There's a Saint Bernard Behind Every Bush

Okay, first of all, we had power failure just before noon yesterday. My husband got the generator up and running for about two hours then it just....stopped.

He couldn't figure out what was wrong, plus it was getting dark, and with hope in our hearts (ha!), we just used poor battery fed lighting, "caught up water" and knew we had a flush in each toilet. We went to bed EARLY, and I was thankful our house wasn't cold... yet.

We also got up EARLY. The sun was trying to rise, the dog was risen and yearning to go out - she went to bed early too, ya know.

My husband broke a rule. The one that starts "I'll never, ever do that again."

He did it again.

He let our American Bulldog, Molly, out the door, unleashed. He said, and I quote, "I looked both ways twice and as soon as I let her in the yard the neighbor lady and her Saint Bernard appeared from behind the bush by our fence."

We ain't got a bush that big.

I  heard the commotion from upstairs WITHOUT my hearing aids. I didn't see anything, and my husband wanted me to wait until we sat down with our coffee to share the story.

We got a fire started in the fireplace first, because we had no other heat, and I heated up yesterday's coffee in a pan on our gas stove.

It was better than nothing.

Apparently, the rest of the story goes like this: Molly, in her bulldog way, barked and growled herself right up to the Saint Bernard, who only outweighs her by, say, 140 pounds. For some odd reason, the Saint Bernard didn't take kindly to this, and they began to scuffle.

Unfortunately, the Saint Bernard was on a leash ( with the wife not the husband, of course). The Saint Bernard outweighs the woman by, say, 140 pounds.

Since all this took place to the left of our house in the road, and my husband said he was hollering at Molly, it took him a moment to realize our neighbor was "laying on the ground".

Now, my husband, being the empathetic counselor he has always been, became concerned. He was concerned he was going to jail, to quote the man.

After asking about her welfare (finally), probably in a Don Knots voice, he found out she hadn't fallen, she had decided that if she laid down she might be able to stop her dog easier.

You seen, her Saint Bernard has the same level of obedience as our dog. That is to say, none.

When the dust cleared, no one was hurt. The dogs postured and snapped a little. Molly got a scratch on her belly from the grappling contest.

My husband says he has learned his lesson and he "will never, ever do that again."

I refer you back to paragraph four.

Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a Twister!

Any time I hear that we may be looking at a tornado headed our way, I always think of "The Wizard of Oz".

I'm not being silly, it's true. I also remember a friend telling me the story of when she was a little girl and there being a tornado in Pickens County. Her mama and daddy went to the place where it had struck and she remembers a broom straw stuck in an oak tree, both ends showing, as though the tree had been pierced by an arrow.

The blizzard of 1993 was a lot like a tornado with snow. I remember it coming in and hearing thunder in the middle of the crazy snow and wind. First time for me, and hopefully the last time. I don't live in the South for nothing.

Then a few years later we had a hurricane. Yep, in the mountains of North Georgia.  I mean, really?

And not too many months ago I witnessed a wind storm for the first time. No rain, no thunder, just furious wind, all alone. 

Mother Nature is a dangerous woman.

All my activities for the day were cancelled. Wednesday is my only activity day. I have Bible Study in the morning, a deep tissue massage afterwards, and church activities on Wednesday  night.

That makes the coming storm even more real to me. 

Stay home,  hunker down, make sure you got candles and watch out!

There was Another Anniversary Yesterday

I saw on something or other that ten years ago yesterday was when Clay Aiken sang on TV for the first time, when we heard his audition for American Idol.

I remember him walking out and me groaning, feeling like he was going to be splattered all over the place. It was as though he was trying to look as awkward as possible. You could tell he was nervous. And when he spoke and had the same Southern accent as I do, I almost cringed.

But then he sang. I hollered at my  husband to come in the room. I said, "That boy may not win because of the way he looks, but you won't hear a better voice."

I was right. On both counts. Except there was all the hoopla saying that he really did win, if phone lines had been big enough to take all the calls.

His voice is one that actually does something to me. No matter how long I go without hearing him sing, the minute I do, it's like myself stands up and takes notice. I guess his voice speaks to me somehow. I've had other singers do that from time to time, but Clay Aiken is the only one who does it almost every time.

All my family likes his singing, and we have seen him perform live several times. He is a funny, down to earth young man that engages the audience in a way that makes you feel like you know  him. In fact, the one time I've actually talked to him, it was like talking to my nephew, who is close to the same age and uses the word "whatnot" all the time in speaking.

But then again, I have yet to be star struck. I've never wanted anyone's autograph or anything like that.

