Monday, August 9, 2010

Butterfingers

Oh gosh, I have the funniest story to tell you guys. Today, I was in a errand frenzy. I had to go to the bank, feed the grandsons, (Whataburger of course), go to the post office to mail off the proof for the cookbook, go to the health food store and finally, go to a local community ministries store to donate a large tub of clothing and shoes. The last stop was the ministries store, and Martin drove around back to take the clothes to the donation point. I hurried into the store, because I cannot resist a second hand store, and as I walked in the front door, there before me was the computer console of my dreams. Now, for many years, I have wanted a computer hutch that was all-inclusive: meaning that it could close up when you are done, and when opened, had nooks and crannies, a place for the screen, the cpu, and a swing out desk. Something like this usually costs around 800.00 to way over a thousand, depending on the quality, and that is why I have never been able to get one. Well, like I said, there before me at the front of the store was this fabulous computer hutch, with everything I always wanted! And guess what? It was only 200.00! I decided then and there that it was going home with me! I asked the clerk to be sure it wasn't already sold, and behind her, she was putting up a sign saying that all desks were 75% off! Hold on Nellie! I almost attacked the poor little thing when I asked her if that hutch were also on sale and she brightly and cheerfully said, "YES IT IS!" I had to sit down. I was going to get my computer hutch for only 50.00! I ambushed Martin when he walked into the store, saying "give her 50.00 bucks and load this baby up!" He just blinked at me and said, "Okay". He realized the magnitude of the blessing we had just been given, and was as tickled as I was. Now, this hutch is about 7 feet tall and very heavy. Martin got some of the men at the store to help him load it on the truck, taking care not to nick it or scratch it in anyway. He tied it down with several cords, and took his sweet time getting home to make sure it got there safely. I was just a giggling fool the whole way, and finally we drove into the driveway with our treasure. Remember, this is roasting hot Houston, and I wanted to get the thing unloaded and into the house before I melted, so I went ahead and got the dolly and opened the gate for martin. He untied the hutch and carefully began to scoot it toward the tailgate. I forgot to tell you that square in the middle of the bed of the truck is a hitch ball sticking up that we use to pull our bar-b-que trailer. This ball is about 4 inches across and sticks up about 4 inches. Can you see where I am going with this? In the heat, martin's hands had become sweaty, and while he was scooting the hutch, it slipped from his hands and slammed down on the ball hitch. I heard the bang, and turned around to see the most pitiful sight ever. There stood Martin, with an expression on his face of a little boy who had just dropped a triple dipped ice cream cone! He looked at me with a look of horror, and 3 things happened within seconds. First, I realized the ball went through the back of the hutch, second, this was funny as hell, and third I started laughing and hugging martin at the same time. How could I be angry with my boy when he was trying so hard to make me happy? All is well, the hole in the back is perfect for running computer cords and electrical cords to the unit. I am happily typing at my new hutch, once again having been tremendously blessed by Heavenly Father. Oh, and today is Little Otto's birthday. For those of you who don't know, Little Otto is my son who was killed 18 years ago by a drunk driver. He would be 31 today, but he is still my Little Otto. Finally, after all these years, I can enjoy his birthday without crushing heartache- I know he hates it when I carry on the way I do. But this year, I am just happy knowing he is close to me, and that he knows that I know that he and I will be together again. Say! Maybe Little Otto made it possible for me to have my new hutch? Who knows?

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Chicken coup

Well, I received the proof for the new cookbook and had to look through it to make sure everything was printed correctly. It looks great, but I did find one mistake. In a recipe calling for chicken soup, the recipe said, "add one can of chicken coup." I think that is hilarious! I corrected it, but I wanted to share this with you.
Oh, and REALLY GREAT NEWS! Jacky has gone 3 days in a row without a doopie in the house! I am so pleased, that means that now I can take down the barriers to the living room and dining room. My house looks like a maze- you have to walk straight from the kitchen to the bathrooms and bedrooms, but hopefully my luck will hold and I can go back to normal.
Martin put together a gorgeous work center for me to work on to make the jelly, candies and other items. It makes me feel so good that he is so supportive of my efforts. I feel that I can go ahead with my dream of "From Nana's Kitchen" and express my talents. The work center has tons of storage, a wood butcher block top, and is 6 feet long. There is room for everything, tiny boxes of pectin, utinsels, lables, and on and on. I love organization, but I am the type of person who will forgo convienience if it is too costly. Martin told me that I was worth it, so now I am ready to go. I love making those mason jars with cookie mix in them, called "cookies in a jar" but it was hard to set up an assembly line for a lack of space. Now, I can just line up everything and go right down the line. I like to make chocolate chip, peanut butter chip, M&M cookies, brownies, oatmeal-cranberry-white chocolate chip- gingerbread and sugar cookies in a jar. The other idea I make is called "Alpha-Soup". It is alphabet pasta and other ingredients in a mason jar, and you just add it to 1 quart of boiling water to make a really yummy soup in no time! Hopefully, next month, I can display my items at a craft show and that should give me an idea of the popularity of my wares! I will keep you informed- thanks for listening!

Friday, July 30, 2010

It's a boy!

How happy I am to report that my son Aaron and my darling daughter-in-law are going to give me another grandson! This will be their fourth child, (Ben, Ali and Audrey along with new baby) and number 7 grandchild for me!Yes, we are overrun with little boys in this family, and yes that makes the little girls that much more precious to me, but I don't care what it is, I am always happy and excited to know that yet another incredible child will be joining our family! The baby is due in December, so I have to get cracking on another Christmas stocking!
Update on Jacky, he is doing so much better, I guess this is the price you pay for new puppydom! Rocky is so happy to have a brother, he has stopped chewing on stuff, getting into stuff, sneaking stuff from off the counter, tearing up stuff in the yard and for the most part, stopped jumping on people when they come. Now, Jacky is chewing on stuff, getting into stuff, and tearing up stuff in the yard. Fortunately he is too short to reach the counter- but he has figured out that I keep the pig ear chewies in the bottom drawer next to the stove. I have threatened Martin that he had better remind me of this current puppy experience if I EVER decide that more than two German Shepherds is a good idea.
Martin has obtained a Bar-B-Que trailer that encloses a rotating pit that can accomodate up to 40 briskets. Now, this thing is parked next to the house for the time being, and it looks somewhat like a FEMA trailer on wheels. I am happy for him. For many years, he has wanted a large pit inside a large trailer that he could cook many large briskets on, and by the grace of Heavenly Father, not only did he find the pit of his dreams, but got it at the price of his dreams. There will be brisket! Lots and lots of briskets! Already orders are pouring in for Martin's talents, so perhaps this could be a retirement bonus! We are trying to think of a good name for Martin's efforts, and my grandson Ben has come up with a pretty good one. He suggested "Brisket Heaven" and if any of you have ever had Martin's brisket, you would probably agree that it is an appropriate name! I will keep you informed- there is much to tell you, and I am looking forward to sharing!

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Stemming the tide


Well, I cleaned up much less today after jacky- actually he is doing very well as new puppies go. (and I do mean "go"). I finished a huge batch of blueberry preserves and was in the process of cleaning the kitchen, when I received a phone call from a very dear friend, saying she was coming over to visit and bring me a surprise. I sped up the cleaning process, put bright placemats on the table, swept the floor, swept the back patio, did a quick check and decided that everything looked pretty good. I sat down for a while to await my friend, basking in the cool air of the ever-present fan that runs 24-7 along with the airconditioner. I was just beginning to relax, when I smelled a familiar smell. You guessed it, a great, big pile right on the tile floor. I wasn't sure how much time I had, but I have become very proficient at cleaning poo piles, and jumped up, grabbing paper towels, spray, a walmart bag and tackled the latest offering. I picked it up with about a dozen paper towels, (I need to make sure I don't actually touch the stuff!) stuffed it in the walmart bag, sprayed the spot, scrubbed with more paper towels and then stuffed them in the walmart bag too. I was done in under a minute, flat! Then, I ran to the trashe can outside, dumped the whole thing in the can and returned to the kitchen. It was then I realized that just because you pick up a pile, it doesn't mean the smell leaves too! It was at this very moment that I saw my friend parking outside on the curb- and I grabbed a can of febreeze spray and started bombing the room with all the energy I had. The puppy started sneezing from the spray, but I was only worried that the aroma of his latest gift was still lingering in the air. Just as my friend made it to the gate of the patio, I opened the laundry room door and launched that can of febreeze onto a shelf somewhere. (I may never see it again). My friend came in the house and hugged me, while presenting me with a fabulous bouquet of sunflowers! She was either very good as masking her feelings or the febreeze actually did the job, because she did not react as if we must have a 500 pound puppy living with us. (after all, with what Jacky is dumping, it is not a stretch that he could be that big!) Will it ever end? How many cases of paper towels, how many gallons of Odoban, how many supersized cans of Lysol, how many giant containers of "Wee Wee deodorizer" must I buy? I am trying to remember if Rocky was like this, and Martin assures me that it is possible. And another thing, that puppy cannot possibly be eating enough to justify his efforts at elimination! I hope the future will show that I have overcome this trial, and can report that Jacky is happily decorating the back yard with what he his happily decorating my house with now. I love the little guy, and try to remember that he is just a precious little puppy that will bring many years of love and devotion. Right? Right? Someone tell me that I am right! Love ya, me
PS- my sweet sister in law and my brother gave me a fabulous gift last night! It is an antique ice box from the 30's and I am going to use it to display my jams and jellies! (I still have to check with Ashely though, since she owns the store!). I hope she approves, because I cannot think of a better way to promote my jellies and jams than with something so unusual. I can't wait to see it!

Monday, July 19, 2010

Making progress!

