I looked up and the rain began to come down slowly, almost tranquil. I slid open our back door. I took a deep breath and smelled the hot rain. I looked at our back yard with the fort, zip line, and the cemetary of dead ferns. I smiled. The clanging of Anderson’s toy echoed in the background with his babbles. My favorite song of Elton John’s- Mona Lisa’s and Madhatters played as a perfect soundtrack in the moment.

And I thank the Lord
There’s people out there like you
I thank the Lord there’s people out there like you

I thought about friends and just my life in general. William Michael interrupted my thoughts briefly with a song request- “Believer” by Imagine Dragons. I asked Alexa to play it.

I realized in the moment that there was no other place I’d rather be.

I once read that to become a better writer, you should write about what scares you the most. If you read of any of my posts or know me personally, I tend to lean toward the glass half full way of thinking. To write about what scares me is a challenge. Yes, I have things that keep me up at night but putting it down on my paper- I just don’t know but I guess for the sake of becoming a better writer and person- here goes…

I am afraid of when the time comes when I lose my parents. My family means everything to me and it’s a thought I just can’t bare. My mom is my best friend, and my dad is my editor. Both are my life coaches and biggest supporters.

I am afraid of becoming sick and leaving Will and my boys behind. The kind of love I have for them is both wonderful and hurts way down deep. I can’t actually find the words to explain.

I am afraid I am not being the best mom I can be to my children. I am so thankful for them but sometimes, I just feel overwhelmed and exhausted. The cute baby refuses to sleep for any length of time. He doesn’t deserve a frustrated and cranky pants of a mother. The oldest doesn’t need a mom fussing at him about trivial matters. Please when you read this understand that they mean more to me than anything in this world, and I know what a blessing it is to have them.

I am afraid of my children getting sick and even worse- leaving this earth before me. A pain I cannot begin to imagine but know of so many that have experienced- my heart aches for them.

I am afraid that I am not reaching my fullest potential in terms of being a Christian, Mom, wife, co-worker, etc. There is so much more I could be doing.

There are days when I am afraid of every decision I make from what I said to someone, what I sent in an email, or what I told my club members in Rotary. Doubt and fear creep in and a small voice starts to pick apart everything little thing. These days aren’t every day but they happen.

I am afraid of what you will think when you read this. I am afraid that in this world we can not fully share things for fear of retaliation in some form or judgement. However, it is my hope, though, that when you read this, it makes you not feel as alone with your fears that somehow we can be in this crazy world together.

Now, with a lump in my throat and with my heart racing, I will share.

Have you ever read articles from Rolling Stone magazine that lists the top 100 guitar players of all time? Maybe you remember VH1 having shows dedicated to something similar? Some greats that come to mind: Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and Neil Schon.

This story is about a guitar player that won’t be found on those lists. He comes from a small town kind hall of fame where you play for the local 4th of July celebration every year or at the country club on a Saturday night by the pool, but he deserves so much more than that. He was born in Chilton County to a 17 year old girl. They didn’t have much but what they had was love and music. His mother was said to have made him his first guitar out of an old coffee can- something worth more now than the Gretsch he owns now. His cousin Jerry played guitar. In fact, Cousin Jerry owned a lime green Gretsch, a memory forever etched in this guitarist’s mind. Uncle Herman played guitar too.

At the age of 15, he was diagnosed with Macular Degeneration- not common for his age. As his eyes began failing  him, his ear took the lead. It was then when he picked up the guitar. I had once heard him say- “A lot of what music is, is what you feel.” “You have to feel it.” Boy, can he feel it!  It was some time later, he began to play in bands with other local musicians which later became life long friendships. And, as most stories go, this guitar player fell in love with a girl from Perry County. They dated throughout high school and were married when they were just 21 and 20  years old.  Music continued to be part of the soundtrack of their life. She would become a life long groupie and continues to support his love and passion for guitar. He finished college and began teaching. Teacher by day, rock star by night.

Family came later. Throughout these years, this guitarist continued to hon his craft. He also began teaching students how to play guitar. He then became a father of two girls. Music became very much part of their daily lives.  One daughter even became part of his band later on as an adult, inheriting a talent for singing. The other, let’s say, preferred to be behind the scenes. She hides a lot behind her pen and paper.

