Café Cocoa and the Alien

Posted on January 22, 2018 by Sheila Moss

peter-miranda-21643It was a strange looking place – more like a house than a coffee shop. Could that be why they call them “coffee houses?” For a minute I wasn’t sure whether to go inside of not. Finally, I figured, “What have I got to lose?” Besides, it was cold outside.

It isn’t the sort of place I normally go to. On one side a group of students poured over books with coffee and papers spread all over the table, obviously students from a nearby university. “What am I getting into here?” I wondered.

In the back was a counter where two people debated over what to order. I look at the menu scribbled on a blackboard, concoctions of pineapple and caramel that sound more like ice-cream sundaes than coffee. I picked the one with the least amount of whipped cream and waited my turn.

The couple finally took their selection and wandered toward the back of the house. I peered down the hall after them. The server ignored my presence busying herself with washing cups or some other menial chore. Finally, she acknowledged me standing there just as I was about at the point of leaving.

I ordered my coffee unable to take my eyes off her chin. What is that? A pierced lower lip with a stud? I tried not to let my own tongue wander to the inside of my lip as I wondered what it feels like to have metal piercing your lower lip.

After much mixing and blending, all done in slow motion, the coffee was finally ready. I took the frothy blend and again peered down the mysterious hall before deciding on the safer side room close to the front door. I squeezed into a corner table by a t.v. set that was being ignored, hoping that I would be treated the same.

One couple was so busy with each other that they scarcely knew anyone else existed at all. Another table of people with weird hair were talking animatedly about politics, or some other earth shaking concern, as if their opinions really made a difference to anyone but them. They all looked very young.

I sipped my coffee and it really wasn’t too bad – didn’t taste a bit like coffee – but not bad. I checked my watch and stared at the documentary on the TV. Not my taste. Finally, I retrieved a used copy of the local alternative paper from another table and flipped through it.

What a dump this place is, peeling paint, rickety tables, a fireplace unused for 40 years, college kids, and a few tough types that appear to have wandered over from a nearby AA meeting house. Definitely not the sort of place usually frequented by middle-aged women. I’m on someone else’s turf, I surmised.

I looked at my watch again, sipped my empty coffee cup, and watched the worthless documentary. Finally, it was time and I could escape. I left my new and unusual company. No one said goodbye. Do they feel as alien in my world as I do in theirs, I wondered?

“Hi Mom, isn’t the coffee house a neat place? Did you like the coffee?”

“Sure, honey, the coffee was out of this world.”

The next time I have to wait for my daughter, I think I’ll just wait in the transporter.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The White Stuff

Posted on January 19, 2018 by Sheila Moss

snowstreetIt snowed today. It’s January; there’s supposed to be snow in the winter, isn’t there? That’s the way it always works with the four seasons. But you don’t understand. It snowed in Nashville. We have seasons here, and we have snow – sometimes. However, it is a rare event and not often enough for people to know exactly what to do about it when it happens.

It isn’t as if the snow was unpredicted. Every since last week, the weathermen have been jumping up and down screaming, “SNOW coming!” No one believed them. “Yeah, yeah, you said that last time and it didn’t happen.” Like the people in the proverb of boy that “cried wolf” too often, we quit believing.

On the nightly news, “SNOW, SNOW, it’s going to SNOW!” This morning we looked out the window – no snow. So everyone went to work as usual, figuring predictions were wrong again, as always. Then it happened – SNOW started to fall – lots of snow, big snowflakes, falling fast. Office workers pressed their noses against the windows, staring in disbelief. SNOW? SNOW! Almost before people could decide whether to go home, the ground was covered.

It fell rapidly, inches in an hour. Childcare facilities began closing. The snow continued to fall. Panic! People started going home. Schools closed. The snow continued to fall, almost in defiance of our disbelief. Auto accidents occurred, hundreds of accidents, multi car accidents of the kind that close down Interstates. Traffic is soon in a gridlock. Kids can’t get home from school because busses can’t get there to get them.

Offices close by mid afternoon. Courts close. Shopping malls close. Remember that this is the South. S-n-o-w spells disaster. The snow continues to fall. People in the South don’t have a clue about how to drive in snow. Wheels spin as they accelerate too fast; then they panic and hit the brakes. After all, how do you learn to drive in snow? Well, you learn by doing it. And in a city where snow is a rarity, so is snow driving experience.

