For 40 years, the holidays started for me the week before Thanksgiving. It was a short work week, and I’d start packing on Monday for my one-and-a-half-hour trip to Jonesboro, Arkansas from Memphis. I couldn’t wait to get in the car and drive over one of Memphis’ two bridges crossing the Mighty Mississippi River.
I’d carefully plan what to wear on Thanksgiving Day with the family, and to church on Sunday morning. Saturday night after Thanksgiving we would always celebrate my birthday with a big dinner of Mom’s homemade chicken & dumplings, my favorite.
When Jim and I married in 1986, we split our time between his family and mine for the holidays, which made it even more special. Different traditions only added to the festive feeling and I happen to love turkey and dressing.
When we had children, packing became more complex. If you’ve ever traveled with infants and toddlers, you know what I mean. And, of course, they had to be dressed perfectly for the holiday pictures. Through those years, the packing and anticipation of the trip became part of the fun of the holiday.
When we moved here to Jonesboro in July 2019, I gave little thought to the holidays and focused on getting settled and helping Jim get started in real estate.
In November, when the subject of Thanksgiving came up, it occurred to me that there would be no packing and driving, no bridge crossing, no overnight stays. It’s a short 15-minute drive to my sister’s house, so if I forget something I can easily drive home and get it.
When I expressed this to Jim, he replied by offering to drive me to Memphis so we could drive across the bridge. Sometimes men really don’t get it, y’all. But it was a nice thought.
Change is a constant. I don’t fear it, I welcome it, because it always brings new experiences to enjoy and new insights.
If you take a close look at “Santa,” you’ll notice a family resemblance. That’s because Jim wore the Santa suit at our neighborhood party. We were hoping the girls wouldn’t notice.
I think as we age, the changes in our lives help us adapt to the challenges. I miss the days of young children and smocked dresses. I miss staying up late to finish matching sister outfits for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
But I no longer have the energy to stay up late — this one-time night owl is now regularly in bed by 11:00 p.m. I’m too tired at the end of a day to spend hours preparing a full dinner. I’m thankful that I no longer have to worry about diapers, carseats, strollers, and the like — at least not until and unless I have grandchildren.
My mom, at 86, can no longer make the homemade chicken & dumplings, so we’ll do something different for my birthday. I really don’t care as long as we’re all together. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss the gathering around Mom’s dining room table and those yummy dumplings.
Our youngest, Sara Ann, is coming in from Little Rock, so she will be the one packing the car and driving. Elizabeth, our oldest, is in San Diego and can’t make it home. I’m still not used to having a member of our family absent on Thanksgiving.
Tonight, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we’ll stay in our own home, prop up our feet and watch TV like a regular weeknight. And maybe toast the holiday with a nice glass of wine.
Then tomorrow we’ll pack up Artie (our puppy), an appetizer, and homemade cranberry salad and drive 15 minutes to my sister’s. And it’ll be a great day, except I’ll miss Elizabeth something fierce.
This was shortly after I tried to dye my hair purple. IDK what I was thinking. These are two of the few dresses I didn’t make for the girls. But I love velvet, so I couldn’t resist. My girls with their young twin cousins
Me, to my 16-year-old daughter, broken hearted after the end of a friendship:
Sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’re hurting. What do you think would make it better?
I expected to hear “cookies,” or “a sweet tea from McAllister’s,” or even “a new top.” Instead she said,
A puppy.
I said, “Of course you can have a puppy.”
Seemingly in the next minute, she said, “I’ve found the puppy.”
On the way home from the adoption, head in Sara Ann’s lap
So we drove to Southaven, Mississippi, from our home in Germantown, a suburb of Memphis, Tennessee. A local shelter had pets for adoption at a Petco store there, and we saw the adorable Beagle-German Shepherd mix she had seen online. They had named him Nicolas. She took to him immediately and we walked out of the store with a new puppy that she promptly renamed Charlie.
Sara Ann with Charlie, shortly after we adopted him
Charlie was smart. He was easily trained and was a great pet from the start. More than any other dog we’d ever had, he loved being with us and wanted to be around us all the time.
Smart boy always rooted for the right team
He was sweet and gentle, despite the fact that he could growl like a German Shepherd. He looked like a full-blooded German Shepherd with short legs, and sometimes he squeaked like a Beagle when he didn’t get what he wanted.
At the lake with Charlie in 2008
He grew to be a wonderful watchdog, who protected our home from many scary, nefarious mothers with babies in strollers who walked by our house. 😉
Once we found him curled up in this laundry basket in the the laundry room. We started leaving it empty and he’d crawl in it when he wanted to chill and nap.
He loved being outside, at least as long as we were out with him. We spent many evenings on our patio in Germantown, relaxing while he ran around the yard and barked at squirrels.
