent years trying to teach my students and had forgotten myself. That inspirational teacher would begin each session by saying, “I’m going to write now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will you join me?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we would spend those first few minutes each morning just writing. It was an awesome experience, one that I used often in my history classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I taught writing in history. I used to say to my students, “Just think of that blank piece of paper as your mind. You all have thoughts, so just put your thoughts down on that blank piece of paper.” That strategy actually worked, especially when I would begin writing myself and say to them, “Will you join me?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I think I know that I’m a writer now. In fact I can’t seem to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since starting my blogs my mind has just overflowed with ideas that I’ve had to get written down – and quickly. A few times I’ve wanted to yell out, “Will somebody stop me?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no, so far that hasn’t happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that the ideas will slow down, but I also know that I’m going to continue to write in one form or another. I can’t seem to get the seat of my pants out of that chair!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m going to write some more now. Will you join me?</span></div>Carla Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13619143242524216127noreply@blogger.com0