Southern Musings

Dear Jay,

My youngest started high school this week. Yes, I’m getting old, but my memories today are from when I was much younger. Way back when I had my own first days of school.

As I drove him to school and having to run my air conditioner, I remembered all those mornings when I would have to rush out to wait on the bus. We had a long drive way so waiting at the door until we saw the bus was not an option. We had a great bus driver but even I knew better than to expect her to wait on me just so I could stay warm or dry.

Every morning we would wait very impatiently at the end of our drive way. If no cars were coming, we sometimes would run circles around the mail box. For the life of me, I can’t recall why. Boredom, I suppose. Those times were rare though. We lived on a major highway so there was usually always traffic.

“Big trucks” or “eighteen wheelers” as we called them would rush past us hauling coal. Sometimes chunks would fall off and a few even hit us from time to time. We didn’t mind that as much as we did the wind from them. We had to listen to our mom complain about how difficult our hair was to fix in the first place. We hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t look out and see how we looked after the first five or six trucks blew past us. On picture day, we knew to stand as far back as we could. That one day, hearing the bus drivers wrath was much easier to deal with than our mom complaining because our hair was so messed up for our pictures.

As fall turned into winter, the thermostat would dip low. Waiting on the bus was definitely not fun. We would run in place just to try to keep warm. On those days, as soon as we heard a truck, we would take off running backwards. If we ever had a truck coming when the bus was coming, the mere thought of the wind would make us shiver long before we felt the “breeze” that could blast through the heaviest of coats.

Waiting on the bus was filled with a lot of fun as well as a few challenges. We made it through and I know that my son could too. I may be cheating him out of some fond memories of waiting on the bus like I had, but I so enjoy the new memories I’m making. The drive to school is often filled with my asking a question, then repeating it when he realizes I’m talking and takes out the earphones, but it also has some special moments. You know those that happen so seldom that you almost forget that they exist. Those few moments when you know that your child truly knows how much you care about him. Those moments are worth his not getting to experience the memories of waiting on the bus. Hopefully, these memories will one day mean something to him.

Dear Jay,

Today, you have been on my mind. I went back and looked at the reply you had sent me last. Immediately all sorts of thoughts came pouring to my mind about my days growing up in the south. I know you must have had some that were very similiar but yet so very different.

Today, I want to share with you a little about summers. Summers in Alabama way back when were a lot like they are now. The heat was horrible and youngsters everywhere were doing all that they could to beat the heat.

If you were lucky, you had a pool, creek, or even a pond near enough to visit. Of course that would also depend on whether your parents were over protective enough to keep you from going on your own or not. Of course mine was one of the over protective types, so my water visits were kept to a minimum. I heard stories of those that would go to the lake or river and enjoy a day swimming with friends. Some even went to town to the pool. We got to go for a few weeks each year to take swimming lessons. I guess it never seemed to sink in to my mother that lessons were great but they also required practice from time to time.

In all fairness, we did get a bit of practice. Once a month during the summer, we would pack up the travel trailer and head for the campground. If it was a weekend trip, which most of them were, we would go to a nearby park. Luckily, it was on the lake and they had a pool. Then there was that one glorious week that we left the state. We usually went to the mountains of North Carolina. Swimming time was kept to a minimum by visits to amusement parks and sight seeing trips.

Each weekend camping trip included packing up our bikes. You know, those two wheeled things that were human powered that officially are called bicycles. We would take those along on to get around the park. There must have been something magical about that park. Our normally overprotective parents actually let us out of their sight. They would sit in the shade of the camp while we rode around the campground. Sometimes we even got to play putt-putt golf. Doesn’t that just sound like such a thrilling weekend?

Actually, it was quite fun. We never worried about sunscreen or bugs, we just enjoyed ourselves. We took radios and sometimes even a small television. We got the same three channels camping as we did at home. So what if the television was only about a fourth of the size and was in black and white instead of color. We were here to get away and have fun anyway.

Now, when I look back on those days, I remember all the fun we had with family and friends. Rarely do we manage to get together and have that much fun today. Too bad that with all the changes going on in the world, that we have lost so much fun. It seems a pity that someone could not find a way to preserve the ability to have quality fun with people that really matter in ways that do not cost a fortune or require a major amusement factor. Today as our kids grab their cell phones and ipods as they run out the door for just a drive to town, I have to mourn the loss of all the fun we had on our trips of days gone by.