We loved the way his tail curled up when he was happy. Sadly, it had been quite some time since his tail had curled that way.
Every night at bedtime he jumped up on our bed and slept at our feet the whole night. When the time came that he couldn’t jump up anymore, Jim would lift him onto the bed. Then he started sleeping on the floor next to our bed. But always there with us.
Charlie weathered our move to Jonesboro quite well and soon grew to love his new back yard. He liked to relax with us on the deck and bark at the dog next door. We knew when he could no longer go up and down the stairs to the deck that his time was coming soon.
Today, we sat with him, talked to him, reminisced, and reminded him of our love for him as he finally rested calmly and breathed his last.
I’ll miss him in the den while we watch TV and in our room at night as we sleep. He was a friend, a companion, protector, and a dear fur baby.
I grew up in a house that was built in 1902, on a tree-lined block in an older neighborhood in Jonesboro, Arkansas. There were several other kids close to my age who lived nearby and we all played together. It was an idyllic place to grow up. Just a block away there was a corner store, owned by a sweet older couple. At some point I learned that my parents had a charge account there, and it was all the candy I could eat until Mom and Dad got the bill and shut me down.
A few days ago I found this photo of the house at my mother’s home and posted it on Facebook. So many people commented with their own memories of our house that it made me more nostalgic than ever for the old place.
We moved there in my first-grade year. I was excited because the house had a basement. I’d never seen a basement before. That basement would hold many, many LEGOS and would shelter us from Jonesboro’s deadly tornadoes; the one in 1968 that took away the home of some of my parents’ best friends and in 1976, the tornado that blew away the local high school. We went to school the next year in portable buildings at the local fairgrounds and traveled to our church for band and choir.
I was so distraught after the ’68 storm that I was determined to go to church the next morning, but my parents weren’t planning to go. I set off walking and when I arrived the doors were locked. The tornado had not only destroyed homes and killed a few people, but the whole town was in such a state that they cancelled church.
I took this photo of my family in the driveway. Notice the wood-paneled station wagon in the carport. This must have been around 1977, as Daddy, my brother, my sister, and my mom are leaning against my new Cutlass Supreme in that fabulous tan (what was i thinking?).
Our house had a small den just inside the side door, and it opened into a large living room and a dining room. From the dining room, you entered the breakfast room, then the kitchen. It was a large kitchen, even by today’s standards and the countertops were stainless steel.
In the living room, there was an armoire that held a lot of random papers and other junk. The one thing I remember was that it was where we kept the Elvis tickets we had bought for a concert that never took place because Elvis died. When we went back to look for the tickets, they had disappeared. No one ever found them, but I’ve always wondered what six tickets for a concert Elvis never performed would bring.
When I was a teenager, my mom, who had been a homemaker, got a part-time job at Arkansas State University teaching in the nursing department. She was one of the only nurses in the area with a bachelor’s degree. She used some of her salary to redecorate the old den, living room, and dining room. We got spring green carpet over those 60-plus-year-old hardwood floors (as one did at that time), and a green velvet couch and drapes to match. I think it was nice for the day, but the green had definitely overstayed its welcome by the time we sold the house.
Off the kitchen was a utility room, which was always a mess. That’s where the washer and dryer were and once when my mom left clothes to dry in the dryer while we went to church, the dryer caught fire. The only thing that kept the whole house from burning was the plastic bottle of laundry detergent that sat on top of the dryer. It melted from the heat of the fire and the liquid doused the fire. But there was smoke. A lot of smoke. We had to have the house fumigated and they used this awful pink bubblegum scent. We smelled that crap for years afterwards.
This is my daddy feeding our oldest daughter, Elizabeth, in the kitchen. Over his right shoulder you can see the windows of the den we added.
Our bedrooms were large, like old house bedrooms were. I got the best room, as I was the oldest. It had a fireplace (non-working) with a mantel and in the small closet there was a window. The tile around the fireplace was blue, which has always been my favorite color. Years later when we redecorated it, I got blue and green shag carpet, which I thought was the most beautiful, lush floor I’d ever seen.
Daddy loved popcorn. Sometimes after I’d gone to bed, he would pop popcorn and I’d smell it from my room. He and Mom both knew I was about to come running down the stairs for some popcorn. They let me stay up and have my fill before I went back to bed. I still love popcorn.
I hated the Ethan Allan furniture in my room, so during the redecoration, it came out. I had seen this set of white furniture with blue and green trim and, of course, that was it for me. It didn’t have a desk or bookcase, so my daddy had new ones custom built for my room and they were a bright shade of blue. I loved that furniture. I wish I knew what happened to it.
One of my favorite photos ever of Daddy in the den.