Last night, we got the big idea that if we crated Jacky and took him out every couple of hours, he would understand that pooping in the house is a no-no. Between Martin and I, we were up every two hours as planned and this morning, no poo-poo on the floor. (I probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, I was so bleary and tired!) We had errands to run, and so we put a folding table against the doggie door so that Rocky and Jacky could enjoy the lovely summer day- (whatever, it is Houston, just plain hot, hot, hot!) Anyway, when I got home, the table was knocked over and an exhuberant Jacky was INSIDE the house. I braced myself for what I knew would be a mountain of poo, but to my delight and surprise, nothing! Then, just as I was congratulating myself on a job well done, mister Jacky went into the dining room where he always leaves his piles and tinkled right in front of me! I snatched him up and dribbled him through to the back door, where I deposited him in his designated "tinkle" area. Martin and I went to petco to get some other type of tinkle deterrant, and came home to yet another poo-free house! Even though there was no poo, I went in to yet again mop the dining room with a "guaranteed" odor remover and then it hit me. Sitting on the piano or near it in the dining room was the following: a gallon of vinegar, a large bottle of clorox clean up, 3 kinds of odor eliminator, a roll of paper towels, a roll of trash bags, a brand new super-sized box of swiffer mopping pads, the swiffer mop itself, (with another brand new container of cleaner in it) and a large can of Lysol. Something is dreadfully wrong here! Then, Martin came up with an idea. He went and got two giant cardboard boxes and made a barrier between the dining room and the rest of the house. After having a nice doggie dinner, Jacky began to forlornly sniff the barrier, pacing back and forth. I called him out to the yard, and Hallelujah! He did his business! Maybe I am jumping the gun, but there have been no more accidents tonight, and Jacky has gone in and out of the doggie door several times. I don't care if I have invested a royal amount on "anti-poo and pee" solutions, if the little dear can get the hang of going outside, then it will be money well spent.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

New Puppy Jacky!


Oh, I forgot to tell you that we have a new member of the family! He is (of course) a german shepherd and is now 13 weeks old. He was a blessing that fell into our lap, and we are so tickled. We have been wanting a brother for Rocky, and this little baby is just perfect. You will hear more in the future of Jacky, but for now, join us in welcoming him to the family.

PS- he is a pooping little devil, I am really working on house training him! I don't know where all the poop is coming from, I don't think an elephant could make that much! Isn't Rocky getting big? He really loves his new little brother!

Does anything ever go right?

Hello all, I am home now from a really wonderful stay in El Paso with Aaron's family, (Sarah, Ben, Ali and Audrey) and it has taken me a few days to catch up on things. First of all, I was smothered in love and kisses from my grandkids. Then, I had to go to the Coach outlet, (I know, I am naughty) and then we went to a darling little town in New Mexico, I think it is called Old Messina, but I am not sure. It was very close to the Mexican border, and in my opinion, as good as acutally going to Mexico. I bought a large gourd and the clerk drilled a hole in it. Ben, Ali and
Audrey painted it and it is hanging up as a birdhouse. While I was there, Martin and I went into the desert to find some cactus. Oh, there was plenty of cactus to be found, it was a veritable cactus wonderland. Cactus everywhere. Remember now, we are talking about me in the desert in this cactus wonderland, and of course I get excited and don't exactly pay attention to the details around me. I saw one cactus in particular with a lovely salmon pink bloom on top of it and started over to it. Just about the time I reached it, the thought very strongly went through my mind to STOP! I stopped right there, wondering why I would have such a strong impression. Maybe there was a large snake close by, or something like that. As I was looking around for whatever the trouble could be, I noticed that not more than 10 feet ahead of me was a sharp drop-off. I hadn't noticed the edge of the cliff, because there was so much foilage grown up in front of me. My heart began to hammer as I realized that perhaps I could have been hurt. I edged closer to the edge, and to my surprise, it was about a 40 foot drop! The way I lumber along, I probably would have gone over the edge before I even knew what happened! As I stood there thanking Heavenly Father for the warning, I realized that Aaron, (he is an orthopedic surgeon) would have been really upset if I had fallen off the cliff and he had to work on me! Anyway, the cactus was still waiting for me, but I used much more caution after that. I was able to get some really lovely little specimens, and I hope the survive the coastal climate. I will write more tomorrow of the other adventures from my vacation, I am tired from just having made another 28 jars of peach jam! Love, me

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Compulsive Nana!

Well, last posting told you about the dewberry jelly that I made. I made a LOT of dewberry jelly! Then, I got the notion to make strawberry jam and cherry jam. My sweet sister in law had given me a large plastic tub of used mason jars, and I wanted to fill them up. Martin took me to the farmer's market to get the fruit and a funny thing happened along the way. Martin likes to play the lottery. I try not to. That particular day, Martin went into a store and came out with a lottery ticket for me to scratch off. I wanted to tell him that we didn't need to waste our money on such things, but I hate to be confrontational if I don't have to and so, good wife that I am, I just took the ticket and scratched it off, all the while thanking him for thinking of me. Well, guess what! I won 50.00. I am sure that 50.00 is minescule in comparison to the money dropped over the years, but it was fun to have won it anyway. I am not condoning playing the lottery, I just don't want to be a shrew, and anyway, ultimately it is Martin's decision, right? I took the money and went to the market. I was feeling so tickled, because I could get the cherries and strawberries and not feel guilty for taking the cost out of our very tight household budget. To make a long story short, I came home (after a confrontation with a fruit stall vendor who was incredibly crabby- I am never going back to her!) and unloaded my fruit. I made 24 jars of strawberry, and 36 jars of cherry jam. You would think I would be done, but the next day, I got the idea to make pickled green tomatoes, which I dearly love. So, the day after that, we went back to the market and bought some green tomatoes and onions. While I was there, I remembered that I was going to see Aaron and his family in El Paso and also remembered that he used to like my bread and butter pickles when he was little. So, I bought some more onions, and a half bushel of cucumbers. Because I cannot do anything halfway, I went to Walmart and bought some more jars, pickling salt, pickling spice and saw the wonders of wonders. A food processer that would slice those cukes, tomatoes and onions in no time! I am sure glad I splurged, because it only took me about a half hour to slice up the cucumbers, all the onions and the green tomatoes. Everyone had to get in on torturing the vegetables and commenting on how fast the machine worked. I was just glad that my lazy self did not have to do it all by hand. I ended up making 7 jars of tomato pickles and 12 jars of bread and butter pickles. That day, we were at Kroger, and I saw a couple of bags of peaches that were on the clearance rack. They were only a dollar a bag so I bought them and brought them home to make 20 jars of peach jam.Then, my sweet sister in law came over with a large bag of tomatoes, onions, green peppers and other goodies. I thought how much fun it would be to make some salsa! Out came the food processer again, and bang! LOTS of salsa. Probably 14 quarts. Am I done? Not likely! I got into the freezer, and took out the apple slices that were given to me by a dear friend. I made apple butter with them, about 9 pints. When I went to the local feed store (that also sells fresh produce) to get a cantaloupe, the owner and I began to talk and I admired a little basket of fresh plums. She said that they were just off her tree, and I told her that I loved making plum jelly. In fact, that was the first jelly I ever made, when I was but 7 years old in Missouri with my dear Aunt Eva. That experience set me up for loving home canning for the rest of my life. The feed store lady asked me if I wanted to make some jelly for her. I said sure, and she gave me a bushel of plums, some boxes of jars and told me that I could keep half of everything for doing the work! I made 24 jars of plum jelly and she was very happy that I had done so in a very short time. Then, when I delivered my jelly to her, I noticed that there was some fresh squash in the cooler. I love pickled vegetables, and have made all kinds. I thought pickled squash would be so good. I needed one red pepper to add to the yellow squash to give lovely color to the contents, and went to Kroger to get one. The red bell peppers were 2.00 each! 2.00! Well, I almost gave in a bought one, but then, remembering the peaches, I asked the produce clerk if they had any bell peppers ready for the mark down shelf. She came back with 2 bags of red, yellow and green bell peppers, and they were only a dollar a bag! I squealed with delight! I ran to the car with my treasures, but then realized that I only had a couple of pounds of squash- and lots of peppers. So---- I went home and began to slice up vegetables. I cut up all the peppers, the squash, and the onions. The colors together were fabulous! I ended up making 5 large jars of what I have christened, "Garden Pickles"! Oh, I forgot. When I delivered the jelly to the feedstore, the owner gave me some small cucumbers, some onions and a box of peaches that were getting too ripe. She wouldn't take a dime for them, and so, I also have more canning to do. Jaybird and I made 12 pints of sweet gherkin pickles and I made 38 half-pints of peach jam. Now, this has been going on for over a week, and since I am leaving for El Paso tomorrow, I am finished for now. My friend Ashley has a lovely shop in Kemah Tx, near my home, named Scribblin' Sisters and she offered to give me a small space in the store if I wanted to sell a few jars of jelly. That is so sweet of her, and so I have 20 jars of peach jam to start with, to see how it goes. The feed store lady also offered to sell my jams and jellies, so when I get back, I will see how that goes too! If it works out, I will continue to endulge myself through making jelly, jams, preserves, pickles, salsa and whatever else I can think of.
During the making of the apple butter, I asked Peanut if she had time to help me. She told me that she was really tired, (I guess so, she goes all the time) and so I told her to go and rest and I would be okay. Later, she went back into the kitchen and sampled the apple butter just before I bottled it. She told me it was really good, and asked if she could take a bottle to her boss. I replied, "do I look like the little red hen?" But, I will share, after all, Heavenly Father has given me a bounty of produce, and if I don't share, He would be dissapointed! Besides, as my Grandmother Carter taught me, "If you share, you get more!" Love, me