The snow continues, wet snow, snow that sticks to everything. It is beautiful as it clings to the branches of trees and covers everything with a white blanket. We gaze at the winter scene and wonder how something so pretty can cause so much trouble. Some give up and get hotel rooms, deciding it isn’t worth the effort to try to get home. Others, stranded on the highways, seek shelter at truck stops along the way, waiting for accidents to be cleared and roads to reopen.

By the time the snow quits falling, it is the biggest snowfall in many years in Nashville. We remembered snow, but after so many years without very much, we had closed it out and denied the possibility. Complacency has now been replaced by reality. The snow finally had mercy on the defeated city and stopped. On the highways, abandoned cars litter the roadside and ditches.

For one who has lived in Chicago and St. Louis where snow is the norm instead of the exception, the disaster seems unbelievable. To one who has lived in Nashville and seen snow in the South before, disaster is expected. Safe at home, we are happy to be out of harm’s way.

Buried in white stuff, we wonder where the snow shovel is and finally decide to wait until tomorrow and let it melt. Thankfully, snow in Nashville doesn’t happen very often and seldom lasts very long.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

To Sleep or Not To Sleep

Posted on January 9, 2018 by Sheila Moss

ben-blennerhassett-336485Lately I’ve been hearing other people talk a lot about their personal disorders. I confess I hadn’t really thought much about sleep problems before. Just show me the bed and I can be cutting Z’s in 15 minutes any time Now, however, I’ve found out that I’m not sleeping the correct way. I’m supposed to wait until bedtime to sleep so I’ll be tired and able to  sleep through the night.

A sleep disorder is when we toss and turn and are unable to fall asleep, I figured. Everyone knows about drinking warm milk and doing the sheep counting routine to cure insomnia. Now, however, I’ve found out that insomnia is only one of many sleep disorders. There are others that are common, plus some that are not so common.

Insomnia is more than not being able to go to sleep in the first place, it is also waking up in the night and not being able to get back to sleep. Heck, that doesn’t seem like a disorder. If it wasn’t for waking up in the< middle of the night with my mind racing, I’d never get my column written.

I decided to take a mini sleep quiz – just to see if I needed to be concerned about sleep disorders. Can’t be too careful with health. Wish I hadn’t taken it, though. According to the quiz, I’ve got ‘em all.

First of all, I found that I have sleep apnea. Sleep apnea is when someone has difficulty breathing and may stop breathing for several seconds many times a night. Often this is accompanied by snoring. One of the questions on the quiz was, “Have you ever been told that you snore?” Well, yes, I have. I ’ve never heard myself snore, though, and I don’t really believe that I do.

social situations. “Do you ever fall asleep at inappropriate times?” asks the quiz. “Do you sometimes feel sleepy even when you’ve had enough sleep?” The true narcoleptic can fall asleep anytime, even at a movie or at a party. Obviously, writers of the quiz have not heard some of the sermons I’ve heard at church if they expect me to stay awake on Sunday morning.

Okay, that covers sleep apnea, insomnia, and narcolepsy. What’s left? Restless leg syndrome? Yes, I have that one too, tingling in the legs so that you feel you have to move them. You mean some people lay perfectly still all night and never have to turn over or move to a more comfortable position? I’m not dreaming that I’m one of the Radio City Rockettes and kicking like I’m in a chorus line or anything. I always thought my legs had gone to sleep. I hadn’t really thought of it as a sleep disorder until now.

I never knew what a sick person I am. “If you think you have a sleep disorder, see a doctor regardless of the outcome of the quiz,” says the article. Gee, should I be worried? Now I’ll be awake all night wondering how I can be possible be sleeping when I have so much wrong with me.

Actually, people need to get an adequate amount of sleep in order to be able to function, at least that’s the story I’m going to use. I think I’ll just stick with my old habit of catching Z’s when I can. I believe there is a name for people who think they have every illness they hear of.

Now, if you don’t mind, could we continue this discussion later? I’m starting to feel sleep deprived and it’s time for my power nap.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Posted in Health, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Interview

Posted on January 7, 2018 by Sheila Moss

rawpixel-com-411169I read with interest the notice in the office newsletter about a vacancy. I hadn’t been promoted in years. Although I already had a great job where I was chained to a computer and forced to drink black coffee all day, my career had stagnated. I could work in my sleep, and very often did, in spite of the stimulation. It was time for a change.