My sister got orange and yellow shag carpet and white furniture with orange and yellow trim. Some of both of our furniture got stripped and painted over and over again and has served our girls well as dorm room and apartment furniture.
At some point, my parents decided to paint the house white. The painters did it by hand — no sprayers. It took forever. I felt like the painters had moved in with us.
Daddy with our youngest, Sara Ann as a baby.
When I was in about the ninth grade, my daddy decided to build a pool in the back yard. His idea was that as we grew into teenagers, the more they could keep us around the house the better. He wasn’t much for spending a lot of money on home decor, but he would open the purse strings when it involved anything we could all do together as a family.
The pool was wonderful. It wasn’t the most beautiful pool ever built, because Daddy thought that stainless steel would be the most durable. I watched the men build it, then lay the concrete and shape the steps by hand.
We swam all the time. Sometimes when Daddy came home from work, he’d get in with us and the whole family would be in the pool. We had a neighbor who would peep at us through the holes in the concrete brick fence. Once we caught her peeping and squirted the Pool Sweep hose in her direction. I don’t remember her peeping too often after that.
My brother was about five the first summer we had the pool. He had this little Speedo swimsuit that had white stars and stripes on it and he wore it all the time. He actually got a tan on his behind in the pattern of the stars and stripes, and we laughed and sang, “Oh, stars and stripes everywhere, even on his derriere … ” to the tune of Stars and Stripes Forever.
Back row, left to right: My brother-in-law, my sister, Jim; in front is my mom, me (holding my nephew Will), and Elizabeth. I was pregnant with Sara Ann at the time.
Behind our house was a vacant lot. When they mowed it, it was a great place to tumble. I remember doing nine backhandsprings in a row in that lot — it was the most I’d ever done as there was no gym for that in Jonesboro in the early 1970s.
Around the time we built the pool, we also added on a large den with a very high ceiling and windows all around. It became our family’s favorite room, and the old den was used mostly as a place to put the piano. I jokingly referred to it as the conservatory. My parents told me that new room cost as much as they paid for the entire house. But it was worth it, and they designed it with a hole in the roof right outside the window for an oak tree my daddy didn’t want to cut down.
I’ve always loved this photo of Jim (left) and my daddy talking about the camera Daddy is holding. Jim is concentrating intensely.
At some point we redecorated the kitchen and got new wallpaper. It was (remember, 1970s) orange and yellow plaid with a little bit of spring green. Trouble is, when you wallpaper an old house, never do plaid. Those walls were nowhere near plumb, and the pattern made it obvious.
That wallpaper, crooked walls and all, was still there when my mom sold the house after Daddy passed in 1993. The yard, the pool, everything that has to be fixed when an old house gets older — at around 6000 square feet, was too much for my mother on her own.
The last time I was in the house, there were moving boxes everywhere, all the pictures had been taken down off the wall, and I couldn’t stand it. I went upstairs for one last look at the room that had been my safe and happy place for so many years, pausing on the landing with the big picture window I always looked out to see if there was lightning.
It was a wonderful house, well loved and well lived in. It was eligible for the National Register of Historic Places, but no one ever got busy and did the paperwork.
I miss it, but we’ve made so many new memories it doesn’t sting like it used to. A family is a family wherever they are, and my memories of this house are really memories of the people and relationships that lived and loved here.
Curmudgeon alert: I hate Halloween. I always have.
No, I was never traumatized by a goblin on Halloween, I just don’t like scary things.
I don’t like scary movies, books, or TV shows. I don’t like the dark. I don’t like rides that make me feel as if I could be risking my life.
For the most part, i want my entertainment to be about real people, non-violent, and preferably happy. The only exception to that is that I’m a big fan of Law & Order and all of its spinoffs. But I don’t watch them late at night.
Many years ago, we were at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida with the extended family. One of my nephews asked me to ride Space Mountain with him. If you’re not familiar with Space Mountain, it’s a roller coaster inside a very dark building.
There was no way I was going to tell my sweet nephew no. He could have asked anyone — including his parents — but he asked me. This would be my second experience with Space Mountain, so I knew what was coming.
As the car began to move, I wondered if he was scared — he couldn’t have been older than four or so. He didn’t seem frightened at all. If I were a better aunt, I’d have put my arm around him, but I knew I needed to hold on for dear life with both hands. Terrible, selfish aunt.
The ride took about three hours — well, at least it seemed like it. When we finished and finally came back into the light, I was relieved, to say the least. He was grinning from ear to ear and wanted to go again. By today’s standards Space Mountain is pretty mild, but for me … it’s a no-go-ever-again. I prefer rides like the teacups, and I love a nice carousel with the pretty horses.