Life is so busy that I am craving a lazy Saturday spent just having fun. You know the kind where you do not have a list of chores to be done or errands to run. The entire day is spent just following the moment. You do not have to worry about having the kids at a birthday party or shopping for supplies for another school project. You get to think of what you would like to do and then just do it.

I remember spending days driving around the countryside, going swimming, or just playing cards with friends. Some days were spent visiting a park just to let the kids play while I sit back and enjoy watching them get so tired that they will be ready for an early bedtime. If a pretty flower is spotted, then time was available to stop and actually breathe in the fragrance.

Life is busy and finding the time to spend that lazy day is difficult. Instead of rushing around constantly, today I have decided to try to make that dream a reality. I have tons of things that I should do and that I need to do. For just today, I’m going to take the time to smell that flower. I’m going to savour the flavor of the food I eat. I’m going to listen to the music and actually let it float through my mind as the feelings flow the stress from my muscles. I’m going to take a nap when I feel tired. I’ll clean when I have the energy. I’ll cook when I’m hungry.

For just today, I’m going to live in the moment. The dreams of a lazy Saturday will stay in the forefront of my thoughts as I go about my day. Instead of just dreaming about a lazy Saturday and wishing I could return to the days of my past, I will do what I can to incorporate the fun of those days gone by into the reality of the fast pace of today.

There is a genius in the world of business. Okay, so there are more than one or two. The one I want to thank for my memory of the day is a business in San Diego. The CNN.com video is titled The Smash Shack. Why is this woman a genius? She charges people to let them smash things. She gets paid money to allow customers to don protective gear and smash plates, glasses, and even picture frames.

This video brought back more than a few memories. No, I do not have a penchant for smashing glassware. I was thinking more along the lines of some major smashing. Smashing that really gets your blood pumping, your muscles aching, and all that anger out. All you need is a sledge hammer and an old junk car. NO! Not the one you use to drive to work each day. I’m talking about one from a junk yard. Preferrably one that is donated. Why donated? Because you do not want to spend money to make money, if you can.

Okay, so where does making money come into this. You will see in a bit. Before you think that I’ve completely lost what little mind I have left, I need to start over at the beginning.

Years ago, I was in a marching band. We needed money. We had a fun day planned. We had all sorts of booths and activities. My dad happened to own a wrecker service and service station. I know, get on with the new information. Sometimes people just never picked up their vehicles way back then. They were wrecked. They may not have had insurance. For whatever reason, the vehicles sometimes stayed in our “lot” for decades. One such car was put to good use. It was donated for our fund raiser.

Why would we want an old junk car that had probably been in a wreck already? Back then, they were still made of metal. It would take some strong muscles and a good sledge hammer to make much of a dent in them. So, my dad hauled the car up to the school. Handed them a sledge hammer. People lined up to pay to smash the car. Smash they did!

The car was slaughtered! I wish I had a photograph to share with you. It was amazing at the damage that these, mostly high school, boys did to this car. It looked like it had been hit by a freight train instead of 16-18 year old boys. They got to use their muscles, the band got the money, and the car, well, it probably didn’t care. At least it was not sitting in the junk yard for those few hours.

Now days, you have more issues to contend with. If you were to try this today, you would have to deal with car titles, clean up, enviromental protection, safety equipment for the participants, and on top of all of that someone somewhere would find some small loop hole to make it illegal or an insurance nightmare. Times sure do change. Not always for the bad, and not always for the good.

If the world had more places such as the San Diego store that allowed people to take out their anger in a controlled environment, would the world be a better place? Would we have less road rage, fewer attacks, less people on trial for murder? We may never know the answer to that question. I sure wish I had a concrete building and a couple million plates to find out.

Southern beaches are a wonderful place to relax. You can kick your shoes off, walk along the beach, wade in the shallow part of the water, or just lay back and enjoy the sun. They can also be a little messy at times. Sometimes they are interesting in yet very different ways. Continue Reading »

It is no secret. I am in my forty’s. I’ve lived in the south all of my life, so maybe I have lived a little more sheltered life than some. I grew up helping my family with their business. It was just a small service station and garage. Because of those years spent helping out, I think that I tend to have a different perspective on growing up southern than many of my former classmates. Some days were more memorable than others. Continue Reading »

Tracy Lawrence sang a song titled “If the World Had a Front Porch.” This song reminded me of many southern days and nights spent sitting on the porch. The porch was the preferred hang out. We talked about a lot of different topics and even had several heated debates. Often, we even pulled practical jokes on people. But through it all, the front porch was still a special place. In the song, it is a place of peacefulness and solving problems.