Now, grandchildren are a big part of this guitarist’s life. One might even follow in his big footsteps and play guitar (we hope!). So, you see, yes this is a story about the greatest guitar player of all time. All be it, he is an amazing guitarist (able to play a song by ear in a matter of seconds) but what truly what makes him the greatest is what he has chosen to do with his gift- he’s shared it with thousands, taught numerous others to play, and raised a loving family. You see so much of this is a miracle- he had choices he had to make based on his life circumstances. It would have been easy to give up when his eyes left him or the fact that he came from nothing. He chose the latter.

So, when you are listening to him play at your local event and think “Wow! This guy can play!” (which he can), remember there is so much more behind the man and his guitar- much like a song has verses, refrains, a chorus, a bridge, and outro.

 

If we are lucky in this life, we have a few friends that we can reconnect over a long period of time as if it was only yesterday when we saw each other. I’m very blessed- I have many friends that fit into that category. This is dedicated to one of them- Jess.

We piled into Bryant Denny Stadium on a hot August day awaiting our fate and where we would spend the next 4 years of our lives. We had just survived a long, hot and sometimes wet week of dressing to impress and to find connections, a sisterhood. We also endured door song after door song. I wasn’t much of a cheerleader type so this was a little overwhelming, but you got used to it.

As we took our seats in the stadium, a girl with a megaphone barked at us “Do not open your bids until I say so.” I thought crossly to myself, “I wonder which one she belongs to.” Ironically, I would find out later that day.  We were then ordered to sit on our bids and on the count of three open them. I just knew I would be a Tri Delta. There were several girls from my hometown in Tri Delta. I felt I had “rushed” well with them. They seemed to like me. I could picture the cute dolphins on my Tri Delta swag. The girl sitting beside me also wanted Tri Delta. I thought to myself- look I’ve already made a new friend that will be in my sorority.

1..2..3, I tore open my bid. It read the “Ladies of the Sisterhood of Delta Zeta invite you…” Wait a minute, what happened to the 2 other Deltas?  I was a little surprised but not disappointed. My experience had been positive at DZ especially on Serious Night where I really liked the girl that I was paired with.

As we ran out the stadium to our new home, I thought to myself, “It might be nice to be the only one from home town- a new start.”

As I came to the antebellum looking home, I was greeted by the girl from the night before. Whew! I sighed with relief- a friendly face! This friendly face would later become my Big Sis. As we stood on the porch or maybe just inside the house, I was introduced to another new member- Jessica. She was also from a small town- Brewton. We both did not have our mothers with us- a memo we both must have missed during orientation earlier that week- that your mom and/or parents could attend Bid Day. I felt an instant connection and relieved that there were someone else from a small town.  Like me, Jessica had been a big fish in a small pond- involved in everything in her high school. Coming to the University of Alabama was humbling- there were small fish from big ponds, big fish from small ponds, and big fish from big ponds. I was not quite sure when I was going through Rush that I would fit in- I drove a 94 Toyota Corolla (God I miss that car and it’s gas mileage!) with a stereo I bought from Hooper’s in Meridian, Mississippi for $300 I saved with my part time job. I was from a middle class family, and I didn’t care about spending a gazillion dollars on clothes (don’t get me wrong, I liked to dress well but did not care where my clothes came from). The most I spend on a prom dress was $80. I was not a legacy but did have help with recs. I did not know the difference between Old Row and New Row (found out later and still didn’t care- I was in the right house for me).

Jess and I were inseparable that evening. We were encouraged to spend the night in the basement of the sorority house for bonding. We ended up leaving and hanging that night at her apartment. From then on, we were best friends. I lived with her for a couple of months one summer before I moved into my sublease. We saw each other at our best and worst.

Just recently, my husband and I attended a surprise zoom birthday party for Jessica- part of the new normal during this Pandemic.  We ended up spending 4 hours on the call. I laughed so much I cried and my side ached. As you grow older, you lose little bits and pieces of yourself. Your life becomes all about your children, spouse, aging parents, job etc. (not a bad thing, just a reality). On that Zoom call, I caught a glimpse of the younger version of me. Yes, it was Jess’ birthday but I felt like I had received a gift. At the moment, I was back in college on a bus headed to a formal or date party or at the Venue listening to a band with friends- hanging with Jessica.