In addition to my aversion to fear as fun, some of my dislike for Halloween is the costumes. I’ve never liked dressing up in costume. Back in the 90s, when murder mystery parties were a thing and you had to dress up in character, I made sure I got a character that could pull off jeans and a button-down shirt. I added a multi-pocket photography vest of Jim’s and I was a journalist.
My girls were never big Halloween fans either for the most part. I guess that’s my fault. But every year, we’d talk about what they wanted to dress up as for the evening (and the requisite parties before the actual day) and I’d make them whatever costume they wanted, as long as it wasn’t a witch, or something else creepy and/or scary. One year Elizabeth wanted to be Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and I made her a gold lame gown.
The photo below is from about 1994, when Elizabeth wanted to be Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie, and Sara Ann had no choice but to go as an angel, which, at the age of two or three, was a horrible miscast.
Production notes: Jeannie’s cap was made from a margarine container covered in the matching fabric. I was pretty proud of that. I still have those costumes somewhere in storage.
As much as I hated Halloween and wearing costumes, I loved making theirs. Goes to show you what a mom and/or aunt will do for the kids in her life. it’s the only thing that’s ever made me look forward to Halloween just a little bit.
You know another thing I hate about Halloween? Before I say this, I need to say that I do love seeing cute little kids all dressed up and proud of their temporary identify. But for me to get to pass out candy (which I also love to do), they have to ring the doorbell, and y’all know what happens when someone does that.
Hint: We have dogs.
This year, I expect Halloween to be as quiet as any other night in our neighborhood. And I’ll kinda miss it.
I don’t want this post to be completely negative, so here’s the one thing I love about Halloween.
Happy/sad because we closed on the sale of the house we lived in for 28 years.
Where we raised our two girls and a few dogs along the way.
The kitchen in which I made approximately 2160 peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches for school lunches.
The scene of numerous taco nights with 14 teenagers around a table made for six.
My surprise 50th birthday party thrown by Sara Ann and her friends, with help from her older sister, when they made tacos for me.
A zillion sleepovers with screaming, giggling girls.
The dining room that sometimes became a sewing room, especially the week before Easter, when I stayed up until all hours finishing dresses.
A few weeks ago we cleaned out the last of our belongings from the house. We bought the house in Germantown, Tennessee, a suburb of Memphis, in September 1991, several days before our oldest daughter, Elizabeth’s third birthday. I was in the very early first trimester of my pregnancy with our youngest, Sara Ann.
Our empty den after being vacant for a year
About to leave for the last time with a nearly-full UHaul truck
It was a fixer-upper. We painted before we moved in, a teal color that was cool in 1991. We took before photos so we could see how our efforts improved the look of the rooms.
Through the years we improved things gradually, but it was never perfect. I had a vision for this home, and it was never fulfilled. Still, it served us well as a home in which our girls and their friends felt comfortable and accepted. It was messy most of the time, but it was full of happiness. Children, dogs, and teenagers are messy — the best kind of messy.
As the girls grew up and left home, Jim and I enjoyed our times on the patio more and more. It was shady and peaceful, and once i gave up on growing grass and Jim build a large flower bed next to the patio, we spent more and more time outside.
In 2015 we were about to start working in earnest on bringing it current. Jim had received a great bonus at work and we were going to start with new floors throughout. But in May of that year, Jim lost his job. So no hardwood floors.
After five long years of job searching, Jim decided to change careers and go into real estate. We moved back to our hometown of Jonesboro, Arkansas and into a rental home half the size of our home in Germantown. We still have much of our furniture from the house in storage, along with my china, silver flatware, Waterford crystal, and some lovely silver serving pieces.
We moved to Jonesboro on July 29, 2019. We planned to get the house in Germantown fixed up and sold quickly, as houses in our school district were selling quickly and for top dollar and there was still time for a family to get moved in before the new school year.
We didn’t get it sold, or even on the market that fall. Just after we moved, I began to feel weak and nauseated. As I was constantly sick to my stomach, I could barely eat. This went on until in September I became dehydrated enough to go to a minor medical clinic. Once the results of my bloodwork came back, I was immediately admitted to the hospital, where I stayed for four days, the sickest I’ve ever been.
We had a great holiday season, though it was strange to be here in Jonesboro instead of driving over from Memphis. I kind of missed the process of packing the car and driving here for the holidays. I felt fine, and thought things were back to normal and we planned to get the house ready to sell in the spring.
In January 2020, I was getting ready to go to a meeting, when I realized I was too sick to go. Jim called the doctor that day and by the next day I was back in the hospital because my calcium was high again. The doctors suspected myeloma, which is a serious form of blood cancer. After a lung biopsy, I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, a rare, chronic condition with a much better prognosis than myeloma. I began a course of high-dosage steroids (65 mg/day), which would taper down over the coming months.