I could hardly contain myself until I could set up an interview. I called and made an appointment with someone named Barbie who had been there only a year and had already being promoted to management. She was sure it had nothing to do with her being related to the CEO.

I visualized myself in my new cubical, doing important tasks on the computer, handling business efficiently, watering my plants, and all at a much higher salary. I was beginning to get enthusiastic about how I was going to spend all that extra money.

I got out the old resume and padded it shamelessly to make my current job sound responsible. I wanted to make an impression, a very good impression. I typed it up and dreamed about how great this new job was going to be as I watched it print.

I figured I needed the perfect outfit to wear for the big day. Somehow I had a feeling that Barbie didn’t come to work in a gray flannel suit. I finally decided to buy something new, a navy blue dress in the new longer length that was stylish but businesslike. They call it “dressing for success.” It maxed out my credit card, but I figured no sacrifice was too great when it came to advancing my career.

It took me most of the day, but I tried to think of possible questions that they might ask and possible answers I might give to emphasize my impressive profession qualities without giving away any of my shortcomings. No need to mention the computer files I once accidentally deleted or the time I burned popcorn in the office microwave, I decided.

I rehearsed a few answers in front of the mirror, which was hard because being a female, I had to keep stopping to fix my hair. By the time the big day came, I was pretty nervous. I dropped the toothpaste in the toilet and nearly stabbed myself in the eye with mascara. By the time I finished, however, my hair was perfect, my makeup tasteful, and I had on plenty of deodorant.

It took two motivational tapes to get me out the door, but I finally felt ready. I showed up right on time, not too early and certainly not too late. I clenched my teeth and smiled, trying not to be irritated at being kept waiting while Barbie made an appointment for her hair, nails and aerobic class.

At last I was ushered in. The interviewer began to drill me with the expectations of the new job and asked none of the questions that I had rehearsed. I maintained eye contact and tried hard not to faint until perhaps later when no one was watching. I wondered how long it would take my resume to be filed in the paper shredder after I left. When it was finished, I shook her hand and thanked her for her time, feeling as if the IRS had audited me.

Back at my old office, I lacked the strength to use my computer mouse, so I simply stared at the screen saver all afternoon, wondering why I had never noticed all the pretty colors before. Well, if I don’t get the job at least I will know why. The CEO probably had another relative.

My greatest fear, however, was not that I might NOT get the job, but that they might actually offer it to me.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Work Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Bombogeneses

Posted on January 4, 2018 by Sheila Moss

alice-donovan-rouse-63187The rest of the country can only look on in wonder as the Northeast panics over a snow storm. “Aren’t they used to snow?” We wonder. It snows there all the time. Do a few extra inches really make much difference? They have snow plows, snow scrapers, salt, cinders, snow blowers, and snow shovels galore.

Meanwhile the media goes wild, especially the weather media who, of course, get out in the worst of it to show the nation just how bad it is. “If it is so bad, what are they doing out in it?” We wonder.

Television shows how all the streets are deserted. “Usually this is a busy street,” says the weather reporter, “but today there is a snow emergency in effect and no one is allowed out — er — with the exception of media. This allows the snow plows to do their job and clear the streets,” They assure us as the plow goes around their parked vehicle.

“Speaking of plows, here comes one now,” says the weather reporter, just before being blasted with an avalanche of snow thrown by the snow plow. “Did you get that on camera?” gasps the half-buried reporter before being carried from the scene. Apparently, snow plow drivers get extra points for running down television reporters as this scenario is repeated in more than one instance.

Other reporters play it safe and report further away from main thoroughfares. “This is the week of winter storms,” says the weather channel,” And wind is not taking the day off. We could have a series of storms.” What an astute observation. It is WINTER, isn’t it?  Why is snow such a big surprise?

It seems that hardy northerners see what is happened in Charleston and Savannah when the snowstorm hit while everyone was asleep. After making light of the South for not knowing how to deal with snow, it would be just too embarrassing if it happened in New York or Philly. So mayors overreact and call for a State of Emergency, transportation closures, school closures, and business closures.

Weather reporters rise to the occasion. The eye of the nation is on them now. They explain how wind can blow snow and create drifts making snow seem deeper. No kidding. Are we so stupid we don’t know what a snow drift is? They proceed to walk through snow and then onto a drift where they sink in over their knees. Thanks for explaining that. Now go change your socks.