Since then, we’ve been sending each other encouraging messages daily. What a blessing you were that day in August of 2003, Jess, and what a blessing you are now.

Post College but before kids, lol!

Different walked into town when I was in 7th grade. He had spikey, died blond hair and a chain that hung from his wallet. His shorts hung passed his knees. He was the first person I knew that could really skateboard. This may not seem so different but in 1997 in my small sleepy town in the rural Alabama, this was way different. His dad had taken a job with the police department. They had come from Arizona.

The first time I saw him, I was selling yearbooks and went to his class. We became friends some time after that.

He was one of the first people I remember who was not afraid to be he who he was- regardless of what people thought- no easy task for a 13 year old in any part of the world.

Once I remember he dated the most popular girl in our school, guys lined up to be his friend. After this brief relationship ended, so did several of the so called friendships. It is so much easier to follow than to forge your own path. I am sure it hurt. We remained friends.

I remember us listening to a lot of Kid Rock. He gave me a Kid Rock CD with parental advisory on the cover. We both enjoyed Wayne’s World, and the infamous scene where they start singing Bohemian Rhapsody in the car. Classic! He also did a great impression of Mike Myers singing “Happy Birthday Mr. President” mimicking Marilyn Monroe. We also loved the skit on SNL- “Coffee Talk”.

He moved the summer we were headed to 10th grade and for summers after that for a few years, he’d come back and visit. I haven’t seen him in years but thanks to social media, I still can catch up on what’s going on with him.

What I learned from our friendship was the importance of accepting people for who they were despite differences -where they be looks, where you come from, etc. People deserve to be seen and heard and not judged which as humans we tend to do by nature.

Now this friend is getting married and I am sure will start a family. I wish him the best and hope that he shows his kids old clips of Mike Myers and makes them listen to Bohemian Rhapsody.

You know, I’d really like to meet the girl in my profile picture. She seems to have it all together. She doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. And her kids in those pictures, they appear to always be so well behaved.

The girl in the picture isn’t worried about the health of her family and aging parents. I bet her house is spotless.

I bet, too, that she cooks every night of the week and never tires. I bet that baby in those pictures is sleeping through the night.

The girl in the picture-I bet that her husband and her don’t ever fight. Before the Coronavirus, I am sure her weekends were busy with fabulous trips, shopping, and time with friends.

Those posts from that girl- they sure are positive. I am sure she feels that way all of the time!

Unfortunately, that meeting will never happen because this girl does not exist. The girl that does- well, she’s far from perfect and neither is her family. She tries her best every day to see the good in the world and project that. She has her moments of weakness but see she hides it all behind the girl in the profile picture.

She was born just as the Spanish influenza pandemic was ending. In fact, in the same month. She was born just 8 years after the Titanic sank, and she was just 9 years old when the depression hit.  In living through all of this, I wonder what she would have said.

I can picture her standing in the kitchen with her dish towel draped over one shoulder. She made the best macaroni and cheese. I remember her knitting a lot. She made several babies their first pair of shoes, booties.

She had her first child at 17 and buried a son in 1990 at the age of 70. In 3 short months later, she buried her husband. And I wonder what she would have said.

She did not have much need for driving since they lived in Uniontown, and she could walk to get her groceries or go to work. I don’t remember her ever driving even though I think she knew how at one point. When I turned 16 and brought my car over to her house, I never asked what she thought, but I wonder what she would have said.

She lived 16 years longer than her husband. She watched grandchildren grow. When she had another stroke, she never spoke again. And if she could have said something, I wonder what she would have said.

I don’t remember her saying anything about the things she’d been through-the depression, having a baby as a teenager, burying her son and husband in the same year.  In fact, she was a woman of few words, but I knew she loved us. What I remember was a woman that took action in her own quiet way- cooking food for her family, working, and making things for others.

Now during this time of uncertainty, I wonder what she would said, but then again, I don’t. She wouldn’t have to. Her actions spoke loud enough. She would have protected her family, stayed at home, and would endure.