In March, COVID-19 hit, and I was (and still am) immunocompromised due to the steroids, which meant I could only leave the house to go to necessary medical appointments.
Later that month on March 28, a tornado roared directly over our house, taking the metal storage shed in our back yard, destroying our fence, and breaking out the back window of my car. This video was taken immediately after the tornado passed over and you can tell that my voice is still shaky. Notice the stuff that was in the shed still in place as it was before the tornado ripped the shed off its foundation. These things are strange.
In July I went for my first mammogram in several years. As a 22-year breast cancer survivor, mammograms are always filled with anxiety. There were spots on the mammogram that concerned the doctors, so I returned the following week for a biopsy. After an agonizing week waiting for results, I got the phone call that the spot was benign.
So it is that it has taken us this long to sell our house in Germantown. It’s been stressful and expensive, as we’ve paid for utilities for two homes. Not to mention insurance, homeowners’ association fees, and property taxes. The house sat vacant for more than a year, and was not in top selling condition, so we accepted a low as-is offer from a house flipper, which meant a quick all-cash closing with no inspection.
Yesterday was the closing. The happy/relieved/sad closing, in which I told the buyer to enjoy our house, and asked if we can come back and see it after they finish renovating it.
After the closing we drove around Germantown for about an hour, driving by the girls’ middle school and high school, and the preschool that Sara Ann attended. We drove by what was my go-to Target store and the Kroger, Trader Joe’s, and Whole Foods where we used to shop. Then we had lunch with a couple of our dearest friends, whom we’ve known since our 32-year-olds were infants together in the church nursery.
After lunch was a socially-distanced outdoor visit with another set of dear friends and a couple of drinks of celebratory bubbly on their beautiful deck on a perfect fall day.
Then it was back to Jonesboro to celebrate around the fire pit with the fam and more bubbly and takeout from a local hibachi restaurant.
I love being here close to my family — my brother and his family, my sister and brother-in-law, our youngest daughter, and my mom, who is 85 and loves having us nearby. Jim and I planted flowers for her this spring, and he watered them for her every day this summer and is always available to help when she has issues with one of her tech devices.
Due to COVID, we cook at home most nights, and, for the most part, see only my mom who doesn’t go out much, and my sister and brother-in-law, who work from home. Jim is back in the real estate office and showing houses, but he’s very cautious and careful about social distancing. I miss going to church and the grocery store and the occasional restaurant dinner.
We’re looking forward to the next chapter. Even at 61, I’ll never be too old to look forward to the future.
My husband, Jim, does most of the cooking around here, not because I don’t like to cook, but it gives him a break from his real estate work.
Generally, I choose recipes for us from my Paprika app (which you should check out if you collect recipes — I get nothing for recommending it), email them to him and he shops for the ingredients, brings them home and cooks the meals.
He cook two or three nights each week, then we have leftovers or something quick and easy the rest of the time. I’m a stickler about eating vegetables and only healthy foods, so I’m picky about the recipes.
I’ve written about a couple of restaurants we’ve visited, but I decided I’d write about our system, so to speak, as it’s working pretty well for us.
First, I created a category in the Paprika app called Try. This is for recipes we haven’t tried yet, but want to. It’s where I look first for planning each week’s meals.
I use the Meals feature in Paprika to plan the week’s meals. I generally choose a couple of new meals from the Try category and one we’ve had before.
Here’s how to add a recipe to the Meals calendar. Click the gray plus icon at the top, then select the date and click Save.
I have Paprika on my phone as well, so I can see and add recipes from anywhere. It’s easy to email the recipes from the phone. Just tap the three dots at the top right.
The email contains the whole recipe — so he knows what he’ll be preparing and has the ingredients list. There’s also a grocery list function, but for us it’s just simpler for me to send him the recipes.
After we try the recipe, one of two things happens. I created two categories in the Paprika app for recipes we keep. One is called Rotation/Main, the other is Rotation/Veg.
Here’s what I do after we decide a recipe is a keeper. Go into the recipe and click or tap Edit. Then I give it five stars and move it out of the Try category and into Rotation/Main or Rotation/Veg. I also add any notes Jim suggests for next time.
If we don’t like a recipe, we just delete it. There are so many recipes available online we just move on to something better. That’s why all the recipes we prepare and like have five stars — if it’s not worth five stars, why keep it?
Getting Recipes Into Paprika App
There’s an easy-to-use bookmarklet available once you’ve purchased the app. Then you just click the icon in your browser toolbar to add the recipe. It automatically adds the photo if there is one, and formats it as a recipe.