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Jelly

Today I finished making the last of just about 5 gallons of homemade wild dewberry jelly. I didn't make a 5 gallon container, but lots and lots of jelly jars. This means so much to me because, I have been making jelly for a long time, and it brings back so many wonderful memories.
I first started making jelly just to learn how. It is not hard, and in my youth, (20's) I was in an "Earth Mother" mentality. This means that I learned lots of homemaking skills such as canning, soap making, candle making, and all sorts of other stuff. We lived near the farmer's market in Houston, and every day the vendors would throw out entire bushel of produce if only a few items had blemishes. I was not too proud to go and sort through the boxes and usually came home with several bags or boxes of fresh fruits and vegetables. I would hurry and cook and can the produce for my family, or freeze it or can it. It was almost free, and I loved doing it. Martin would also go by the market and bring stuff home for me. I had Sissy and Bobbie Jo then, (they were very small) and they would sit on the porch with me while I peeled carrots, shucked corn, shelled peas and other stuff. I would prepare strawberries, apples, grapes, peaches and cherries to make jellies and preserves. I even learned to can meat, and when chicken or other meat would go on sale, I would spend hours in the kitchen cooking and packing meat in bottles to go into the pressure canner. I don't know where I got the energy, but I did it and loved it the whole time.
In July, 1977 Martin and I had an appointment to go to Salt Lake City Utah to be sealed in the temple there. We had no money, but had been planning the trip for about 6 months and that gave me time to think of ways to help pay for the trip. I had learned that Aaron was on the way, but in my "Earth Mother" mentality, I felt I could do anything- and was determined to earn some money. I planted a garden. In the spring of that year, I worked the little garden, mentally congratulating myself on my efforts. I thought that maybe I could bottle some tomatoes, and sell some of the tomatoes and some fresh squash. Then, it rained and flooded everything and my garden died. By then, it was the month of May, and the time was getting short. One day, I noticed some wild berries in the park. I got a brainstorm. I would pick berries and make jelly to sell! Martin thought that was a good idea and so together with the little girls, we would pick any berries we could find and put them in the freezer. It was hot, and I was pregnant, but all I could think of was the money for the trip. In the heat of the day, I would walk through brambles and stickers to pick berries, and sometimes I would have to bend over to get them. I didn't care. Somehow, I was able to get mason jars, mayonaise jars, baby food jars and any other kind of jar to hold jelly. My only real expense was sugar, so we were able to cover that. The fruit was free, and so, my vacation jelly took off. Then, my neighbor told me that her grandmother used to make jelly from mulberries. She said it was very good- but I didn't hear that because my mind was rushing ahead to the locations of several mulberry trees and their bounteous produce. I ran home and told Martin, and he went right out and started picking mulberries. Once again, we had plenty and they joined the jelly making. I went to the market and got strawberries that had been culled, and they were wonderful and made the best jam. Soon, my whole kitchen, dining room and living room were full of lovely jars of jams and jellies. The rainbow of colors greeted me each morning like the jewels in the crown of a queen. I told my friends in the neighborhood and at church why I was selling my jelly. Everyone was so supportive and soon, I had earned over 150.00 for the trip. That was a lot of money in those days, and it really helped us.
After we moved to the country, there were hundreds of berry bushes in the field behind the house. Each spring, I would wait for the berries to ripen, and get my bucket ready to go. I would take the children, but they griped that they didn't want to pick berries. They would try to wander off, but I told them to stay close by or the bears would get them. "Aw Mama, there ain't no bears around here!" declared Sissy. The other little ones agreed with her, but then I said, "what makes you think there are no bears around here? Bears love berries, why, I guess that's why they call them, bear-ries!" This made perfect sense to the little ones, and they stayed right next to me after that!
I also made wild fig preserves. Texas grows figs everywhere, and no one knows what to do with them, (unless you have been raised eating figs, and then you really know how wonderful they are). If you can find someone with a fig tree, chances are they will be glad to let you have all you want. I make mine with strawberry jello, and it tastes just like strawberry preserves. My kids ate fig preserves all of their lives and never realized they were eating figs.
Which brings me to my thoughts while I was making jelly. When we were young, Martin picked berries and figs for me. He never complained, indeed he took pride in getting as many as he could for me. The scratches from the berry briars on his arms and hands were stripes of honor that he had earned trying to make me happy. Recently this spring, the berries came in with an abundance that I have not seen in years. Martin took me everyday to pick them. Some days, our grandkids would go with us, and once my sweet little nieces went to pick berries to make Father's Day jelly for thier daddy. We each had our buckets, mosquito spray, bottles of water and hats setting by the back door for the next mornings trip. I could not go into the thicket for a couple of reasons, the stickers, my terrible balance and a severe allergy to poison ivy. Martin would insist that I stay on the edge of the woods where the berries were plentiful, and he would take a machete, a stick and his bucket and plunge into the bushes. If the children went he would patiently show them how to take a stick and push back the stickers to reach the berries. How they loved going with us to the woods. Martin found berries that no one else could get to. I could see his head over the tops of the bushes and thicket, bobbing up and down as he picked and picked. While I stayed on the outside of the thicket, I would talk to him so he would know I was still there. Sometimes I gave up and flopped onto the soft grass in the shade of a tree, waiting for him to fill his bucket. While sitting there, I saw rabbits peeking out through the brambles, bees buzzing back and forth from a hive and a myriad of colors as wild birds flew in all directions. The air was so sweet, and while sitting there, I took the time to pray. Sometime the tears would flow as I realized all of the blessings I have in my life. One day, just when I thought my heart would burst with joy at the realization of all that I have been blessed with, I looked up and saw my sweetheart walking towards me, waving his bucket that I could clearly tell was filled to the top with fat, sweet dewberries. For an instant, he was once again the young man out in the fields with me, picking berries so that I could make jelly for our vacation money. His expression was the same, a happy little boy that had something wonderful just for me. If I thought my heart was full of joy before, I realized that it was nothing compared to the love I felt as Martin walked across that field toward me. I never did tell him of my thoughts, but I did thank him once again for his efforts to make me happy. And, once again, he had his stripes of honor, as his arms were crisscrossed with scratches.
I took the berries we picked this spring and put them into the freezer. I gathered jars, sugar and pectin and prepared to once again make jelly. Today, I finished making all that jelly, and the jars are lined up on the cutting board like trophies of love. I have shared some of it, and will put some up for the year ahead, and give some for christmas gifts, but I know that each time I open a jar and spread that jelly, I am spreading joy, love and memories.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Fritos

Gosh, I wonder why fritos taste so good? Not just good, but addictive. And what about Cheetos? Same thing, both just little corn wonders that can take over your life. It is funny too, that it has to be Cheetos or Fritos, and not the off brand. The off brand just does not deliver the taste and Frito experience. I should know, when the kids were small, Fritos were not purchased, because I could get a semblance of a corn chip for about half the price. But now, in the twilight years of my life, it is Fritos or nothing! Now, I have been doing very well at Weight Watchers for the last 5 weeks. I am really happy about that, and if I stay on the course I am on, in October, 2011, I am going to have reached my goal. At that time, I am going to have a "look at me, I am no longer a porky" party. You are all invited. Back to the fritos. I am very good each day, and at night, when I am at the keyboard, or whatever, it suddenly occurs to me that perhaps I might have a few points left for the day. Points are measures of food you can have each day. Okay, honestly, I know exactly how many points are left at any given moment of the day! Anyway, if I am lucky enough to have at least 4 points left, I can have 32 frito chips. Not the scoops, just the little chips. Let me put this into perspective. 4 points will get you half of a gooey brownie, or 2 cups of unsweetened applesauce. For 4 points, you can have almost 2 cups of watermelon cubes. You can also have a cup of rice, a cup of mashed potatoes, a sandwich with veggies and one slice of lunch meat, or a tuna sandwich with light mayonnaise, also using light bread. You can load those sandwiches with fresh vegetables too, without adding extra points.You can have a lovely cup and a half of oatmeal with a few raisins, or even a bowl of special K with skim milk. You can actually consume several cups of sugar free jello, and not reach 4 points. Okay, I am sure you have the picture. So, calculating points with a mental points calculating gift, I make sure that there are 4 points left at the end of the day, so that me and one of my best friends forever, Fritos, can be together. That's right, salty, greasy non-nutritional Fritos. But hey, I never thought the day would come when I would methodically count out 32 fritos, making sure they are 32 complete Fritos, and not ones that are broken off. Upon hearing the rustle of the bag, Martin, even with the tv on at it's loudest shouts, "are you counting Fritos? Remember you only get 32!" ( I usually remark to myself that it is a miracle that he can even hear the damn things, you could shoot off a cannon any other time and he would not even flinch). So, with all the wonders at my reach that equal 4 points and are very nutritional and filling why would I waste the points on Fritos? I think it is because it makes me feel wicked! In spite of the almost nightly Frito fest, I am still losing at the rate of 2 pounds a week- so I am very good all day, and at night, I pull out the stops and count out my fritos. I hope I do not sound obsessed- it is just that it is so much fun to have a naughty snack and still know that I am on the right track. Sometimes I deviate from the plan, and count out CHEETOS! (I can only have 21 pieces of Cheetos though.) On Cheetos nights, I take the time to try to get the chubby cheetos instead of the skinny ones. For one thing, chubby cheetos seem to taste better, and get more cheese powder on your fingers. (better for slurping it off later). Skinny cheetos are no fun. When you first open the bag, the chubby Cheetos call out, enticing you to grab them first. Martin always wants the big, chubby Cheetos because he agrees that they taste better. You know that when you get to the bottom of a bag of Cheetos, there are only little, hard, skinny cheetos left- and probably well on the way to staleville because someone hogged the chubby ones first. I think Frito-lay should only put chubby Cheetos in a bag- but I digress. Going back to the original question- why do Fritos taste go good? I don't know, and I don't care. I am just thankful that in the larger scheme of things, Heavenly Father allows us to have Fritos on the earth. Even at servings of only 34 pieces, it is still heaven!

Monday, June 14, 2010

I am starting a new blog!