I had forgotten that I heard him sing for the first time on my wedding anniversary.

Anyway, music is a wonderful and mysterious thing. So many kinds, so  many singers, so many instruments out there, it leaves almost no one out.

Aren't you glad that the good Lord blessed us with this thing we call music?

I know I am.

And They Said It Wouldn't Last!

Twenty-eight years ago, on January twenty-eighth, my husband and I tied the knot.

He was a thirty-five year old bachelor, and I was divorced after twelve years of marriage to a not so very nice person.

The night before we were to get married (which had been kept a secret to almost everybody), he came to my house for supper. We ate, watched TV, and when he got up to go home, we opened the door to a winter wonderland.

There was already about four inches of snow and ice. It had happened in a matter of a few hours.

I called the gate and asked if it was safe for him to get out. After the guard stopped laughing, he said no, no way, nope. I lived in a community that was made with the houses suspended off the mountainside, and every road was a winding, narrow snake trail. I guess that's why the guard said no.

Well, my husband to be freaked out. He kept muttering "I've waited thirty-five years to get married, and now this." He kept peering out the living room window as though the weather might miraculously improve. He paced, back in forth, in front of the couch.

He called his mama and told her he was trapped (wasn't that supposed to be what he said on our fifth anniversary?) That went over like a ton of bricks. He may have been thirty-five, but he wasn't supposed to be spending the night at some divorcee's house!

We weren't even going to tell our parents we were getting married. I had found out via the grapevine of trustworthy friends that my parents were freaking out, thinking I was on the re-bound from my divorce, and besides that, they didn't know this boy! They (Mother) were trying to find out the goods on him, by hook or crook.

But when my husband was caught red handed with a Service Merchandise Mart catalogue, turned to the WEDDING RINGS, his mama asked why was he doing that? And he said - wait for it- "A friend of mine is thinking about getting married and wanted to borrow this."

I can still, after all these years, hear her eyes rolling practically out of her head.

The final straw for her was when he was trying to sneak his suit out of the house. His mother's house. Can you imagine trying to sneak something as big as a suit out from under your mother's  nose?

She flattened herself against the car door and told him he wasn't going anywhere until he told her if we were getting married. So, of course, he broke down and confessed.

Which meant I had to tell my parents.

One of my best friends (who kept her mouth shut - at least somebody did) agreed to stand up for us. The preacher's daughter was to be the other witness.

Back to the night before: I went to bed, I don't think the future husband did, even though I put clean sheets and quilts on the guest bed.

I called the gate again the morning of the wedding. They said you can't get out. I said, "B-but we are supposed to get married today."

"Well, why didn't ya say so? We'll get you out if we have to use our helicopter!" (they had a helicopter?).
They tracked our every move, waiting to rescue us from driving off a ravine, if necessary.

So, in husband-to-be's rear wheel drive Volkswagen, we crept, and finally saw the gate! WHEW!

But wait! On the other side of the gate was my ex-husband trying to wheedle his way in!!! YIKES!

The guard, who had plenty of girth and knew what was going on, stayed between the two cars, blocking old ex's view. And kept him occupied while we sped away at 5 mph. on the ice.

The groom put the James Bond theme song in the tape deck. We were so cool.

Just before we left my house that morning, the phone rang. It was husband's mama asking if she could at least pay for a few photographs to be taken at the church, since NOBODY was allowed to attend. He asked me, I said, "Sure."

She said, "That's good, because they'll be there at 3:30 p.m." Ha!

We got to the church, after I had begged a florist to make me a small bouquet to hold.

They had forgotten to turn on the heat.

We got married in  forty degrees. I couldn't tell if I was shaking from nerves or cold. It was probably both.

I look back at the pictures, and even though we thought we were old (I was thirty), we look like children, with love and  hope shining from our eyes.

Happy Anniversary, sweet man.

A Little Girl's Voice

You know, writing is a funny thing.

There will be nothing there. I'll be going about my life as usual. You know, a regular life, reading, cooking, singing, bossing people around, whatever.

And then, those characters who have never been heard from before, come alive inside my head.

Now I have found a little girl's voice. Of course, part of  her is me, that's just a fact. But she's more than just me, she's different and has a life of her own.

I have written close to sixty pages, and she still has a lot to say, so I guess I'm writing another book.

It's about a little girl who is nine years old. It's 1963 and in  a tiny town in the South. That sounds like my life. She also has friends and a family like mine were.

But that's where it stops. The people I knew/know, and events that occurred in our lives, are a mere outline to who these new characters are.