By default, the recipes that get added via the browser go into a category called Uncategorized. When I have a few minutes to spare, I go through the uncategorized recipes and add the ones that look interesting to the Try category.
I’ve tried several other recipe management apps in the past, and this one is the best. It’s not free, but it’s worth it.
You know how sometimes you are in the middle of something stressful and you focus on one little, tiny thing? Yeah, that.
So I splurged on new shower curtains and those cute little rings that hold them up. You can get some really cool ones now.
Which I did. One set of rings for each (really lovely) shower curtain. And one set came in and I hung the master bedroom shower curtain, put in those adorable rings, stood by and admired my design choices.
The shower curtain for the guest bath came the next day. But no rings. You have never seen a person get so rattled by shower curtain rings. Everyone was looking at me as if I had finally taken that trip around the bend. Someone said, “Please do not say shower curtain ring” again. Ever.
The rings came the next day. And you know what I realized?
Prepare for the wisdom, because here it comes. When you feel out of control with the big things (moving, anyone?) and like you’re not going to make it, sometimes it’s easier to stress out about shower curtain rings. Yes, there is misery, poverty, and sickness in the world and I’m upset about shower curtain rings.
And, rather than go deal with it, or even think about it, here I am writing a post about shower curtain rings.
This is not really about shower curtain rings, though. They are only standing in for my (near) panic as we approach this last week of moving preparations with so much not ready.
We all have ’em, y’all. You have shower curtain rings, too. They are the little things you obsess over when you’ve got bigger things in your to deal with. I survived my freakout about the rings. You will too.
P.S. I’ve probably lied about the Final Phase title of this post. I should change it, but right now I need to finish packing up the kitchen.
Jim, my husband of 32 years and I are about to start an adventure.
Along with our two dogs, and about half of 28 years’ worth of accumulated crap, we’re moving to Jonesboro, Arkansas at the end of July.
We’ve rented a small house — and when I say small, it’s half the size of the four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home in which we raised our girls. It’s small, but it will be plenty. To be honest, we currently only use about three or four rooms in our house anyway. So downsizing here we come. Goodbye four bedrooms, hello storage unit.
Not the best pic of the dogs. This was taken in our downstairs bathroom during a tornado warning.
When we moved into our current house in a suburb of Memphis, we thought it was a good thing to have two attic areas. Friends, it is not. Trust me, accumulated crap grows to fit the space it lives in.
Our next few weeks will be filled with decluttering and designating about half for storage and half for the house.
As most of our family lives here in Jonesboro, we have no need for huge entertaining areas. It’s easier for us to just come to Jonesboro than to have all of the Jonesboro folks come all the way to Memphis.
Jim is starting a brand-new career in real estate. He’s ready to ditch corporate IT and real estate is perfect for him. He’s a fantastic networker and the most detail-obsessed person I’ve ever known.
I’ve lived in Memphis since 1981, when I moved here to get a masters degree at University of Memphis’ fine graduate program in audiology. I stayed here because I love this city. It’s a great place to live, with a lot of great places to eat (eat local!) and a thriving tech community. Our Sunday School class, the Messengers from Christ Methodist, have been a close community for us. This community has seen us through several deaths in the family, major surgeries and the countless joys and challenges of this life.
If you think Memphis is a nasty, filthy, dangerous place, you haven’t been to Memphis lately. Get out and visit the Crosstown Concourse, ride the Greenline, go to Cooper-Young and enjoy Memphis’ best local restaurants, go downtown (Yes, downtown! ) and check out the South Main District. Go to Summer Avenue and experience real Mexican food, and indulge in fine dining at Erling Jensen. I’ve lived in this city for 38 years, and have only had ONE brush with crime.
It’s only the past couple of weeks that I’ve started to really think about the idea these are some of my last weeks in this beloved city. Memphis, I’ll miss you, but I’ll be back to visit. Often.
Here are some of the things and places I’ll miss about Memphis. Click on one of the photos to see the rest. Downtown shots; things you might not see if you don’t live here.
I hope my snapshots of Memphis have helped you appreciate my town. I’m sad to leave, but change is always hard. It’s often the catalyst for new blessings and I’m ready.
Three separate UPS deliveries arrived, containing our filter, decorations (the rocks from Phase One), thermometer, substrate, and air pump. The only things left to be delivered are the plants and snails, both of which should arrive tomorrow.
After setting up the sponge filter and rinsing and adding the substrate, we actually filled the tank with water. We haven’t added the heater yet and will probably add that tomorrow, when the water is more clear. It looks like that may take awhile.
This looks more like a huge cup of coffee than an aquarium.
One important part of owning a betta fish tank (or any other aquarium) is water quality. Today we tested the water, and recorded the results in a spreadsheet so we can track the cycling process. Cycling is the process of getting the chemicals right so the water is safe for the fish.