I have had numerous requests to publish parts of Bobbie Jo's Miracle, and will in the near future begin that process. At this time, I am mailing off the cookbook I wrote in her memory, and that will come back around the first of August.
The cookbooks are a compilation of all of Bobbie's recipes, both the ones she learned from me and the ones she taught me. There are 185 recipes in the book, and some of them are vintage, while other's are just plain unique. Of course there are the ones with country cookin', and some really great party dishes.
The cookbooks are entitled, "With Love, Bobbie Jo". They will sell for 10.00 and the funds raised from the sale will go into an account that will go towards college tuition or missionary funds for both Jared and his cousins. If Bobbie Jo's Miracle sells well, that too will be added to the account. In this way, Bobbie Jo will be able to assist her family in the future, as she would have done had she been here.
I am not sure what shipping will be for the cookbooks when I mail them out to you, but you can be sure that not one penny over the acutal shipping costs will be charged.
The first printing will be for only 200 books, and I have had many requests already, so if you are interested, let me know right away. I will re-print the cookbooks if the demand is there, but I don't know if the second printing will make it before the Christmas season. I will let you know.
Now, the new address for my blog is: nanasee1a.blogspot.com. Please come and visit me there. I love knowing that you are reading me, and I have such fun writing too. On this blog, I will finish the "children's Home Experience". Keep coming back to see how that turned out.
So, to the launch of many wonderful experiences! I will see you on both blogs for now, but soon, only on "Nana in Wonderland!" Love, Nana

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

I'm still here

I have not been posting as I have been busy with another project. I feel that I must finish the Children's Home Experience, and so I will, but for now, I am trying to complete a cookbook of all the recipes that Bobbie Jo loved and was well known for. It shouldn't take long, and when I am done, I hope to sell them for a modest price in order to put the profits back to give Jared something from his mom for the future. So, don't give up on me! By the way, I am racking my brain for a good title- if you have any suggestions, send them on. The recipes are great, I think anyone would love them. So, till later, Love, me

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Here comes the Bride!

Last night I reached a milestone in my life. I watched as my baby, my last daughter to get married, tried on wedding dresses. When I held her just moments after her birth, so many years ago, I tried to envision her in a wedding dress. When she was little, I saw her playing dress-up and wondered what she would look like walking down the aisle. Of course, I could not bear to imagine which lucky male would win her heart-not just yet! When she was in junior high, she was so outgoing and kind to others, a real example of a daughter of God. Other kids gravitated to her, wanting to be more like her. She did not abuse that opportunity, rather extended her arms in help and compassion, certainly making others more happy. In high school, she blossomed, sharing her talents and bringing joy to so many. She faced the loss of her mother, but when I survived , was there to help me through a long and difficult recovery. She touched so many with her lovely spirit, embracing their troubles and walking with them. She did not stay out late! I guess she was a typical teenager, but at this moment, it hard to remember if she gave me any huge trouble. I have so many pictures of her with friends, smiling, participating in school events, going to dances, going to girls camp. Each time there was an event where others would be participating, she would ask if she could make cookies for the crowd. When she was going to girls camp for several days, she would ask if I could buy lots of candy for the girls to make the stay eaisier for them. She graduated from high school, and got her present job, where she has climbed the ladder through hard work, consideration for others, reliability and initiative. Last year, when she was in college full time, and working full time, she took what was left of her precious time and spent night after night with her dying sister in the hospital. She ran and got food for her sister that she knew her sister could not finish, but had asked for and so needed to have. She bathed her sister, watched as her sister's hair fell out from chemo, held her sister through unimaginable pain and suffering. She was there every possible moment until her precious sister died, and promised her sister that she would help her sister's son in any way she could throughout his life. She has kept that promise, going to baseball games, taking him to Astros games, trying to help in anyway she can. She is his "Aunt Peanut". And then, she met the love of her life, her eternal companion. Again, she chose wisely, she chose a man who will forever honor her and her family. He is kind, good, loving and faithful. He works everyday, comes home with injured hands, but with a smile for her. They will marry. And so, I found myself, last night thinking of all these thoughts as I waited for her to come from the dressing room. She had tried on other gowns, but they were not right. I had sniffled and cried copious tears with each presentation, knowing that she would be the most beautiful bride ever. Then, she floated from the dressing room, beaming with joy in the perfect dress. It was her dress- the one she had found in a catalog, the one she had gushed over, the one that should have been made for her and no one else. This time, I did not cry. I could not cry. I was overwhelmed. I saw her as she had become, a woman of God, an example of perfect womanhood, a mother to fortunate children, a wife to her beloved, but always her daddy's little girl. But I no longer saw the little girl, the teenager, the young adult. When she turned to show me the back of the dress, I saw her walking away from me, into the arms of another. But as she peered over her shoulder to see my reaction, I saw that she would for ever by my baby girl. Now, I am such a tightwad, pinching nickles to make dimes, and I knew that that dress was going to really be expensive. I had talked to her daddy that morning, and he said to go ahead and try to get the dress she wanted, she was worth it. Well, I hope he meant it! Any way, I swallowed, smiled a huge smile and asked the shop clerk how much the dress cost. She looked at me, and with a smile said, 900.00! I blinked. 900.00! But seeing the expression on my baby's face and the beauty that she was, I began to calculate how much I could put down on it and put it in lawaway to pay for it over the summer. But then, the dear little shop clerk leaned in close and whispered, "tomorrow it is going on sale." Sale?!!!! Yeah, my favorite word! I am now thinking that maybe it would be a couple of hundred off, and began to feel better. I asked how much she thought it would be, and she went to ask. She came back and said, "tomorrow, it will be 99.00." What?!!!! 99.00? "yes, that is right, 99.00" she said. Well, as I finish this blog, you can imagine where I am going next. You bet, right to the store to get that miracle of a wedding dress! Yes, it is a miracle, but you know, angels deserve miracles, don't they? And I think my baby is an angel! Love, Nanasee

Thursday, May 6, 2010

For some reason, I remembered something about the little cat that I had found in town after the Children's home had relocated. I do remember telling you about the small town, and how there was nothing there, just a few stores, but there was a grocery store and that is what I was thinking about. That led to another thought, and so here it is. I was not allowed to keep the little cat in the house, but the matron was sneaking food and milk to it and probably sneaking it into her room at night. I didn't worry about him, but I did spend all the time I could with him. At the new home, the cottages were built on hills, and so the front of the cottage looked one story, but the back was two story. The bottom floor held the kitchen, dining room, TV room and laundry. The back door was a set of french doors with many panes of glass. This was wonderful for a view, as you could see the woods behind the cottage and all the greenery. When the birds were there, they emitted a chorus of birdsong that just entranced me from the cottage to sit on a rock out back to enjoy the concert. I have always loved birds, and especially trying to spot the songster-so sitting out back was great fun to me. I remember one day, the greenery of the woods enticing me to come into the fresh air. I went through the glass doors and walked to my favorite seating place, looking down and seeing a tiny scorpion making his way across the dirt toward the rock I was sitting on. He couldn't have hurt anyone, but my very vivid imagination took flight and I began to see myself in the desert with a huge threatening, vicious scorpion making every effort to spear me. The quiet cool of the outdoors became an oven, and the greenery gave way to sand and a brown landscape. I was a bedouin, wrapped in white, traveling on a camel with the rest of the caravan. (as I said, I had quite an imagination). While my mind was at work, a desert panther came to my rescue and killed the scorpion- well, okay, it was the little cat and he was playing with the tiny little scorpion near my feet. I was glad to see him, and reached down to pick him up for a cuddle. He meowed, and I thought that he might be hungry. Seriously, he was getting kind of fat, no telling what the matron was feeding him, but in spite of that, I carried him into the cottage and into the kitchen. I held him in the crook of my left arm, and opened the fridge with my right. Taking stock of the contents, I saw a small container of chicken livers. I knew he would love that so I took the livers and the cat and sat back down on my rock out back. I set the cat down at my feet, and opened the container of livers. Kitty immediatly perked up and began to meow vigorously. I took a small piece of liver and held it in front of kitty, imagining that he must think that I was the best kitty owner in the world. Before I knew it, kitty jumped forward to snatch the liver, chomped down on the piece in my hand, and a very sharp kitty tooth went right in my finger. I jumped back and dropped the liver, and kitty went on eating, quite forgetting all about me. A tiny drop of blood welled from the tiny hole left by the sharp little tooth. Believe it or not, I was crushed with hurt that kitty had bitten me. Why did he bite me? Wasn't I good to him? Didn't I pet him, play with him and make sure that matron kept him warm? The act of biting me represented to me that kitty didn't love me at all. He was just another in a long list of those I loved who didn't care for me in return. I began to cry, feeling all the feelings of desolation, abandonment and resentment building faster than a fire in a wood house. The waves of pain coursed over my heart, and things I thought I had forgotten, (and indeed should have been able to forget) crashed through my mind, making me gasp with emotional pain. I began to feel a darkness surround me- where once the day was green and pleasant, now it was ruined. Damn Cat. But then, I remembered the day at the edge of the swimming pool, when I thought I no longer cared to live. As soon as that thought came to me, so did the feelings of light and love that were so strong there as well. I felt something brush against my leg, and looked down to see the furry bundle that was kitty, looking up at me and meowing softly. Immediatly, the dark feelings left me, the world became green again and the birds seemed to renew their efforts to entertain me. I knew that kitty did not mean to bite me, he just mistook my finger for the liver. Then I began to wonder. Did the others who had hurt me really mean to? Did I take their actions as malicious? Or, did they love me enough to think that perhaps I would understand their actions, and not be hurt by them? I would love to say that I had an epiphany that day, that a tiny cat bite changed my way of thinking about hurt and disolusionment, but in truth I could forgive a mistake by a tiny, furry friend where I could not find it in my heart to understand the other hard times in my life. Understanding and forgiving are two different things. But, where I could not find understanding, I found guidance. Once again, I felt the love of my Heavenly Father surrounding me as I struggled to understand what my life had become, and once again, I was reminded that I was young and had my whole life in front of me. The promise came to me again, that I would have blessings far beyond my comprehension, and to keep a positive heart. Kitty was still rubbing and meowing for some more liver- and so with great love and compassion, I took another piece from the container. This time though, I made sure my finger was out of the way. After all, I didn't want a repeat of the first time, even though I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes when loved ones hurt you, they don't mean to, they just don't realize your finger is in the way. Love, nanasee