A lesson we could all learn from.

 

The last Thanksgiving my grandmother was alive was in 2017. She seemed so good. We did not realize that less than a month later she would leave us. Don’t get me wrong- we knew she was sick but had hope- she had always been a fighter but Lord knows even fighters get tired.  Will and I decided to start trying. I told her that we were trying that Thanksgiving-selfishly thinking that I could get pregnant quickly and she’d live long enough to meet our 2nd child. I was the one that was going to name a child after her grandmother-Adeline. It was something she and I had always discussed. And also-spoiler alert- it was the ending of the book I have always wanted to write. At the end, the character reveals she is expecting to her grandmother and that the child’s name was going to be named, you guessed it- Adeline.  Well, as we all know, life does not always go as we had planned. My grandmother passed in December of 2017, and as the year passed, no baby. We experienced a few chemical pregnancies- positive tests and then they seemed to vanish. I could hear the clock ticking- it was approaching a year since we had started trying. I was trying to control God’s timing and had to finally turn it over to him.

Finally, in January of 2018, we received another positive test. This time, it was meant to be, and I am so very thankful today- Anderson is one month old. I know that he was a gift above and specifically, from one special  lady.

It’s amazing to think of who all lived in order for us to be on this Earth. Adeline is one of the reasons my two boys are here, as well as, her husband Anderson.

 

Warning: reading this post may cause you to miss days without social media and cell phones. Side effects of reading this may cause nostalgia and a desire to listen to 90’s music. Recommend going ahead and putting the tunes on, dancing around your kitchen, and telling your kids how much your childhood was better theirs.

I was at the Country Club pool the other day with my son. I noticed a group of middle school girls that had gathered. They had come to hang out with friends but I noticed that they were on their phones most of the time and didn’t even get in the pool while I was there (they could have later). Afterwards, I read a post from ScaryMommy about summertime in the 90’s. It really hit home for me.

I did not grow up going to the Country Club pool- just went occasionally with friends who were members. I, however, was a member of the DA pool.  A lot of my friends actually went to the DA pool. It was there in the summers I was probably 11 to 14 that I had some of the best memories of adolescence. I remember begging my parents to take me any chance I could get. Mom worked in the summer so a lot of time I caught rides to the pool.  The pool was the social scene, no wifi password required.

The pool itself originally had two diving boards but when I started going, there was only one. I never really knew what had happened to the high dive. DA stood for Demopolis Academy, the name of the private school in town. I attended the public school and never understood why the academy had a pool. It didn’t really matter which school you went to as long as your parents paid the dues.

One of my favorite things to do was to play handball, a form baseball but in the pool. We’d gather to one corner of the shallow end and pitch a tennis ball to a batter. They’d hit the ball with their hand and swim to designated areas of the pool deemed “bases”. And speaking of baseball and softball, if you actually played the sport, coaches were always telling us to not go swimming if we had practice or a ballgame that day. That rule was broken so many times. We also would have chicken fights which thankfully still exists as some kids were playing when I was at the pool mentioned previously.

The DA pool was also a great place to check out the older guys. There were a few that I had small crushes on and the DA pool allowed an opportunity to be around them even though I would have never been brave enough to make a move or even suggest to them my interest. I am sure as with many kids around the age of 13 that were coming to the pool that summer, hormones raged on much like the alternative music we listened to. Girls began to ditch one piece bathing suits in favor of two pieces and boys were getting hair under their arms.

Not all of my friends were members but if there were certain lifeguards on duty, you could basically bring them to the pool and they’d look the other way when it came to a guest “fee”. I had one friend that moved to Demopolis from Arizona and with his spikey hair he could pass as an out of towner. Demopolis did not know much about skateboarders then or spikey hair for that matter. Lifeguards seemed so much older then but really they were only probably 3 to 5 years older than me at the time.

I cannot remember exactly which friend or time at the pool but I do recall one of my guy friends putting on someone’s bathing suit or something that was way too tight and jumping in the pool. It was sight on the diving board, complete with goggles and all.