With the way the world is going today, I think this song should be played several times a day on every radio station. Think of all the people it would reach! The world is full of pain and suffering. It is full of people that have forgotten the art of compromise. There are some times when compromise just will not work. There are many other times when if we could sit down on the front porch and talk it all out with family members that we might just find a resolution without having to resort to taking people to court or fighting legal battles.

Front porches are great for sitting in the shade to shell peas or break beans. There is no place quite the same for cranking the old ice cream maker to make that sweet concoction of many hot summer days’ dreams. Sitting in the swing watching people drive by is a relaxing pastime. Just do not forget to wave or holler out a “how ‘ya doing” from time to time. Porches are friendly places, you know.

The decorations do not have to be as extravagant as those in magazine spreads. Although, many of the porches in Southern Living magazine make me want to grab some cool lemonade, they are a bit pricey for many southerners budget. A simple porch swing, a big comfortable chair, or even just a plain old fashioned rocking chair would work. Add in a table to put your drink on and you are all set for an afternoon of old fashioned relaxation. Add in a couple of kids playing, someone with a guitar or other musical instrument, a couple of fans, and the crunching of ice being ground into pieces as the ice cream maker bucket turns to have a perfect impromptu gathering. Fancy chairs with elaborate cushions, tons of flowers, crystal glasses, and gourmet food are not completely necessary. They could prove interesting though.

The important thing is that the front porch is a place to forget the troubles that can not be resolved by some common sense and helping attitude of neighbors. Not quite as elaborate as a cookout or bar-b-que, but still just a good source of neighborhood togetherness. It isn’t the front porch that made the difference. The front porch simply was the place where the problems could be discussed and dealt with in an easy going atmosphere. So even though the if there really was a front porch for the world to share, all the problems may not be resolved simply by building it, having it there would be a benefit. It would be the place to go to relax, enjoy life, and work on the problems in an atmosphere that encourages being a good neighbor.

Today as I went through my usually daily routine of logging on and seeing what all I can find that I might find interesting enough to actually read, I came across a mention of amusement parks on AOL. I used to really enjoy going to amusement parks. They were a large part of my life growing up. Until I gained so much weight that they were uncomfortable to visit, I would crave going each summer. I actually missed them.

Of course, that set me in search of hidden memories. When I a young child and into my teens, my parents always found a way for us to take a family vacation. If an amusement park was not part of it, then we often would visit an amusement park for a weekend trip at another time during the summer. I always loved those visits. My favorite rides were the tilt-a-whirl and the roller coasters. The spinning just sort of freed all the thoughts of problems and stress. Whatever had been happening went right out of your mind. Roller coasters had a sense of controlled being out of control. The ups and downs, turns, and spins of the rides were a way to make dreams seem possible and pain only a faint memory.

Don’t get me wrong, my childhood wasn’t extreme. My parents and I had more than our share of disagreements and pains. Through it all, I knew that they loved me and they knew that I respected the fact that they were my parents. Our relationship was never the storybook version which I dreamed of having. We had good days and we had bad days. Through it all, we knew we would be there for each other no matter what. In my young mind, so would the amusement parks. There I could forget whatever arguments we have may had over the past year and just feel free to be me.

I was quite lucky in the range of parks that I visited. North Carolina, Tennessee, and Georgia all had parks that called to me. Six Flags in Georgia was one of the parks that dominated my childhood. I remember spending many days walking the paths, marveling at the beauty that surrounded me. The waiting in line was horrible for a young, impatient girl, but the rides were well worth it. When it was my time to climb into the ride, I could feel the excitement. One of my fondest memories is riding the log flume with my dad. He would always lean down to make sure that you got off the ride as soaking wet as possible.

Tennessee held the key to my heart for years. Opryland combined my love of music and my love of rides. I never visited as much as I would have hoped, but when I did, it was like heaven on earth. I could sit in the audience and hear music that was so close it was like it was actually being played just for me. The intimacy created by such small audience and musicians that were performing for the love of the music melted my heart. I never wanted to leave. The day that Opryland closed, I thought of the song “American Pie” and I truly felt that “this would be the day that I die.” Live through it, I did. My heartache was as real as the pain of a lost love.