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Angel in the Outfield

I was at a baseball game for Jaybird today, and I realized how fortunate we are that our whole family and many in the community continue with support for this precious little boy. He does not show his grief over losing his Mama, and sometimes I wonder how much he keeps in. If she had been at the game today, she would have been screaming encouragement through the chain link fence each time Jaybird was up to bat or made a play in the outfield. Jaybird does not attend games by himself. He has a wonderful loving support system. He has Peanut and Joe, Nana and Papa, Sissy and Robbie and the boys, his dad Owen, Step-mom Marie and all the other members of the team and their families. Sissy and Peanut take him to practice and pick him up, and all of the family is right there to see to his every need. I know that Bobbie Jo appreciates all of this, and is relieved that her baby is so well looked after. But, at the end of the day, she is not here on earth, but in heaven, and Jaybird is here on earth without her. So, the reason for this posting. Today, Jaybird slammed a ball to the far outfield and made it to second base. We were screaming and cheering for him, and when he slammed into second base way ahead of the ball, he turned to the bleachers where all of us were and raised his arms and jumped up and down. And then, he did something that made me realize how very close he is to his mama. He kissed his fingers and raised them to heaven. It was a tribute to his Mama, a way for him to let her know that he loves her so much. At that moment, I felt something snap in my heart, and I crumbled in tears. I literally covered my face with the neckline of my T-shirt and began to sob. They were not tears of grief, but tears of something; Joy?, maybe a realization of how close Bobbie Jo is to us?; or perhaps tears of expression knowing that she is not dead-simply not here. That gesture from Jaybird gave me a link to my daughter- connected us for a moment, and made me realize that I have not lost her. It is so hard not being able to see her in the flesh, but I have such a testimony that there is life after death, and that families are eternal. It is so wonderful that the simple faith of a little boy made this clear to me once again. Things like that are how I get by day to day, even with the crushing grief that could overcome me. I miss my Son Otto, and my daughter Bobbie Jo. Every moment, I miss them. Thank God for the gift of eternal life- and the sure knowlege that they are so very close to me at all times. Love, nanasee

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Turkey tale!

For some reason, today I thought of the Thanksgiving day in the home when I was 14. The matron told me and Mindy that we were going to help with the Thanksgiving dinner that year. I was kind of excited, but had no clue as to what to do, so I decided that I would ask lots of questions and try to make as little trouble as possible. The day before Thanksgiving, Mindy and I and some of the other girls, along with Mrs. T got up early to start making desserts. Remember now, that we were in the deep South, and pie was the backbone of Thanksgiving dessert. We made a list of the pies we would make. Lemon merengue, chocolate merengue, coconut, sweet potato, pecan and of course, pumpkin. The reason that we were to make so many is that we were going to have members of the Home administration dining with us. In addition to the pies, we made a prune cake, crumb cake, and apple crisp. All day we peeled apples, whipped egg whites, cooked pie fillings, shelled pecans, peeled sweet potatoes, soaked prunes rolled pie crusts, (made with lard of course) and washed and washed bowls and utinsels over and over. I became a true Southern woman that day, I learned to make merengue. That is something of an art in the South, if you don't make it right, it well separate and make your pie look ugly. I began the process by separating room temperature egg yolks from the whites, making sure not to even get a tiny bit of egg yolk in the whites! Next you add a small bit of cream of tartar and start beating. Fortunately we had a large mixer, and that was a blessing as it would have taken hours to beat those whites into stiff peaks! As it was, it took some time, and I had to stand there scraping down the sides of the mixing bowl and watching the whites carefully. After a while, they actually started to form stiff peaks. Then, I added sugar and beat some more. Believe it or not, the merengue was perfect! I forgot to tell you about the pie crusts from scratch and the cooking of the pie fillings, but others did that; my job was the fluffy white merengue topping. I piled the merengue on top of the cooked pies lying enticingly in their golden brown crusts, (remember, southern women make a science of pie making) and put the lofty topped pies into a hot oven. In a few minutes, the merengue was lightly browning and ready to come out. Now, the secret to having perfect pies to present at Thanksgiving, is to make extra to sample the day before. That way, the dinner pies will actually make it to the table, since the sampling pies held us over until then. After the pies and cakes and crisps were done, and the bowls were licked and washed, we set about making the homemade rolls. That took some time, but those rolls too, turned out great. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, we chopped celery and onions for the cornbread dressing, and made sure we had everything for the most perfect Thanksgiving meal ever! The next morning, the kitchen was humming with girls and matrons cooking dinner. Someone had to peel the mountain of potatoes for mashing, assemble the dressing, decorate the dining room, fix the vegetables, (corn, green beans, turnip greens with bacon) and make the deviled eggs. The turkey had been washed, salted and placed in a huge roaster, and by then was baking away at the perfect temperature. The giblets were simmering on the stove, and it was an orderly scene of chaos. Before I knew it, it was almost time for dinner. Huge crockery bowls were filled with the vegetables, the mashed potatoes had an indention with golden butter that ran down the sides like yellow lava, the rolls were in a wicker basket lined with a tablecloth, the gravy waited majestically in lovely gravy boats, one at each end of the table. Cranberry sauce waited in a bowl with a silver spoon, and blocks of real butter had silver butter knives next to them. The table was set with a spot right in the middle absent of anything, waiting for the turkey. I was to have the pleasure of bringing the bird from the kitchen, and I could just imagine the applause as I carried the porcelain platter, (with a painted turkey on it of course) loaded with a perfect turkey to the table. The turkey would be centered just so, surrounded with green lettuce leaves, it's skin golden brown, the legs in their little white paper booties. I waited until everyone was seated, the girls, the matrons and the guests and announced that the turkey would be out in just a moment. I swept into the kitchen, got the platter and walked to the stove to remove the turkey from the roasting pan. The roasting pan was sitting on the stove top. Well, here goes. Someone had placed a kitchen towel over the turkey to keep it warm. I still remember those red kitchen checks on that towel. What they did not know was that when the gravy pan was removed from the stove top, someone also forgot to turn off the flame. I saw the smoke rising up from the side of the roaster with the turkey still inside, and it took me a second to realize that the turkey was on fire! Actually, it was the dishcloth that was burning, but in a panic, you don't take the time to separate the facts. I grabbed two pot holders, gripped that turkey by it's little white paper bootie covered legs and yanked it from the pan. My intent was to flop it onto the platter, but I missed because I was hysterical and over slung the bird. The next thing I hear it- the sickening sound of a huge turkey slamming to the kitchen floor, and see the sickening sight of two turkey legs with little paper booties still in my hands! All of this time, I have avoided screaming like a fool, and good thing too, because I don't know how I would have explained everything. To make matters worse, when the bird hit the floor, it slid over to the door that was closed between the kitchen and the dining room. I could hear the talking and conversations going on just on the other side of that door- so, praying that the floor had been mopped recently, I set the severed turkey legs on the counter, and took the porcelain platter and placed it on the floor next to the turkey. I scooped up the carcass, (it actually looked pretty good) put it on the platter and then stood up and set it on the counter. I arranged the carcass as best as I could and set the disjointed legs next to the turkey, making a rather presentable Thanksgiving offering. Quickly arranging the lettuce leaves around the turkey, I swept into the dining room as though I was one of the wise men bringing gifts to the baby Jesus. Everyone began to applaude as I set the bird on the table and took my seat. The legs of the bird flopped to the side, and now it was apparent that they were no longer connected. The head Administrator thanked me for the lovely turkey, but I had to keep my face down because I was trying not to cry. The Administrators wife said, "well, you call tell this is a juicy tender turkey! Look, the legs have fallen off! That always means the turkey is perfectly done!" Agreements passed around the table, with some saying that they were tired of dry turkey, and glad that this one was so juicy. Okay, okay, no I never told anyone that I had dropped the bird on the floor and scooped it up to serve it anyway. My policy is, don't ask, don't tell! Anyway, that bird couldn't have been on the floor more than 5 seconds- isn't that the rule? Dinner was wonderful, and I received compliments on my lovely merengue pie and the turkey too. More tomorrow, love, nanasee

Friday, April 23, 2010

A sweet Tale

During that school year, we had a fund raiser to sell candy for one of the auxilliarys. Now, when I was little, I was mentored by the best salesman of all time; my dad! I watched him time after time sell something to someone, and after the deal was made, the purchaser was ever so grateful that my dad had talked them into it. He could sell ice to an eskimo, he could sell religion to the pope, well you get it, he could sell stuff. He had such confidence and I learned that speaking out and making someone feel good about themselves for buying your product was the way to successful sales. I tell you this, because when I received my allotted amount of candy bars to sell for the fund raiser I immediatley remembered an incident that had occurred when I was only 10 years old.
That year, before the children's home, before I was separated from mother and grandmother, before so many things, I attended a school in Atlanta Georgia. I was in the fifth grade and we also had a fund raiser to pay for new playground equiptment. We were selling those chocolate almond candy bars, and back then they went for the outrageous price of fifty cents each. In those days, a child could go door to door to sell candy without worrying about being accosted. In the neighborhood where we lived, most of the houses had formerly been huge Victorian houses, but had then been converted into apartments. Some of the houses were still single family dwellings, and all in all, the neighborhood was quiet and uneventful. There were huge oak trees lining the streets, making a canopy overhead that invited quiet walks in the cool shade. The yards were well groomed and sidewalks and walkways well tended and attractive. On occsasion a family cat would greet you at the edge of a yard or a dog would bark in greeting as you walked by. It was a very pretty area. I decided that I would start out early on a Saturday morning to begin to sell my candy. They were offering incentive prizes, and I wanted to be sure and get one. After all, how could anyone resist inviting chocolate candy bars that were going for such a good cause? Well, lots of people resisted my candy, but on and on I trudged selling one now and then. The day grew warmer and the time passed. I found myself with most of my inventory, and began to worry that maybe I would not be able to sell all of the candy. As I walked along, I noticed a really large house, bigger than all the others. It was a huge white house with three stories, white pillars from roof to porch bottoms, lots of beautiful windows with shutters open on each one. There was lovely landscaping and plants placed artfully next to the wicker furniture that sat further down the porch away from the front door. I thought to myself that those people must have lots of money, and maybe they would like some candy. Remembering my dad and his success, I walked up to the door with confidence. I took a moment to straighten my hair, smooth my dress and arrange the candy in the box. I picked up the box by it's little handles, and rapped smartly on the door. In only a short moment, an attractive man dressed in golfing clothes answered the door. For a second, he seemed very surprised to see a little girl standing there, but then he beamed a megawatt smile at me and cocked an eyebrow. I jumped right in before he could say anything, looking him square in the eye. "Hello, my name is Jodie and I am selling candy bars to raise money for our school to buy playground stuff. I thought that since you lived in such a big house, and let me tell you it is a lovely house, that you must have lots of money. I knew you would want some of this candy, because if you didn't buy any, tonight when you went to bed you would have a hard time getting to sleep thinking about how you let me and the school down. I wouldn't want that to happen to you, so how many of these candy bars do you want?" With each sentence, the man seemed to grow more incredulous. Still smiling, he said he would take the whole box! Then he said, "say little girl, you are quite a salesman! You are very convincing- have you ever thought about what you wanted to do when you grow up? How about politics?" I snorted, "Politics? Shoot, politicians are nothin' but crooks!" (I was repeating what I had heard so many times from my dad). The man roared with laughter and told me he hoped I would change my mind someday. I told him, "fat chance" and then offered my hand to shake in thanks for his generous purchase. As I skipped down the stairs without my box of candy, I thought of the prize I would win for selling the candy. I went home and bragged to my brother about the sale. Later that night when my mother got home, I happily told her about selling the whole box to just one person. She asked who had bought it, and I told her it was the man in that really large white house a street over from us. She looked surprised and asked me exactly which house I was talking about. I clarified the location and she just flopped down on the couch. It turns out that the house I had been to was the Governors mansion. It seems that Governor Carl Sanders himself had answered the door! No wonder he asked me about politics! I haven't changed my mind much about politicians, although there are some good ones, (they are definetly in the minority!), but I will always remember the day that I talked a Governor into buying candy. It turns out that the gift to sell has been handed down to my daughter Jessica, and probably her kids as well. I don't remember how I did with the candy in high school, but I will never forget the candy in grade school!

