Two Pine Trees

When I was a young teen, my Daddy took me out to dinner, just the two of us, to The Plantation Inn. It was, at one time, the place for an excellent buffet, receptions and showers, but is now a memory, long lost to progress, strip malls and parking lots. I was surprised that Daddy would take me out for no reason, and I was pretty much in awe. During dinner, the table behind us was occupied by a group of business men discussing politics. Daddy couldn't help himself. He turned around, and joined in the conversation, and fascinated, I sat back with my slices of Virginia ham and mashed potatoes, and watched. The conversation was lively, the disagreements were many, and yet, not once did any of these gentlemen name call, or show what my Daddy would call a lack of character. They didn't agree, they conceded on a few beliefs, and they had a good time. My father told me when they left, he shouldn't have gotten involved. He told me that you don't discuss politics or religion, a...

The last blog I did was on the resilience of my parent's generation during crisis. I don't know for sure if I have painted them as saint like out of a fondness for golden memories, but I do believe I caught the gist of their character. I, on the other hand, am failing miserably when it comes to a resilient character during this time of Social Distancing and staying home during Covid-19. I would like a vacation from my family, please. While there are short spurts of time that everyone is occupied with either work or school, the rest of the time can only be described as live sardines in a constantly disinfected can. I have no room of my own. If I go to the bathroom, someone knocks on the door, or actually comes in. I'm feeding three dogs, a cat and one desperately skittish fish. The cat tends to drink from the filter in the fish tank, ever see a fish try to go incognito? The cat claims me when I sit to read, the dogs claim me at all times, underfoot and vying for attention....

My Mama told us about her life during The Great Depression. Every cadence of her voice comes back to me when I remember her stories. Being one of eight children, and somewhere just above the middle child, she'd tell us about running into the train yards at night, to get precious coal that had fallen onto the tracks. She, her older sisters and a couple of the younger brothers would stealthily sneak around the darkened tracks at night, loading their shirts, baskets, and bags with coal while keeping an eye out for the train detectives. One such night, her siblings scattered to avoid the detectives, and my Mama, all of nine years old, was left alone, hiding under a train at night. She eventually made it home to help distribute the coal to family and neighbors. My Daddy, on the other hand, had different memories of The Depression, as he grew up on a farm. They never went hungry, but they did without a lot. He retold stories of pranks pulled, and adventures won. His most frequently tol...

People lied to me about motherhood, and children. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It was all of that, and more. It didn’t go by “fast”. Their childhoods went by faster than a dead soap opera character can miraculously come back to life, faster than a politician can lie, faster than some caller can try to scam you in broken English. Every time I hit a milestone and get all verklempt over my miracles growing up, another mile marker hits me over the head. Early this morning I was working on my laptop and listening to my motherhood playlist. Now honestly, I’m pretty busy these days. But time expands and contracts all on its own rules. And motherhood taught me this if nothing else – grab, reach, expand, and don’t hesitate. Because your miracles will walk away all on their own, and you want them to do just that. Even if it makes you cry. So, here’s my playlist, and why those songs made the list, and at the end, I’ll explain about the yogurt. “Mama” LunchMoney Lewis –...