Just What I Needed

I wrote the original column below these remarks long ago, on an anniversary of my father's passing. It does still seem as though after we've slogged along life's path until we feel we can't go any farther, God gives us a brief period of refreshment. Such happened to me again this year, as it often has over the years. I miss being able to see my great grandsons often as I did when they were babies/toddlers. They, and their parents, lived with or near me for a few years. Now they live in another state. I do visit them when I can and glad I'm able to do so. But this year they came to visit me for two weeks! In what has turned out to be a busy year for me, it happened to be the two weeks I could devote exclusively to them. It was so wonderful to be able to hug and kiss them as often as I wished for two weeks. They are affectionate little boys, well, not so little anymore, but not yet of the age to brush off hugs from loving grannies, aunts, etc.

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Often we humans groan that things in our life have gone wrong. But sometimes we’re blessed with an experience that was just what we needed, exactly when we needed it.

 One particular instance was not a good time in my life. I lived in Tennessee, and my father in Georgia was dying of lung cancer. My husband and I went to spend a week with Dad and my stepmother. We tried to keep from wallowing in sadness, but it was as rough for my husband as for me. He loved my Dad and was in the midst of one of his periodic bouts of depression.

 Before we left for Georgia I had made reservations for us to spend a  couple of days on our way home at a dude ranch near Tellico Plains, TN. We began to wonder if we would ever reach the place after our car labored up several steep, steamy miles. To spare the engine we turned off the car's air conditioning.

We finally arrived at the ranch, set among woods and meadows. The accommodations were comfortable, though rustic. After our hot, sweaty drive up the mountain, stepping into our room’s tiny shower stall was sheer bliss.

The couple who owned the place did most of the work, including preparing delicious food for their guests. Rocking on the front porch before dinner was relaxing and we slept soundly that night despite a summer thunderstorm, which knocked out the ranch’s power. We trooped to the dining room for breakfast and a generator provided electricity for cooking, but not enough for our hosts to prepare all dishes at the same time. With plenty of coffee no one minded and we guests got acquainted with each other.

Later that day I joined our hostess and several guests for a horseback ride. I rode a gentle mare but my legs are short and the mare somewhat rotund. I felt sure I would slide off her back on the slightest downslope. As I hung on to the reins and tried to keep feet in stirrups, the cares and sorrows of daily life felt far away.

Since then when I’m tempted to grumble about something, I think of that respite from sorrow and look around for the balancing good I’m sure I’ll find.

Friday Jottings - GRITS

No, not the food that hardly anybody except a Southerner thinks IS a food! Being a born-and-bred Southerner, now of the Appalachian persuasion, I am partial to grits as a side dish to scrambled-just-right eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits and almost any kind of jelly, jam or preserves. But the word, GRITS, all caps, is explained in the below column. I love the South and never had any desire to live elsewhere. So you can call me most anything that isn't nasty, but meant to be derogatory and I don't mind. I'm comfortable in my Southern skin and proud of my family and heritage. I certainly don't mean other places are not worthy of being proud to be from, I wish everyone the same feeling of rootedness and pride. I wrote the short piece below several years ago. I would really like to know the origin and veracity of the Grandma story.
GRITS Since I was born and raised in rural Georgia, I guess I might be a Georgia Cracker. I’ve lived in Northeast Tennessee far longer than in my native state though so I guess I’m a Hillbilly Georgia Cracker. I like to think maybe Tennessee is in my genes. My mother used to tell us a story (probably apocryphal) about her mother, my Grandma Vera, who was supposedly born in Tennessee somewhere around Chattanooga. The family migrated to Georgia maybe around the late 1800’s or early 1900’s when Grandma was a tiny baby. Traveling along a river, perhaps the Chattahoochee, either the small family was on foot or the wagon overturned and Grandma fell into the water. Bundled up as babies were then, she was fished out safely and the journey continued. Grandma grew up and bore thirteen children of her own, my mother being the oldest. No one I’ve asked can vouch for the veracity of this story, but I like it. I love all of the USA and would like to visit more of it than I have up to now. But I’m proud of my Southern heritage (mostly) and do not wish to live anywhere else. Being female and one of a family with five GRITS, you could say I’m a Hillbilly Georgia Cracker GRITS! I like acronyms. Below are three of my favorites.
"YANKEE"
Y'all Ain't No Kin to Everybody Else
"YAARTEO"
Y'all Are All Related to Each Other
GRITS
Girls Raised in the South