Thursday, April 22, 2010

A shocking surprise!

When I last wrote about the Children's home, I told you that I had finally met my father again after he was released from prison. He had moved to the Dallas Texas area and was working at a local paper. I had a fatalistic attitude that just because he was out, we would not be a family again, not now, perhaps not ever. I had actually become so enmeshed in the life of the Children's home, that I didn't really care. I was happy in the home. I didn't know any other way to be, as that was all I had in my life; the Children's home. When my friends at school talked of their family life, a part of my soul clicked shut, so that it was only words I heard, not meanings. I could not risk believing that life was like that, or perhaps I would lose my security. My family was Mindy, my cat and my brothers. I found comfort in the daily routine. There was order, things were very uncomplicated and I was not expected to do anything that would constitute a risk. I say these things to bring you to the following experience.
In the fall of my fourteenth year, some of the older children in the home were given an opportunity to go to Six Flags Georgia. Prior to the trip on a Saturday, we were informed of the trip and told what was expected of us. I waited anxiously each day for Saturday to come, knowing that Mindy and I would have so much fun. We would be allowed to go off on our own, as we always followed rules and could be trusted. On the big day, we woke early, did our chores, ate breakfast and dressed for the trip. It was a very cool day, so we wore jeans and sweat shirts. I ironed Mindy's hair so that it would be straight and she ironed mine. If you can imagine, we would actually lay our head on the ironing board and let the other person run a hot iron over our hair. This would assure that our hair would lay down and not fuzz around our heads. We chose our makeup, earrings and chunky jewlery(the kind that was so popular then) and critiqued our appearance. We were good to go! The ride to Six Flags took about an hour, and we grouped with other girls in the seats front and back to sing silly songs, (99 bottles of beer on the wall). Then, we got serious, and began to sing songs by Joan Baez, the Beetles, and other groups. Finally, we sang some selections from the Monkeys, squealing over our choice of the best looking member. Before we knew it, we were there. To my surprise, as we exited the bus, the director gave us each 5 dollars to spend while we were there. In 1968 five dollars was a lot of money! The huge gates were colorful and welcoming. We could hear the music blasting over the loud speakers, and as we walked through the turn-stile we were enveloped in the crowd. It was very crowded, even though it was a Saturday in the fall. We didn't know where to go first, but soon found ourselves walking down the little lanes and going in and out of the little shops. One thing I remember so well is the wonderbread store. Insude you could buy little wonderbread souveniers, but best of all, they made little loaves that cost a quarter. It smelled so good! Mindy and I each bought a small loaf, and nibbled as we continued through the park. We rode the rides, and snacked on goodies. We had our pictures taken, and flirted with some guys. The air was crisp, and the day was ours. Finally we began to tire and decided to get a soda and just sit and watch the crowd. I told Mindy that I would get the sodas and walked to a concession stand. I am a friendly person, and tend to start conversations with those around me. As I waited for my order, I began to talk to the girl behind the counter. She had only recently come down from the Dallas area to work and go to school. I told her why I was there in the home, but that my dad had just been released from prison and he would probably get us out anyday. ( Of course I was just making that up, but you know how teenagers are!) She got very serious, and told me that her mom had just married a guy straight out of prison. He was really nice, but she didn't know him very well. Wait a minute, didn't she just say she was from the Dallas area? My mind began to work. I asked her what the guy's name was that her mother had just married. She said it was Kent. KENT!!!! That was my dad's name. Kent what? I asked her. She said, "uh, Kent Forrest". The world went blank for a moment. How many Ken Forrest's could there be just out of prison and living in the Dallas area? My voice quivered as I asked her how long Kent and her mom had been married. She said not very long. I asked her if she knew if Kent had ever talked about having children. She knew that he had a daughter and two sons living in Georgia somewhere, but he had not seen them in a long time. Now I knew. My dad had married someone and was living with another family while we were in the home. He had another family! Another family! Something shut hard in my heart. I felt it slam. Now, I did not know for absolutely sure that the Kent Forrest that was just out of prison and living in the Dallas area who was married to her mother was my dad, but in my heart, I believed it. That girl and I could be step-sisters! What a small world! We exchanged information and promised to keep in touch. Mindy came and asked what was taking so long. Seeing my face, she became alarmed. She asked me what had happened. I told her and she didn't believe it. She told me not to jump to conclusions. But I had not only jumped, I had leapt the canyon, and there was no going back for me. It was the nail in the coffin. At that very moment, I decided that I was entirely alone in the world and from then on, to hell with all of it. Later in my life, my father married another wonderful woman who had 4 children. My brothers and I went to live with them, and that started another chapter in my life. But there is much more to tell about the children's home. I will continue tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

It has been over a year now-

Indeed, it has been over a year since Bobbie Jo left us. How can time fly so quickly? We do miss her so much, and I still expect her to come in and just be Bobbie jo. I am thankful for all the growth that has taken place in the past year. I am happy. I did not think I would have been able to say such a thing, but I am. I have learned to understand that I s hould not take it personally that Bobbie Jo died. At first, I thought, "how can this be happening to me? Dear Father, why are you allowing this to happen to me?" But you know, it was not directed at me, not at all. It was a natural part of life that I had a role in. Heavenly Father did not do this "to" me, but rather allowed me the strength to walk through it and help Bobbie Jo while I could. I have found peace in the sure knowlege that my life will yet find me in situations that will require the experience that I have found during this experience. I hope that I can be strong, confident and sure of my testimony when it is required. I would tell all of you that I would do anything to spare you the pain of separation of a loved one, but instead, I can tell you that I will do all I can to share my knowlege and experience to help you through it. Bobbie Jo gave me so very much while she resided here on earth, but most of all, through her passing, as when my son Otto passed, I have learned how much strength I have and how much more I am capable of learning. Tomorrow, I will continue the story of the Children's home. The story begs me to continue and to be shared. Until then, love, nanasee

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Once again, I am back!