Much clearer after only a few hours. You can kind of see my rocks, but I couldn’t see well enough to place them well, so I’ll fix that tomorrow.
I think tomorrow will be another fun day, as the plants (live plants) and the snail arrive. I hope the tank will be much clearer so I can see what I’m doing.
I think this hobby is going to be addictive. We’re already talking about our next, larger tank.
A week or so ago we visited my niece and nephew in Little Rock. They just bought this great house, and she’s an artist, so, of course it’s decorated fabulously.
One of my favorite things to look at was her aquarium. It was a small one, with a betta fish, a snail, and some plants. I’ve always loved betta fish and have probably killed more of them than some of you have ever looked at. Talking to my niece, Jackie, I learned that it’s not true that bettas can flourish in a small tank, and they do, after all, need filtration. Hence my poor, dead fish.
We got back in the car to continue our trip and Jackie texted me a link to a series of videos on YouTube by this Australian woman with a lovely accent. I started watching the videos on my phone and I was hooked. So was my husband, Jim.
I was looking for a two- to three-gallon tank. I found this three-gallon tank on Amazon. It’s 10.2″ in diameter and 14.5″ tall. I liked the tall shape because I don’t have a lot of extra table space in my office for it and this one can sit right on my desk. I find it so relaxing to watch fish.
Mind you, it currently looks nothing like this. It looks like an empty clear plastic cylinder.
In the next few days, the supplies for setting up the aquarium will begin to arrive from Amazon. I cannot wait.
I’ve decided to chronicle each step from empty cylinder to lush fish environment over the next few posts. So here’s the before.
This is what it actually looks like at this moment.
I was excited because I had found what I thought was the perfect decoration for my tank. I was looking for something tall rather than wide, and this looked like blue coral, so I thought it would be perfect. Boy, was I wrong.
It was way too rough and had too many sharp edges, and bettas can easily tear a fin. So it went back to the store (we had ordered it online) in exchange for another decoration that was way too large.
It covered almost the entire bottom of the tank. Which leaves no room for the filter and the plants I’ve ordered. We decided to save it for our next, larger aquarium.
Pro tip: It’s probably a good idea to actually measure your tank before you buy stuff for it.
I’ve ordered these small, smooth rocks, which I think will do nicely. Not sure if I’ll use all of them, but if not, it’s just another excuse to get another aquarium, right? 😀
As my cool new stuff begins to arrive, I’ll be adding substrate (kind of like underwater soil that gives the plants a way to grow), live plants, and a snail (and he’s so pretty). Stay tuned.
P.S. I could have gotten SO much Sponge Bob stuff. It seems that’s really popular. Sponge Bob was a no.
Now, this was not a private conversation. In fact, about 500 people (by Jim’s estimation) bore witness.
We were given a generous and special gift from my sister and brother-in-law, which included tickets to an event at the St. Louis County Library and an overnight stay in a nearby hotel (the hotel is another blog post entirely). The event was an onstage interview with Garfunkel, moderated by a local St. Louis public radio host. Tickets included a pre-autographed copy of his new book, What is It All But Luminous, Notes From an Underground Man.
We knew the seating was first-come-first-served, so we planned to arrive at the library by 4:30 p.m. for the 7:00 p.m. event. We spent 30 minutes inside the library before they closed the doors at 5:00 p.m. to finish setup. Doors opened again at 6:00 p.m., so we spent an hour waiting outside. Jim and I were numbers one and two in line, respectively.
Before the library closed, I tried to bargain with the employees: My husband and I will help you set up if you’ll let us stay in here and save the front row center seats. They declined our generous offer, but they did show us where to get in line so we’d be first and we were.
We’re first in line!
Promptly at 6:00 p.m. the doors opened and we raced to our front and center seats. It was entirely worth the wait, even though it’s still 80-too-many degrees in St. Louis in October.
Here I am in front of the stage holding my book.
My hair looks a little funky from being outside in the St. Louis heat/humidity for an hour. But see how close the stage was?
There were absolutely no photos or videos allowed during the interview, so no photos of Artie. Which was OK because the interview was fascinating and toward the end they opened it up to questions from the audience.
So of course I raise my hand, and I’m the very last question.
The woman in charge of the event hands me the microphone. I’m about 10 feet from ART GARFUNKEL, y’all.
I momentarily froze. He was looking at me. The first thing that came out of my mouth was:
Me: ( Verklempt and overcome and almost involuntarily):Omigosh I am talking to Art Garfunkel.
AG + 500 people: Loud laughter
AG (Commenting on my top): I love your lace. Youknow wardrobe.
