Then Christi

Lots of days while my children and grandchildren were growing up, I could be found late at night writing in a journal.  There are some things I wish I had written, but at the time they didn't seem so funny; now they do.  Here are a few things about my beautiful daughter.

Yes, everybody says she is beautiful.  Often, workmen who come to repair something in my house asked who the girl is on my mantle.  One guy I was dating about ten years ago called her “movie star beautiful” and asked if she was married.  Needless to say, he was never invited back.

As a little girl she didn't talk until she was almost three, and then she talked constantly.  One day I told her she had “talked my ears off,” to which she pulled my hair back and said:  “No I didn't, Mommy, they are still there.”

As a child in Lexington, I played outside most days, so did my children.  Neighbors often seemed to be calling me asking me if I knew what Christi was doing.  We had a fenced in back yard so I didn't think there was much she could get into until a neighbor called to tell me that my little four-year-old was walking around on the roof.  We were having work done on our house and someone had left a ladder standing there. Needless to say, her daddy rescued her. 

Then she grew into her teens.

On nights when she was out, I could be found resting on her bed … to be sure she made her curfew.  She said she always heard the click of my Braille watch snap shut the minute she walked in the door.

It was a Saturday afternoon when my next-door neighbor called to say that Christi and her friend were out taking a joy ride on the riding lawnmower … with the blade down, and had made zig-zag patterns all over his yard.  Once she parked the mower, I started chasing her with a switch, fully intending to leave little red stripes on her legs no matter what the law said.  She ran into the house with me closing the gap.  She slammed her bedroom door and locked it, to which I grabbed the little screw driver in my pocket that I used to push the lock every time she did that.  I burst into her room to find only an open window. 

It seems sometimes we chased each other all through her teens; then she was out the door. 

Quite a few years have passed now.  She is still beautiful, and it has been years since those times of chasing each other through growing pains.  We have learned to be there for each other during good times and not so good times.  Now, during most days we can be found sharing our lives via texts and phone calls, discussing everything, including mostly her daughters, or sharing a meal at our favorite restaurant.  One of my favorite places with her is in her car on our way to Church on Sundays.

Around the Corner

The gym I was going to would not allow me to put Braille on but one of their art trainer machines, in spite of the fact that they had many.  One day I went to get on the machine to find that someone was already on it. 

“Excuse me,” I began, “Would you please be willing to move to the next machine so I can use that one with the Braille on it?”  … Silence.  After a time I tried once more with the same request.

“You can have it when I’m done,” the lady answered.

“How long will that be?” I asked.

“It’ll be when I’m done,” she said.

I walked behind her to the next machine.  After all, I could probably guess where the controls were anyway.  I positioned my dog in back of the equipment, put my water in the proper holder, put in my head set, turned on my iPod and pushed a button.  It was quite easy to get started.  Contemporary Christian music played in my ears, the song was “To God be the Glory,” done by Tommy Walker.  Almost without realizing it, when the chorus came on I began singing:  “Praise the Lord, praise the Lord”… almost immediately I felt a hard tap on my upper arm.  I turned and looked toward the tap.

“Don’t sing!” The lady on my Brailled machine said.

I continued my rhythm, but when the next chorus came up once more I began singing:  “Praise the Lord, praise the Lord” … again the punch, harder this time.  I looked in her direction.

“I said don’t sing,” she said to me.

I stopped the machine, took out my headset, looked at my Brailled machine’s occupant and said:  “Well, here’s the thing.  You see every single machine in here causes me to sing … except THAT one!”

I heard her making angry noises and muttering under her breath before she said:  “Okay!  You can have it, if 

you won’t sing.” 

“Thank you,” I said as I gathered my iPod, water and dog, and positioned myself on my machine.

“Remember, you won’t sing,” she said.

 “No, I won’t, I promise,” I said.  “I pray on this one.” 

If I don’t always do it well, I can be sure that another chance to do it better is right around the corner.

Insight

INSIGHT

The question asked of me most often is:  “What do you miss seeing?”

Actually, I don’t miss “not” seeing very much at all—

Until I run to find the right bus in the rain

Or attend an action packed movie and have to ask later:

“What was all that about anyway?”

Some things I would enjoy seeing:

All the colors of the rainbow;

Not just splatted down on cheap dime store cardboard,

But taken from the heart of the artist and laid gently onto the canvas—

The way God places it in the clouds.

Smile lines on the face of my daughter;

Whiskers on my son’s chin;

Myself in the mirror … I think.

Dirt on someone else’s kitchen floor.

Shapes of the leaves on trees over a half a block away.

All the red words in the Bible.

The next thing most often asked of me is how well I see?

How well do I see you?

Your words speak as lights that say “Step up” or “down”,

“Go left”, “turn right.”

The mood of your speech traces smiles or frowns;

Sometimes hardly visible but never hidden.

Your trivial expressions paint my colors,

From cherry red “hello’s” to silver-toned “good-byes.”

Your oral tones clear my view;

They uncover wrinkles or reveal unblemished youth.

Your bodies appear to me as outlines;

I see forms of your faces;

But don’t wear so much make-up

For your voices are my pictures.