Using such terms as “Bombogeneses,” Experts warn of dire weather, worse than any storm in the past. We hear new terms, such as, “Bomb Cyclone.” Three feet of snow is on the way. “Better to be safe than sorry,” they declare.

After the storm passes, reporters interview the few pedestrians who are outside. Joggers stop to chat. “We are jogging regardless of weather,” one declares, and jogs off down the street only to slip on the icy surface and fall on her bottom. Unless you want to fall on your behind on national TV, maybe jogging on snow is not such a good idea.

Weather people go to the coast where waves whipped up by the wind push ice ashore and do substantial damage to homes and beaches. This proves they were right in at least a couple instances. Funny, we don’t remember them warning of high surf prior to the storm.

“Weather prediction is an imperfect science. Better to be prepared for the worst,” declare the weather people. Oh sure, you are just being cautious. “More snow, more snow coming,” they predict.

No kidding? As I said before, it is WINTER, isn’t it?

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Updated
*Previously published as Snowmageddon

 

 

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Posted on January 1, 2018 by Sheila Moss

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The North Pole seems to have moved south for the winter and we are shivering like castaways with hypothermia. Parking lots have become skating rinks, where we skid into the grocery store to replenish our emergency stash of bread, milk and toilet paper.

Plumbers are busy thawing out frozen water pipes and are expecting even more demand for their services when the temperature rises and broken pipes thaw. Furnace companies and tow truck operators are also doing a booming business.

I’ve become somewhat of an expert at slinging the ice melt on the driveway, looking for sales on fireplace logs, and watching TV reports about people that have it worse than I do. For those less familiar with harsh conditions, here’s a bit of unsolicited advice gleaned from experience:

HOW TO MANAGE COLD WEATHER

  • Get out of bed.
  • Turn up thermostat and get back in bed where it’s warm.
  • Get out of bed again.
  • Look for lost house slippers.
  • Try to take a shower and get dressed.
  • Call plumber to come and fix frozen water pipes.
  • Use hair dryer to unfreeze lock on car door.
  • Call AAA to come and start car.
  • Drive with one hand at a time. Steering wheel is cold.
  • Call and leave message that you are on the way.
  • Try to control skids on icy street.
  • Explain to neighbor that you are sorry about hitting the mailbox.
  • Try to drive through major intersection with malfunctioning frozen red light.
  • Sit in a traffic jam for an hour due to numerous accidents on the road.
  • Look in rear view mirror and see car skidding toward your rear end.
  • Exchange driver’s license and insurance information.
  • Call and leave message that you are almost there.
  • Park car and very carefully walk across frozen parking lot.
  • Get up. Look to see if anyone saw you fall.
  • Hope that your wrist is only sprained and not broken.
  • Go to emergency room and have wrist x-rayed.
  • Go home and call a furnace repair service to check your overworked furnace.
  • Turn on TV and hear prediction for snow and more sub zero temperatures.
  • Build fire in fireplace, pour a cup of coffee, and swear to stay inside until Spring.
Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss
Edited
Posted in Humor, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Happy Online New Year

Posted on December 30, 2017 by Sheila Moss

This is the time of the year when people make New Year’s Resolutions, resolving to change all things wrong in life and turn over a new leaf — to stop smoking, to lose weight, to clean closets, watch less television and remember to walk the dog. Within a week, according to studies, all of the resolutions have been broken. 

So, I’ve decided not to resolve to do things that I can’t or won’t do. Instead of spending less time on the computer, I’ve decided to resolve to spend more time on the computer than I do now. While this may seem easy to some, it might be more difficult than it appears. After all, I have to sleep sometime.

It is true that my behind is already beginning to spread from spending so much time sitting on it in front of the flashing screen. But look at it this way, for all the behind-numbing time I spend online, my mind is also expanding — reading news, searching for information, being educated. Never mind the time I spent on Facebook.

I could take up computer games. That is something I don’t do now as games use up too much time unproductively. But many people seem to find a lot of pleasure and entertainment with computer games. Of course, games will be difficult to fit into my already overcrowded online schedule.

Unfortunately, I’m hooked on eBay and love to buy from Amazon. Ah, the stories I could tell about the bargains I’ve found, the free postage, the great deals — the money and time I’ve wasted that I’d rather not think about.