Me. (To myself):Omigosh a lifelong New Yorker just complimented my clothing.Art Garfunkel just said I look good. (I’m enormously thrilled as I’ve always been a huge fashion nut/clothes horse.)
Me (Aloud to Art Garfunkel + 500 people): Mumble mumble something lame like I try.
Me: First of all, thank you, because 46 years ago you taught me to harmonize. I listened to your songs all the time, and I’d go through them twice. First I sang your part and played it again and sang Paul’s part. I still sing a damned good harmony (I do).
AG: Smiles. Crowd laughs loudly.
Me (To myself): Omigosh I made Art Garfunkel smile.
Me (To AG): For all of your poetry, how is it that you’ve never put a melody to those words?
AG: Good question. They are two different things. Paul Simon is brilliant at it. I tried it and it didn’t work for me.
Me: Second question: The Concert in Central Park in 1981 was a true high point of my life.
AG: Mine too.
Me: I read that you didn’t like your performance. When I heard that, I thought to myself, “What in the world—?”
AG + 500 people: More loud laughter
Me: You were both flawless.
AG: You listened differently than I did; you heard the two of us back together, the songs, the memories … I heard the fine nuances and imperfections …
Me: I still watch it and it still makes me weep.
AG: Smiles at me.
We left our home near Memphis at about 8:30 a.m. and arrived in St. Louis in time for lunch. We met quite a few very nice people, many of whom were amazed that we had driven five hours. I’d have driven 10 hours for this experience.
Me with my autographed book
P.S. Oh, yeah I forgot to mention the book. It’s is an easy read, but, like Garfunkel, it’s a bit strange. He even admitted to being weird, so my saying this should not hurt our new BFF relationship. It’s sprinkled throughout with his poetry, which is quite nice, and is full of expressions of love for his wife and children.
Warning: I’m only a month out from loss and I’m still raw. So this post is pretty unvarnished, and maybe a little angry. That’s where I am. Please read with that understanding.
You’ve just lost a loved one. You’re in shock, reeling, and numb. Just to put one foot in front of the other is too much effort. These are the times you need friends and family around you. You know they are well meaning, but some are just a beat … off.
My family and I are all too familiar with loss. A little more than a month ago, we lost our 15-year-old nephew and, while we were blessed with caring friends and family, there were also those who created additional stress and pain. Oh, how I pray I’m never one of the sinners, but I fear that at some point, like most of us, I have been. Some of these may sound harsh, but I believe it’s important to protect the feelings of the grieving, at nearly all costs. So, please don’t:
Ask me questions about practical matters. Don’t ask me where the silverware goes, or what you should do with the food tray that just arrived. Figure it out yourself. If you know me well enough to be in my home at a time like this, I probably trust you to make the decision. I’m likely going to tell you I have no idea anyway.
Place social expectations on me. I actually had someone say, on the day of the loss, that it “isn’t nice to have x lying around when you’re having people over.” What? I’m not having people over. I just lost someone dear to me. Anyone who judges my house at a time like this needs to leave. Now.
Play social games. If the last words we spoke weren’t friendly, stay away. Period. This isn’t the time to mend fences.
Try to sell me stuff. Really? I have to say this? I don’t care what it is — your makeup, your clothing line, or your church. This isn’t the time.
Be nosy. Don’t prod me for details, or conduct your own interrogation. It’s highly unlikely that those details matter now.
Gossip and speculate. Just don’t. If you don’t think that’s hurtful, you’re wrong. Trust me on this. We hear about it. How we grieve is our own business. We really don’t need your input.
Be overly theological. I don’t need a lecture on God’s will, or a Bible verse, or anything other than “I’m so sorry. My prayers are with you.” This is not the time to strut your spiritual stuff. Trust me, if I remember anything you say, it’ll be a straight-up miracle. Exception: If you’re a minister that I know and respect, you’re exempt from this, but you probably know not to do this crap anyway.
Expect a thank-you note. This is an absolutely awful expectation. If you expect a thank-you note for bringing me dinner when I’m devastated, please keep your damn casserole. I’d rather accept help from those who expect nothing. Our society (especially the South) needs to put an end to this. Bring your casserole and put a note on it that says, “Don’t write me a note.” If that bugs you, it’s a sure sign that your heart isn’t in the right place.
We’re all warmly grateful to the saints who kept our kitchen organized, brought and prepared food, kept us stocked with paper products, snacks, and easy pickup foods, and gave us hugs, cried with us, and protected us when we needed it. Rather than caring about social appearances, their priorities were to serve and comfort us.
Pray for us. Tell us a funny story or memory about our family member. Share a photo we may not have seen. There are no words, but “I’m so sorry,” does nicely.
P.S. Please add your own “Don’ts” in the comments. I’d love to know your stories.