Nothing but the Truth

Tucked away on a high closet shelf in my house is a rather thick notebook of poetry which begins with a poem that says:  “I always write about me, and I only write when I am depressed.”  From time to time when nothing seems to be going my way, I retrieve this manuscript of what I refer to as “stumbles” in hopes that it will clear the cobwebs of my most current situation.  So far everything I have posted on my blog has been fun or explanation.  However, I am no different from anyone else who can struggle with the complications of just walking through life.  If I had a dollar for all the times people have called me “stubborn,” I wouldn't have to be searching for a job today. 

But here I sit tonight, no prospects of a job and wondering what is next.  The sweet thing is, however, I don’t need to go get that notebook down from it's place on that high shelf, not because I am too lazy to get out the ladder, but because I have stumbled so many times it has become obvious that each time takes me closer to higher goals, if I just keep on walking. 

It would be fun to stop and preach a Joel Olsteen sermon right now, but hopefully I just did.  I would not have come this far if God hadn't given me that stubborn will to keep me going.  I would like to reassure everyone that blindness is not one of my depression poems; its just a part of who I am, not the whole.

What inspired this little confession?  Nothing special; I just never mean to come across as superficial.  Through my “stumbles” I have just learned not to take myself too seriously when I mess up and try to give a little grace to those who do.  If I don’t always do it well, I can be sure that another chance to do it better is right around the corner.

  

To Honor Ronnie Milsap

Anyone who went to the North Carolina School for the Blind between 1949 and 1962 will always say that they went to school with Ronnie Milsap, including me.  After graduation I only saw Ronnie in newspaper articles and eventually heard him on the radio.  When I saw him on stage in 1975, I was not sure he would even remember who I was, but of course he did.  We do communicate today and he is one of my most special friends.  

STAR DUST

Dedicated to Ronnie Milsap

1975

“Come on, let’s go see him--the one you said you knew!”

And I wondered if I went because I really wanted to.

Then your music drew the curtain up from all the past

As memories stood there--opened--for the world to hear at last.

You were getting started then on your climb up the ladder;

Higher … Higher… out of reach …

Seeming not to matter.

1982

“Come on let’s go  hear him sing!

Tonight he’s coming home!

But no one could go along with me;

So I went--alone.

In my mind I took the words my heart wanted to say;

How proud I am that it is YOU--a special star today.

But when I reached the building, I heard excited roars

From disappointed voices and policemen barred the doors.

I ran into the noisy crowd and pushed my way on through;

And in my hand I held a photograph

---of me--with you.

“Don’t you see I KNOW him!” 

I showed it to the guard;

But he just had a job to do

And I just made it hard.

Then, like me, the picture became lost in all the crowd;

But just as though you heard them I still spoke the words out loud.

The curtain fell on yesterday, but I knew I would be

Happy that I knew you,

When all your songs were free!

Classmates, 1962

More Everyday Blind Things

Often people assume all blind people play music.  I did not help this much when a piano player did not show up for a Sunday school class and the leader of the class who did not know me came over and asked “Will you be willing to play the piano for us this morning?”  “Sure,” I said… 

Sometimes, no matter what a blind person does everyone will assume that because we are blind we don’t know any better.  Some things we do can just be dumb.  For instance, when my child was in pre-school he was supposed to bring some eggs to color.  I forgot it until the last minute and frantically ran to the kitchen to get the dozen eggs I had bought for him to take.  He returned home from preschool upset because he dropped the eggs.  I had forgotten to boil them.  The teacher told him it was okay because his mommy was blind and could not see they were not boiled…

My friend Margaret could hardly walk with severe back pain, yet she struggled to try, and took me one morning to PetSmart to purchase 40 pounds of dog food.  We were standing at the back of her car, me wondering exactly what was already in the trunk I might accidentally put the dog food on top of, and Margaret wondering if she lifted a bag of dog food like that if she might be crippled for life.  A gentleman yelled “Ladies, may I help you with that?”   “No thanks, I can get it,” Margaret answered.  I knew she was just being independent and not wanting to admit we needed help, so I said:  “Sir that would really be nice.”   The man came over and hoisted the bag onto his … wheelchair and rolled it into the trunk! 

As funny as this seemed, I have an idea that the person who helped was as happy as I am when someone asks me for help with something and I really can…

My former husband who is sight-impaired, was dressed to go to the doctor, back pack on his back and yellow Labrador leading the way.  It was early so he decided to go for a walk.  His dog named Winner was a fast walker as Jim had taught her to be, so they picked a stride and chose a path.  Jim had no way of knowing someone had distracted his dog until the dog’s harness suddenly slipped out of Jim’s hand as he took his next step, right into a swimming pool full of people while Winner watched, from the side, probably wagging her tail.  I thought about all the people being in a pool and suddenly seeing a fully clothed man just casually step into their pool.  This story kept me laughing for days to come until…

While at Wrightsville Beach in 2005, as I myself loaded with a back pack, chair,  and a tote across my shoulder, wet beach towel, and my guide dog asleep in the room, I found myself at the bottom of the indoor pool.  I thought I knew the way well enough from the beach to the hotel room without needing any help.  Funny, all the things you think about in those few seconds from touching the water to the pool bottom.  Such things as:  “Oops I’m in the pool!  Unload your shoulders!  How deep is it?  You can’t get to the top if you don’t get that chair off your shoulder!  Unload that stuff before you drown!  Feel the tile down here on the bottom of this pool!  Stand up!  Tread water!"