The trips continued and one day as a young adult, I saw a tour bus going through the town we were visiting. I enjoyed their music and was thrilled to find out they were playing that day at a local amusement park. I begged, pleaded, cried a thousand tears, and did everything short of threatening my life to get to go. It was expensive. The concert was extra. Did I dare spend the money that I had planned on using for new clothes? You know I did! I plopped down my hard earned money so fast, it made my parent’s head spin. I was going to the show! When I saw the building the concert would be in, I was a little nervous. It was nice looking, but rather small. Would they really try to put on a good show for such a small audience? The music lover in me knew that if they were playing for the love of the music, they would.

The show was great. I had such a great time that I even plopped down money the next day to see yet another group. I had found my own corner of the world again. It had everything I needed. It had an amusement park that truly treasured good music. It had cool mountain streams where my troubles could be simply washed away. I could find peace again. Pigeon Forge and Dollywood were my new escapes. I knew that there, everything could be put in perspective.

We all need our own place that we can feel safe and secure. We all need the opportunity to be free from troubles and just be ourselves. For me, amusement parks were my place growing up. As a teen, the mountains began to take an equal footing. As an adult, I found a place where I can enjoy both. Even though I can not go as often as I wish, when things get tough, I close my eyes and visit my memories. I think it is time to get off my duff and lose some weight. Then I can go back and create new memories with my own children and husband. I would hate to slow the roller coaster down with my heavy weight. Maybe if I start walking, I can kill two birds with one stone. Maybe I could lose weight and find yet another place to escape my worries.

Growing up, Sunday afternoons where the best. Every Sunday, our family would gather at my grandmother’s home. It rarely was the entire family. There was not enough room for that. She had ten children and if you wanted to know how many grandchildren she had on any given day, you better be ready to count and have someone double check your counting. Three of her children had over ten children each.

Sunday afternoons were set aside for family and dinner. Food was a very important part of her day to day life. Any day of the week, if you visited her the subject of food was one of the first topics of the visit. It never failed, as soon as you walked in her door, she would ask, “Have you et yet?” and you did not dare to correct her. Never would she say “eat”, she always said it like that. You never knew what you would be served, but you knew you would get something good to eat.

She would immediately start cooking as soon as she arrived home from church. She always had left over biscuits from breakfast, cornbread, beans, and stew. Sometimes, she would add fried chicken. The stew might be replaced by vegetable soup or chicken and dumplings. Dressing was another favorite of hers. For holidays, she would make a huge pan of banana pudding. The food was not usually fancy, but it was usually plentiful.

After eating, the children were all expected to pitch in and wash the dishes. Considering the fact that there were often fifteen to twenty people there, cleaning up after dinner took quite awhile. We would take turns some days. Others, we would all pitch in and hurry. Either way, the object was to get through and get outside. The front porch was our favorite hangout. If the adults went there, then we were off to the back yard to see what we could get into.

If it was summer and the weather particularly hot, we would have a car wash. We would wash our parent’s cars to get money to walk to the dairy bar. Sometimes, we would get lucky and one of our parents or an older cousin would feel sorry for us and drive us the mile instead of making us walk. It really didn’t matter to us. We simply enjoyed each other’s company. The walk would be hot, but the ice cream was waiting on us. If we were still too hot when we got back to our grandmothers, she would cool us down with ice tea.

Our Sunday afternoon business ventures were not always designed to supply us with an ice cream cone. Our grandmother never decorated for holidays. Whether it was her lack of money or simply her simple way of life, we never knew. What we did know is that she loved Christmas and Easter. As children, Christmas wasn’t Christmas without decorations and a tree. Sometimes, we would come up with yet another business venture simply as a way to get our parents to pay for a tree and decorations. We knew they knew what we were doing. Even though we could have just asked, hard work was embedded into our way of thinking. We knew you got what you worked for, so we worked for our ice cream and our holiday decorations.

A lazy summer afternoon was always in the plans. The plans had to include a time limit though. We arrived at 12:30 and left at 5:00. She had to have time to change clothes before the church bus arrived to take her to church. The week might be hectic and full of school or chores. For our parents, work may have been too much to bear. Through it all, we knew that come Sunday afternoon, we would be surrounded by food, family, fun, and lots of love. Those four and a half hours were the best part of each week.