I knew that something would happen to knock me out of my lethargy and emotional down spiral, (Dont' know why I had a down spiral anyway) and today it did. My sense of humor has come to my rescue, and now I have all of you to share it with. I will get back to my story of the children's home, but today, I just want to relish the feeling of being able to write again and enjoy it. So, here is what happened.
This evening, I decided to go to Walmart to get some things for the week. Over the last few months, with my blood pressure being very unstable and also having hurt my ankle, I have been using a motorized cart to do my shopping. I have never wanted to stoop to motorized cart shopping, it seems such a cop out to me, especially if there is nothing obvious as to why you are in a motorized cart. Be honest folks, usually it is a very heavy person tooling around in one of those, and perhaps the thought is that they are too lazy to get up and walk through the store. I am sure that most of you are more benevolent in your thinking, more charitable, but before I began to use a cart like that, I will admit, that I had those thoughts. Those carts are for the elderly, the handicapped, the impaired- not for the chubby shopper! But, to my shame, I had resorted to the use of a motorized cart and tried to ignore what I felt were the stares of the judgemental. Sadly to say, the more you use a cart, the easier it is to just get in one and go. You began to recognize the ones powered up, the new ones with more leg room and which ones will be more comfortable. The store seemed to grow larger and the aisles longer if I contemplated actually walking through to shop! But, my ankle healed and I no longer had that for an excuse. I do have difficulty with excercise, or even walking a distance as I get dizzy, perspire heavily and get crushing headaches. I am being evaluated for these things, but recently I made the vow to stay away from the motorized carts and push a regular cart. I figured any little effort could only do me good. I have done well too, but today I went to baseball games, and a chili cookoff at church. By this evening I was pooped out, and walking into Walmart I felt the motorized carts calling to me, enticing me, " Come to me, I will give you a ride and you will enjoy your shopping trip! Just this once, c'mon, it's okay!" So, I gave in and chose one that looked well charged. As I puttered across the store, I tried to justify my being in the cart. Next time I shopped, I would walk all the way! First, I went to the meat department and picked out some really lovely pork chops to make a special dinner for my brother Ken and his family. I was excited to have them over after church. I went to produce and caressed the yellow squash- I pinched a mango, admired some cherry tomatoes and took a right turn to go and get frozen bread dough for Sunday dinner. As I took the right turn, the cart jerked, shuddered and stopped. With concern, I checked the power button. It was charged up full. I tried to go forward, and the poor cart moaned and shuffled at a snail's pace. Well great! I thought the power was low and the cart was not showing it. I continued to try to go forward, and went at a really slow pace with a grinding noise beneath the cart. It was official, I was too fat for the cart! It was working, but very slowly, so I continued on to get my few items, crawling along with my face flaming. I hoped that I could find an empty push cart to transfer my groceries too instead of having to leave them to walk to the front to report the dead cart and look for another basket. I figured as long as the thing would go, I would keep shopping. Sooner or later I would probably run into Martin and he could help me. I picked up a few more things and was about to get to the back of the store where I hoped Martin might be. Suddenly, I heard someone calling, " Excuse me, hello!" I turned to see who was calling and found that a very elderly lady was trying to get my attention. She was walking over to me as fast as a very elderly lady can walk, (not fast at all)the whole time waving and calling to me. I turned and smiled, acknowleging that I had heard her. When she reached me, she said very loudly, "did you know you were dragging a rug behind you?" What? A rug?!!! And sure enough, there was a large rubber mat stuck under the cart and I had been dragging it all through the store! Well, that explains the sudden slowing of that stupid cart! I started to get up to pull the rug out, and the lady said, "No no honey, let me do it! You just sit there and I will get it out!" With that, she bent over and began pulling at that mat with all her strength. By now, we have attracted a crowd. Another younger lady began to help the elderly lady telling her that she was going to hurt her back if she kept pulling at the mat. "Oh no" says granny, "I am pretty strong for my age, and thank goodness that I am not forced to use one of these carts to get around! I hope the day never comes that I can't help myself shopping and have to scoot around everywhere!" Of course by now I have indeed gotten off the cart and am attempting to assist the ladies with the mat that seemed to love being right where it was. Finally, with the help of all three of us and another gentleman, the mat is released from under the cart. If I am not embarrassed enough, now I have to get back on the cart in front of all those people and super granny. With profuse thanks and mortification, I get on the cart and go forward. Well, it shot forward at an amazing pace, rattling the groceries and leaving the crowd in it's wake. All I could do was scoot around another corner to the aisle where the diet drinks were sold. Fortunately, there was only one other person there, and they had not witnessed my shame.
See- that is what I got for not honoring my vow. From now on, I am not going shopping unless I am well rested, well fed, and ready to walk on my own. Yes, indeed, here is one chubby honey that will not have to endure the stares of the uninformed- and if I have to get a motorized cart, it will be at 2 in the morning when no one will care anyway! Love, nanasee

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Seeing my father again was something I did not expect, but it did not really change my life all that much. Other than knowing for sure that he was out of prison, he was not really part of my life. After that weekend, we went back to the Children's home and back to a routine. Each day started just as the day before, and continued as the day before and ended as the day before. Saturdays were spent cleaning the cottage, walking into the tiny town, getting ready for Sunday, visiting with the other girls and watching tv. Sundays were spent going to church in the morning, coming home for Sunday dinner and waiting for someone to come and visit. I didn't count on someone coming to visit, so I spent my afternoon doing homework and being with my little cat. Ah, routine. This was a time in the school year, early in winter that was just before the holidays started and a pleasant expected routine brought comfort and security. Little events spiced up the days, small things that gave me something to talk about, but for the most of it, life was quiet and uneventful. Of course I looked forward to the holidays, perhaps this year my father would be there for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Once in awhile something happened that shook me up, I guess fate has a sense of humor. One such incident happened on an early frosty morning. We had boarded the school bus for the long drive into Hapeville, and were talking and just being teenagers. We had bundled up for the cold, and since it was one of the first really cold days of the season, the conversation was mostly about the weather. That day, the temperature hovered just below freezing and a light sleeting rain fell quietly. Before we knew it, we were at school and getting off the bus. The bus let us out a distance from the doors, in an open parking lot that prohibited other cars from parking there. I remember turning my head to say something to someone, stepping down from the high bus steps and slipping. I fell quiet hard, but I also slid under the bus when I fell. I hit my head on the pavement, and was stunned for a moment. I didn't know what had happened, but soon I realized that I had fallen and was under the bus near the engine. I clearly remember the feeling of cold that permeated my legs and arms as I lay on the icy pavement. It was dark under there and the fumes from the engine were very strong. I thought to myself that it was funny how much head room there is under a bus. Then, in a second of panic, I knew that if I didn't get out from under the bus, I would be run over and crushed when it started up and left again. I tried to wiggle out the way I had slid under, but could not get any traction. I heard someone ask where I had gone. I yelled that I was under the bus, but I guess the noise from the engine was louder than me. Time seemed to crawl as I began to panic. Then, I got an inspiration. I took my book bag by the handle and swung it over my head out from under the edge of the bus. Lucky for me, the book bag hit the foot of one of the kids and they looked down to see why. Squatting down, he saw me under the bus and began to scream, "don't take off! Jodie is under the bus!" I heard the brakes as they were applied with a whoosh and squeal and then saw many faces peering at me in wonder.
The questions flew hard and fast. "What happened? What are you doing under the bus? Did you fall? Are you hurt?" The bus driver had leapt from the bus and reached under to help me. She grabbed my hand and pulled, and I slid toward her as easily as I had slid under the bus. Her face was white as chalk and she looked like she was going to have a heart attack. I was certainly the center of attention as I tried to stand and show everyone that I was alright. The bus driver as so anxious, and hugged me in relief. In those days, if you felt alright then you were. None of this "off to the hospital just to check you out" stuff. Believe it or not, I gathered my bookbag, laughed at everyone's concern and walked right into school. Other than being damp and cold and having a slight headache, I was no worse for the experience. Looking back, I know that I had a really close call, but as in every other trial in my life, it turned out alright and I have a great story to tell about it. One really great bonus to this event was that Coach Denning came up to me later and asked me if I was okay. My heart fluttered with joy that he would even care that I had almost been crushed. That alone was worth being slammed to the icy pavement, hitting my head and sliding under a running bus! Oh, the joys of youth!

Friday, January 22, 2010

What a surprise!

It was not long after my epiphany of life that I received news that Mother was going to have us visit her for a weekend. I didn't take that seriously, but still I looked forward to the possibility that we might spend some time together. As the week came to a close, it seemed that indeed, I would be spending the weekend with my brothers at Mother's apartment. I packed a light bag and when the taxi arrived to pick me up I told Mindy that I would see her on Sunday night. I wondered what Mother had planned for us. Looking into the back seat of the taxi, I saw that my brothers, Kenny and George had already been picked up. Kenny greeted my with a huge smile of joy and welcome, and George was his usual taciturn self. Mother was still at the apartment, waiting for us, and we began the long ride into Atlanta for the weekend.
Mother's apartment was in downtown Atlanta. It was on the 19th floor of a high-rise complex that was modern and new. As you got off the elevator, the door to the apartment was down the hall to the left. The boys and I arrived to exit the taxi into a blustery wind that whistled between the tall buildings of the downtown area. My hair was tossed and my clothes plastered to my body, as I tried to keep a good grip on my suitcase. Gripping Kenny's hand, we ran into the building between large glass doors that led to a marble covered floor and gleaming brass door handles. The lobby was lighted brightly with artwork on the walls and a guard seated at a front desk. He seemed to know who we were, as he motioned us to go ahead onto the elevator. It was a quick, quite ride that whispered past 18 floors straight up to the 19th floor. A bell softly dinged as the door opened to the hallway that would take us to Mother's apartment. I was wrangling Kenny and his suitcase through the elevator door and was not paying much attention to Mother's door. I heard a gasp from George, and glanced around to see what he was looking at. In confusion, I saw a man standing in the doorway to Mother's apartment. He was dressed casually, with a light colored polo shirt, grey pants and wore glasses. His hair was an auburn color, cut short with a slight wave on top. He stood there, rather tentatively and for a second, I wondered who he was. Then, I saw it. The slight turning of his head to the left to better see due to a severe vision problem in the left eye, let me know without a doubt who this man was. I screamed, "Daddy"!
I dropped everything and ran to him. In the seconds it took to reach my father, many things occurred to me. Although I knew that this was indeed my father, he had changed so very much. I was taller than he was! He was much smaller than I remembered, I suppose because he had lost so much weight in prison. I was not afraid of him, indeed I was so overjoyed to see him. Most of all, I was proud that I was so grown up and mature. In the past months that I had been writing to him, he became more of a friend than a father. I had not seen him in at least 5 years, but as soon as I wrapped my arms around his neck, he was daddy once again to me. I didn't have time for the fear that always accompanied my presence with Dad- thank God for that. I was just too surprised that he was actually right in front of me. George was babbling around us too, but Kenny did not really know who his father was. Kenny had been very small when our parents divorced, and Dad did not come around very much after that. In that moment, my fear or aversion did not come to fore, for a moment it was just me and the man that was my father. As I threw myself on him in a crushing embrace, he grunted with surprise and embraced me back. Then, drawing slightly away, still embracing me, he observed me with a tender expression. "Can this be my little Jodie? Is it possible that she has become so beautiful? I can't believe it is really you!" he exclaimed. The whole space in time was unreal, but of course it was real and finally, once again, we were father and daughter. My father. Right here in front of me. It seemed that my life was full of surprises and rewards- one after the other. Later, after visiting for some time, Dad said he had to leave, but would return when he could. He lived near Dallas and was working for a newpaper there. I did not know it at the time, but he also had been living with a woman and her children. He had a whole other family. I would learn of this later. I didn't even know how long he had been released from prison, I knew it had been for some short while, as he had been going to visit us at the home. He had a whole other life, with other people in it, a life that did not include me or my brothers. As I mentioned, I did not know of this other life- I only knew that he was back in mine if for only a little while.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Once again, I am back! I had the flu and I cannot believe how sick I was. I couldn't even sit up to write, but things are better and I am back!