I don't delve too far into all that, it might mess up the magic.

But maybe it's how an observer would have seen us. Or maybe some of it is how I wish it had been. Or am glad it wasn't that way.

No one has read any of it yet, but my daughter has agreed to read the first rough draft to do some editing.

We'll see what she says. She's a writer too, and has a good eye for what is "real" in my fiction.

Time will tell.

Dreams, Reality, and a Threat from My Husband

This morning, I was having the coolest dream.

I was at a zoo, and a lady that worked there had a cheetah on a leash walking around, warning people about the cat, "Don't touch her, she doesn't like to be touched."

She and the cat walked by me, and the cat came to me and stared up at me (I was sitting down). Then the cat put her paws in my lap, placed her head up against mine and licked my cheek. She looked at me adoringly. The lady said, "That would only happen in one in a thousand people."

She let me have the leash, and the cat and I were having a grand old time. The lady asked me to stay, but I told her I was having a terrible cramp in my arm and hand and had to leave.

This woke me up, and my whole arm and hand was numb from laying on it. The pain was incredible.

Then I remembered it was supposed to rain/sleet/hail/snow/freeze today and I nudged my husband and told him he needed to get up and go out and crank the generator to make sure it would work if our electricity went off.

He whined, "I've been sick, it's cold, don't make me go out there, it'll crank."

I said, "Okay, I hope you're right." And had foreboding thoughts about how that was gonna turn out.

Anyway, I told him my dream, which I think is fascinating, don't you? and he sorta mumbled, "Knowing you, that will probably happen."

Then I told him my whole arm and hand was numb, and looking at it, I wondered if the whole thing had been a UFO abduction, because the creases all over my arm and hand looked like crop circles.

He told me, quite calmly, that he had not had his coffee, and if I didn't stop chattering and giggling (I do NOT giggle) that he was going to muzzle me.

But just for a little while.

Watch It Now, Watch It now! Here It Comes!

Yeah, right.

We have heard the weathermen cry wolf so many times, the next blizzard will catch us by surprise. We'll be out in the yard raking leaves in our bikinis and the bodies will be found come spring, when the 27 inches of snow melt.

Of course, tomorrow, the ice will really come. That's because my husband and I have tickets to the play, "Driving Miss Daisy" up in Blue Ridge. We are celebrating our 28th wedding anniversary come the 28th of January, and thought this a good way to start up the celebration.

I love snow. I'm careful who I say that around, because rank strangers will either leap up and yell, "So do I!" and give you a bear hug. OR a rank stranger will give me the evil eye and  mutter curses under their breath.

I've always been told to never speak to a stranger, and I guess that's why.

My childhood was full of snow. Every winter we had some "good" snows, that being two inches or  more. I didn't have to walk up hill both ways in the snow to school, because they called school off.

I do remember in seventh grade it snowed so much and we missed so much school that we had to go to school on a Saturday. I was horrified. I kept waiting for some level-headed adult to say, "Sadly, we cannot do that. It is against the law."

At least we only had to go till noon that day.

Another winter, I think I was in third or fourth grade, the school superintendent called everybody who lived in town and asked for those children to walk to school the next day so it could count as a school day, as we had missed so much already.

There are downsides to living in a small town.

I went to school that day. It was so cold, those old radiators didn't work too well, so we sat in semi-circles around them with our coats and gloves on. I think the entire attendance of third and fourth grade fit in those two little semi-circles in one room. Mrs. Dover read stories to us all day.

Maybe it is childhood selective memory, but I have lots of them of snow in my childhood winters. Snow cream, snowball fights, snowmen, trying to figure out how you could go up the sidewalk to visit a friend without splattering yourself all over said sidewalk, because it was so slick where people had packed the snow down into a hard, solid surface.

I remember one snowy day our oil heater, which was the only heat in our big old house, stopped up. My Daddy was lying on the living room floor in his undershirt with his arm shoved up the stoves innards. He was covered in soot and his hair stood straight up. He was saying words that should be reserved for barrooms. I was trying not to laugh; valuing my life, and all.

It took days for our house to warm up after the heater started working because it was so cold. And of course, there was no such thing as insulation in the walls.

Beds had so many quilts on them, it was a concentrated effort to turn over during the night. And you didn't much want to, as you'd lose your warm spot if you weren't careful.

But I loved it. If ice comes I hope it brings snow too, not wimpy freezing rain. That's just dangerous and no fun. We'll stay home on our mountain, maybe build a fire in the fireplace. I've got flannel and wool and quilts and four cats.

Insulation, the old fashioned kind.