Let me think.  My blogging is probably the reason for most of the time I’m spending in cyber space. But, “If you want something done, ask a busy person,” they say. If I had a couple more blogs to keep up, this would be the perfect rational reason for spending time on the computer.

Unfortunately, there are still a few things that you can’t do while sitting in front of the flat screen. There is the time I spend commuting to and from appointments, the grocery shopping and the occasional house cleaning that must be done. It can be hard to take time away from the ever-waiting computer for the necessities of life.

I’ve found that an iPhone is immensely helpful for sneaking in computer time when you are in line at the grocery store, or while waiting at the doctor’s office. People used to be on cell phones talking to friends during down time or while shopping or driving. Now, with smart phones, they are texting, checking email or surfing the net.

Now that I think of it, I don’t know how much more time I can spend online than I do already. I go to bed late because I have to finish one more blog. I get up early to check email before I start the day. I eat in front of the computer instead of in front of the television like the rest of the world.

I spend weekends and holidays surfing the net or reading about what my online friends are doing in Facebook, and what they are saying on Twitter. I never find out about anything new from television or newspapers anymore. I find out because it is a pushed message from a network news site. I can’t remember what the inside of a library looks like. Why go to a library to do research when there is Google?

I read (online) that Facebook is now the most popular website on the internet, which tells me I am not the only one spending more time on the net than ever before. Apparently, a lot of people are making the same resolution as mine.

I would like to go take a nap now, but I’m willing to stay online a bit longer, not because I’m addicted to the internet but only to keep my New Year’s resolution.

Copyright 2011 Sheila Moss
Edited

 

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Tree? What Tree?

Posted on December 27, 2017 by Sheila Moss

 

Christmas came and went – but my Christmas tree came and is still here.  Why is it that I procrastinate about the inevitable every year?  I know that sooner or later I have to do the deed and take the tree down.  Why do I dread it so much?

It was so much fun to put the tree up and decorate it.  It is the exact same thing – only in reverse, isn’t it?  Somehow with the Christmas spirit gone and the after-holiday “blahs” setting in, it becomes just one more overwhelming chore.

I dread going into my living room and seeing it standing there glaring at me.  If I turn its lights off, maybe it will be less conspicuous.  But something as big as a Christmas tree is difficult not to notice.

Perhaps I can simply ignore it and pretend it isn’t there.  If someone asks why I still have a Christmas tree in April, I can say, “Tree?  What tree?  I don’t see a tree!”  Like the fabled emperor with no clothes, if I pretend not to see the obvious, perhaps everyone else will too.

Or, maybe I could act as if it is an oversized potted plant, a new decorator accent for my home.  Of course the ornaments and lopsided angel on top would have to come off if I stand a prayer of passing it off as a houseplant.  If I have to go to the trouble to remove the decorations, I might as well just get rid of the whole thing and have it done with.

At times like this, I wonder why I didn’t get a real tree instead of an artificial one.  Then I could send it to the chipper with no worries about trying to stuff those scratchy branches back in a box.  I swear the thing grows!  I know it is artificial, but it was in a box to start with.  Why is it that once used, a tree will never fit back in the box again?  Do you suppose a chipper can grind up wire branches?

Maybe I could cover it with plastic and save it until next Christmas.  It would make a great conversation piece.  Just think of all the work I could save.  It is sort of silly when you consider it, putting trees up and taking them down year after year.  Every year I say I’m not going to put up a tree.  Then the Christmas spirit hits me and before I know it, I’m in the attic dragging down boxes.

Well, I still don’t have a solution and the demon tree is in there waiting for me.  Okay, okay!  I will take it down — later.  I would do it right now, but I’m really too tired; I don’t remember what I did with the box it came in; I really need someone to help me; it isn’t on my list of things to do today; I’m too busy; my back hurts; I don’t have the energy; I have other things that I need to do first; I’ve just remembered an appointment I need to keep; I haven’t even checked my email today. Why take it down and spoil the lingering holiday mood?

Tree?  What tree?  I don’t see a tree!

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss
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The Storyteller – Part 2

Posted on December 24, 2017 by Sheila Moss
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Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash

The memoir my mother wrote covers a wide range of anecdotes.  She enjoys telling about how visitors were always welcome at my grandmother’s house, and no one was ever turned away.  If it was mealtime, available food was shared with whatever neighbor or friend happened by, even if it meant pinching pork chops in half.  Peddlers who sometimes came through the area back in that time were made welcome in traditional southern hospitality style and provided with overnight lodging, if needed – even though the bed might have to be taken apart later and scalded and cleaned to get rid of lice and fleas.