Of course, we tried to layout and tan with lemon juice in our hair, but it was way more fun to be in the pool where the action was. As I got older, I ended up working the summer to pay for my 94′ Corolla and saved enough to go to Hooper’s in Meridian to put a CD player in.  We ended up canceling our pool membership. The Parr’s parking lot replaced the pool as the social scene.

The DA pool has since been covered up and is someone’s back yard now. It’s still strange to ride by there, knowing what it was once was.

So, this post is for you- those that were members of the DA pool or lifeguards. Maybe we snuck you in to go swimming and this post is still for you. I am thankful for my childhood and the absence of cell phones and social media, where we actually had conversations face to face and did not have to send an emoji to explain our feelings. Now, it’s time for me to get my son off his I-pad and let’s actually go make some REAL memories!

 

 

As I waited in the lobby of the airport, and the time inched closer to 12 A.M. San Francisco time, I started wishing Glenda from the Wizard of Oz would appear. Since she would be in San Francisco, I am sure she would have a little bit of a different appearance and accent.  Her voice may even be a little deeper. Maybe she would ride in on a surf board and say, “Hey man, you’ve always had the power to go home- just click your Steve Maddens together and say, “There’s no place like home.”  She’d leave me with a “Far Out” and I’d magically appear in Demopolis. Glenda didn’t appear but we finally boarded the plane on our way back East.

I’ve always enjoyed traveling, and have been blessed to visit some neat places. San Francisco was beautiful. By far, my favorite experience was walking across the Golden Gate bridge. Cars zoomed by mocking the speed limit of “45”, a mere suggestion. It was also sobering crossing the bridge- phones were available for emergencies and suicide hotline numbers were posted- a reminder of what others come to do when they visit the Golden Gate bridge.

After walking across the Golden Gate bridge, we took a ferry back into San Francisco. It was my first ferry ride. I kept thinking about that old song-“Life goes on day after day; hearts torn in every way. So ferry’ cross the Mersey; Cause this land’s the place I love and here I’ll stay.”

Later in the day, we made it to Pier 39 for lunch. Before grabbing a bite,  we got to see where the seals hang out and sun. They lie on each other as they sun bathe. Every once and in awhile one of the seals will start fussing and others will join in. I found it ironic. There were plenty of other places for them to sun bathe but they chose to lay around and on each other-and seemed to complain about it but did not appear to want to leave their spot. Maybe they were all family and were having a normal family dispute but loved each other so much they didn’t want to leave- we all are like that sometimes with the ones we love.

For those that knew me when I was 12, remember my hippie faze. No, I was not into what you may be thinking; I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. I did have a fascination with bell bottoms, incense, and tie die. I had beads on my closet door and a flower poster from Spencer’s. I also had a green lava lamp.  I even had a bottle with melted wax. I liked to dress from the time period. So, while visiting San Fran, I had to visit Haight and Ashbury. It was neat seeing where Janis Joplin once lived, as well as, the Grateful Dead. It’s not the “scene” it once was. There were still a few on the street that looked the part but appeared to be living on the streets. I was there in the morning so I did not have a chance to browse a shop that I just knew I’d find some clothing from the 60’s- most stores did not open until 11 am which made perfect sense. This was a crowd that would still be asleep.

The sights and foods were great. I am so thankful for the experience. I may go back one day. Who knows?

When we finally reached Houston after our first flight, I was starving. We had been up for 24 hours. I don’t sleep too well on planes. As we got to our next gate area, a Chick Fil A appeared from heaven, and we were able to enjoy breakfast. Our flight to Birmingham was small and only lasted over an hour. I was relieved and ready to be back home.  After we reached Birmingham, and our car at Budget- the lady behind the counter smiled warmly and said “Ya’ll be careful.” The word “ya’ll” was music to my ears.

I was so happy to be home. I had missed my child, my family, and Demopolis. Today, I’ve been gladly doing laundry and watching Chuck Chicken with William Michael. Travel is great- it opens you to new experiences and people. You learn more about the human race but more than anything, it reminds you of what a blessing your life is. Although we live in a small town, we have so much more than a lot of people I’ve seen over the past few days. The 60’s in San Francisco was a time of “peace, love, and happiness”-something that I don’t have to travel to find- Dorothy was right- everything you need is in your own back yard.