Now to continue the Children's Home Experience.

When I left off, I had had a life changing spiritual experience that has shaped my life even till today. That experience was the basis of my sure knowlege that Heavenly Father lives and loves all of his children, and even when things are very grave, he is there, watching over me and you and guiding us with his wisdom and love. As I walked back to the cottage from having stood over the swimming pool with the desire to end my life, I basked in the feelings of excitement knowing that I would have a good life and one day, would find love and happiness. In my young mind, if Heavenly Father said so, then it would be. From dispair to elation, my life had changed in one moment, one experience. I now knew that I didn't have to be anything but a teenager going through teenaged things. My future was secure, and although I could not have know how difficult that security would be to obtain, just knowing that a wonderful future awaited me gave me freedom beyond measure. So what if no one came to visit me? One day I would be important to someone special. I would have babies to whom I would be the whole world. I had food, shelter, friends and intelligence, everything I needed to make the most of my situation. And, what was my situation anyway? Where did I stand in the grand scheme of life? I went to my room, took out some paper and began to make a list. Who was I? Well, I was a young girl, born to parents that had difficulties of their own, granddaughter to grandparents that were very special, sister to two brothers who I loved and who loved me. I was kind, loving and cared for the feelings of others. I had regular pity parties for myself, until I looked around and saw what real difficulty entailed. I could smile. I had fear. Fear that I would get into trouble, fear that I would not be liked or accepted, fear that I would never be skinny and beautiful, fear that my family life was forever behind me, and fear of so many other things. I also had confidence. I was sure of my ability to make the best of any situation, sure of the power of honesty and courage, sure of the goodness of being kind, and sure that I could bring a smile to anyone who perhaps needed me. In between fear and confidence, I had insecurity. I was not like the other girls. If body shape made you accepted, then that was forever out of my reach. I was yet too young to know that being unique was not a bad thing if you could use that uniqueness for postive experiences for myself and others. So, at the time, I still equated a perfect body with success. That would take a long time to change for me, but I had the gift of reality, knowing that my happiness depended on what I could do with what I had. I knew that I could not be a part of the group at the home, as they had little regard for the consequences of breaking regulations. As long as they did not get caught, then it was alright to do anything. So, who was I? A young girl carving out a path in life with uncertainities, and the ability to make that path as good and bearable as possible.
Where in life was I? Hardly anchored to anything, no place to really call home base, floating in a sea of islands that I was unable or afraid to connect to. What were these Islands? One was disobedience. To partake of the social life of many of those around me, I would have to choose disobedience and disregard for regulation. I would have plenty of company, but this would mean that I would have to abandon my work and study ethic, my moral quilt, my ability to be true to myself. This sounds abhorrant, but what I am saying is that those with whom I would associate to be popular did not share my goals, and in order to be a part of the "crowd", I would have to abandon my goals of good grades, good character and self-worth. Would it be worth it to be popular? To be accepted? Yo a young girl, maybe. To me? No. I would continue to be the object of ridicule due to my determination to make good grades, attend church and stay out of trouble. Another Island was self-pity. I felt sorry for myself because I did not have a strong family unit. I wanted a family like those on TV, like "Leave It to Beaver", like "The Donna Reed Show" and others. I wanted to sit down at dinner and talk about my day, have my father be amused at my antics and my mother there to talk to me and solve my problems. I wanted to go to bed at night knowing I would wake up the next day with nothing more to think about than what I would wear to school and if I could make it on the cheer squad. Yes, the island of self-pity called strongly to me, but somehow I avoided it as much a possible. Another Island was self-worth. Was that a place that I could be? Could I let my self-worth be the guiding post in my life? I hope not, as I had very little self-worth. So, where was I in life? I was constantly swimming, dog paddling, and staying afloat, trying to avoid the negative islands that threatened to trap me. Good thing I am a strong swimmer. One island that I tried to anchor to was the island of love, caring and compassion. I could not always stay on that island, but I tried to be there as much as possible. I found great joy in feeling the joy and gratitude of those with whom I associated and accepted in spite of their differences. I did not know it, but part of that island was mysterious and dark. It was the part that required love, caring and compassion for myself. I could not find that area of this island, and so, even though there was happiness there, I could not find it concerning me. In my mind, I was fat, ugly, tall, had big feet and no beauty. I disguised this well though, and was outgoing and friendly, telling myself that it didn't matter who I was or how I looked. But wait-Heavenly Father had told me that I was special. That I deserved love, that I was loved. So, who was telling me differently? And then I got it! I was different, but I was not bad. I was good. I was unique and I was good. Right then, at that very moment, I vowed that when those bad feelings came on me, no matter what the source, I would try to remember the moment when I realized that I was good. I would come to realize that this is much easier to desire than to do, but that pivotal moment in my life, when I was making my list and realized that I was good and would continue to be good if I strived to do so was the start of the life that would turn out to be more than I could ever imagine. And when people would say to me, "oh, how have you turned out to be so happy after everything you have been through?", I would smile and say, "I am just lucky I guess!" And, as you will see as I continue to write The Children's Home Experience" many wonderful experiences awaited me, as well as some troubling ones. The difference is that I now had ammunition to face trouble and stand strong.

Monday, January 4, 2010

I was loved

There had been some really big changes in my life. I was now in the 9th grade and loving it, I had a major crush on my English instructor, I had a loving little pet to keep me company, and out of the blue I had received a letter from my father telling me that he was coming to see me. He had been released from prison and was starting a new life and he wanted to bring his family together again. He wrote that he was going to visit me on a Sunday afternoon in the near future. This was a real wake-up call. I had learned to love being in the home, there was so much for me there. I had learned so much about myself, the freedom of having confidence in myself, and the pleasure in life of knowing that so much more awaited me. My dad had said that he wanted to bring his family back together again, but was that something that I wanted? It wouldn't be a family with my parents together, I knew that for sure, and I had had some pretty hard experiences with dad and his temper. I didn't know if that had changed, nor did I know if alcohol would be a problem. In the home, I had become accostomed to a schedule, to school, to work and to so many other things. I felt comfortable in my surroundings, and had even almost forgotten the situation I was in before coming to the home. I no longer expected Mother to take us out of the home. I really didn't even want to leave, I didn't want to experience major changes in my life again. I was happy right where I was. This did not mean that I didn't want to see my Father after so many years. There were some times we had spent together that I did remember with fondness, and I did want to see him and reunite with him. I had been ten years old when he went into prison, and I was another completely different person now. Thinking about it, I wanted to impress him with who I was. I knew he would like me if we could get to know each other again. I really had no intention of starting to be a family with him again, but I did want to know him. The Sunday that he was to visit arrived and for days I had been a nervous wreck. What if he didn't like me? What if he was dissapointed with me? What if he wanted me to go with him right away? I stayed awake many nights with such questions rolling around in my head. That Sunday, I dressed with extra care before church and figited for the whole church service. My stomach hurt, my nerves were shot and I was so nervous. I couldn't eat lunch, and I kept watching the clock. Dad had not said what time he was coming, so I didn't know for sure when he would get there. The afternoon wore on as I sat in front of the bay window in the visiting room. Each time a car went by, I jumped up and ran to the door. Time passed but none of the cars were arriving for me. I paced the carpet, waiting, waiting. I sat down again, and chewed my nails. I looked at the clock and to my surprise, it was after four o'clock in the afternoon. Some of the other girls had been picked up for visits from their family, and I was still waiting for my father to arrive. All of the witty conversation that I had planned began to seep from my mind. Was it possible that he was not coming? It was fourty miles from Atlanta where he would drive from, perhaps he got lost. I began to lose hope. When the clock struck five o'clock, I knew that he was not coming. Why? Why was he not there as he had said he would be? Why? I decided that I would walk to the gates at the entrance of the home in case he was still coming and I would see him when he arrived. The usually long walk was very short that evening. Before I knew it, I was at the gates, alone. Then, like a tidal wave all of the doubts, fears and insecurities came crashing over me. I was no one special. Nothing had changed. No one gave a damn about me, no one. How could I have been so stupid to believe that Dad or anyone would want to spend any time with me? I clearly saw the truth for what it was. I was alone in the world and had no one to turn to. The pain in my heart was crushing me. Suddenly it was clear what I had to do. There was nothing for me in this world of pain, no where to go, no future. I was insignificant, a speck on the highway of life, and if I died, no one would care. But I realized that if I died, the pain would stop and I would have peace at last. What a wonderful thought-dying- and having no more pain. There was no one to stop me, no one who would bother to stop me. I would simply be gone. Clearly the plan formed in my mind. I would just jump in the deep end of the swimming pool and stay under until I had drowned. The pool was only a short distance from where I was standing and even though the air was very chilly, it didn't matter. With determination, I walked to the pool. It seemed as though a loving friend was reaching out to comfort me, calling me to let it end my misery. The rays of the fading sun rippled through the clear water as I stood on the edge of the pool. I was an excellent swimmer, but I was determined to stay under until I was dead. "Come to me" the water seemed to whisper. I don't know how long I stood there, but suddenly, from behind, someone put their arms around me and whispered in my ear, "My daughter, I love you. Don't do this. Your life will be more magnificent than you can imagine. You have children waiting for you and a companion that will love you forever. Step back, have courage. You are not alone. I love you". Time stopped for me in that instant. I felt the arms of love encircling me, I heard the words of love and encouragement. I knew, so powerfully, that those were heavenly arms, and heavenly words. I stepped back from the edge of the pool. The darkness and desperation lifted. My mind filled with light, and a powerful, strengthening surge of love and courage jolted throughout my whole being. I was loved! I was special! I would have love, children and a wonderful life in my future! I knew then, that I had to spend the next few years preparing for the future that had been promised to me. I realized that tears were coursing from my eyes, but they were tears of joy. That was the defining moment in my life. I has so much worth, that Heavenly Father took the time to assure me of his love and faith in me. I would never let him down. As I walked back to the cottage in the twilight of the evening, I had tender thoughts of my father. He would have come if he had been able, I knew that. I held no resentment. I was loved, and that was all that mattered.