Back in the 20’s my grandfather was the only one in the rural area to own a car, a T-Model Ford.  Prior to that, the family traveled in a wagon drawn by mules wherever they went.  Of course, the world was very small under such circumstances.   In Tennessee the cash crop of the time was tobacco, which required hard manual labor to grow in times before modern insecticides and hybrid improvement.  The entire family had to work hard to assure success of the cash crop, which gave them money for bare essentials.

Even as a child, Mother could chop wood, wash clothes with a washboard and tub, and iron with flat irons heated on a wood-burning stove.  My grandmother made lye soap and hominy in a big black kettle in the yard.  The family worked to grow food, raise chickens and pigs, and hunt or fish.  Necessities of life were homemade or bartered with only absolute essentials purchased outside the home.  It was an antiquated, country lifestyle in the roaring twenties, a time when city life was becoming much faster and more sophisticated.

My grandfather knew music and taught the family to sing together in harmony while their chores were being done.  The family was in harmony not only in music, however, but with the past, the land, with God, and each other.  In spite of  school, chores and working in the fields, there was still time available for children to play games of their own invention or  wander the woods gathering herbs,  mushrooms, and wild fruits, such as persimmons and mulberries.  They went to school in the proverbial one room schoolhouse with a teacher so nervous she cried and had tantrums, saying the forty kids she was responsible for were driving her crazy – and they probably were.

My mother was a curious child and always stayed underfoot listening to the grown folks talk.  She loved to hear my grandma discuss politics and world events during the depression years.  She remembers hearing Granny Adams, my great, great grandmother, telling about her own childhood during the Civil War, how the house was ransacked and the horses taken by Yankee soldiers while the children hid in the woods with the family valuables.

Tennessee has a long and proud history, but most people will never be famous.  They will live ordinary lives, die and be forgotten and their memories will die with them.  But each person has a right to be remembered for the life they have lived, for what they have contributed, and for the person they are.  There is a place in history for common folk.  And our family, small and insignificant as we may be, is a part of Tennessee’s past, and my mother and our family heritage will continue to be remembered.

Copyright 2002 Sheila Moss

 

 Ref: “Growing Up on PZ Ridge – The Story of a Tennessee Farm Girl” Copyright 1985 Gladys C. Crump (Adams),  Tennessee State Library and Archives, Nashville, TN.

 

READ PART 1

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The Storyteller – Part 1

Posted on December 23, 2017 by Sheila Moss

family

Mother is a storyteller, a spinner of tales.  Her stories are mostly about rural Tennessee and her life growing up on a farm with a large family of eleven children.  In rural Tennessee back in the 20’s the modern world went on someplace else and people continued to live a rugged, almost pioneer type existence of the same kind that was lived by generations before them.

As a child, I loved hearing her stories and often asked, “Tell about the olden days when you were little.”  My sister and I grew up hearing an oral history about the previous generations.  We always knew about our Tennessee roots and who we were.  As we grew up, however, the stories, so remote and different from our own life, became less significant to us.  We had heard them dozens of times.

As Mother became older, probably growing increasingly aware of her own mortality, she decided to write a memoir about her childhood experiences.  The memoir was shared with family members, then tucked away in a drawer for fourteen years until my daughter, having heard about its existence from her grandmother, asked about it and it again came to light.

Our family is not famous or important.  Does the history of common people really matter?  I had heard the Tennessee State Archives might accept family histories for permanent retention. Somewhat hesitantly, I approached the archive staff with a copy of the memoir.  Wonder of wonders — the selection committee was interested and accepted mother’s manuscript for permanent retention.

Mother’s book is a simple accounting of her recollections.  I think that doing it was a way of bringing her life into focus and giving it significance.  Educated and intellectual people write most history.  My mother is neither.  Yet, by writing her memories, she made her contribution, left her mark.

She had little in the way of material things growing up in rural isolation on a farm in a poverty stricken area of Tennessee.  The family farmed, grew much of what they ate, made their own clothes, and slept in featherbeds with homemade quilts.  The richness of my family heritage is not in valuable possessions passed from one generation to the next, but in love, memories and family values, things that our society sometimes seems to have lost today.

Continued…

 

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