After unloading my shoulders and standing up, water just over my head, it was my task to hunt and gather all the things that must be either floating on top of the water or lying on the pretty feeling pool tile floor.  After playing hide and seek with the chair, the towel, my tote bag with drowned cell phone inside, I laid each item on the side of the pool while searching for anything else I may have forgotten.  By now I could not tell which side of the pool I had laid things on so I had to play one more hide and seek game to get it all placed together and look for the steps to climb out. Finally out of the pool I went outside and had someone search for my son.  Of course once he knew I was all right  the first thing he said was:  “Can we tell Daddy?"

On the topic of swimming pools because it’s such a good one...

Jonathan, age twelve, had taken a friend, age twelve, to the pool where we always go in the summer.  People at this pool are totally nice but not quite sure what they should do with one blind grandma who is supposed to look after two boys by herself.  They keep their distance no matter how much I have talked to them.  Well, this day it was time for the cab to pick us up for home and sure enough, this blind grandma could not find her boys.  Now, they are both great swimmers and there are life guards at the pool.  These life guards are young college students who are much friendlier than most of the patrons there.  I knew the kids were fine.  Anyway, I began to gather my belongings from the table where we had eaten lunch. 

A lady nearby obviously wanted the table.  “Are you leaving?” she asked me.

“Yes,” very soon,” I said.

She evidently picked up a towel from the back of one of the chairs.

“Is this yours?” she asked.

“What?” I asked.

“Is this your towel?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it belongs to one of the kids,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said.

At that she walked over and put the towel right in front of my face almost touching my eyes. 

“This one,” she said, “Is this your kid’s  towel?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“Well it’s blue.” She said.

“I still don’t know I can’t see it,” I said.

“Where is your dog?” she asked.

I bent over close, looked at my dog, then stood up and shook my head,

“He doesn’t know either,” I said.

Mother's Day

You were there when we laughed and cried,

Standing at our daddy’s side.

You read us books, cleaned up our messes,

Ironed Larry’s shirts and made me dresses.

You taught us games and how to play fair,

And when times were tough we knew you were there.

You watched us stumble through our teens

Chasing our rainbows,  finding our dreams.

We walked through the doors of a mother’s heart

You were there still, always taking our part.

Soon grandchildren sat on your lap.

You watched them through school days and cradled their naps.

It’s hard for us to think and  remember

The day Daddy died that lonely November.

We watched you move into an unknown place,

Carried by God’s amazing grace.

Life moved on yet you never changed

No matter the futures that time rearranged.

If you did not agree with choices we made,

You took a step backward and we knew you prayed.

Five generations,  Matriarch you stand

Holding our dreams in the palm of your hand.

We are so blessed to still  have you now

Walking through life and showing us how.

We give you our love as  your daughter and son,

And thank you so much for a job well done!

He's my Brother

My brother, Larry, and I are almost sixteen months apart in age.  This meant that Mom had two little babies before anyone ever thought about Pampers.  Larry and I did not plan to keep Mom up nights and days on end, we just did it anyway.  Mom took iron pills and lost weight while, according to her, we fought and squealed and threw things  … then we learned to talk.

First Larry would taste the food and tell me if it was good.  If he said it was good I would eat it no matter what.  If he said sardines were bad they are bad right up until today.  Then one day he handed me a green persimmon and told me it was good, so I took a very huge bite.  Have you ever bitten into a green persimmon?  It’s just a little like dried sour vinegar paper machete with super glue that you can’t get out of your mouth.  Still, since he said persimmons were good, I like ripe ones.

We spent a lot of time at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house, especially once Mama went to work in town.  I spent as much time as possible riding on the fender of Larry’s bicycle which Pappaw called a “wheel.”    One day we were going to ride across a plank that ran over a large gully close to Mammaw’s house.

“You can go there, but leave the wheel at home,” Pappaw shouted.

“If I leave the wheel at home I can’t ride,” Larry said as we whizzed across the thin plank. 

Every Easter Monday, an exclusive North Carolina holiday, Pappaw would spread manure over the garden sites.  It seemed that every time we had company manure was getting spread. 

“Pappaw,” Larry said, “you spend so much time around those cows that one day you are going to open your mouth and nothing is going to come out but a big moo.”

Larry and I were the first two grandchildren our dad’s parents had, so we paved the way for the others. 

Did I tell you about the day we decided to ride the cow Pappaw called Old Bessie?  Larry chained her to a tree.  I do not remember how he got her to lie down.  First I sat on her bony back and realized why cows can’t wear a saddle.  Then Larry hopped on and sent me into get Mammaw to look.  Old Bessie stood up and Larry was ready to ride the range of Mammaw’s back yard until Mammaw, whose name really was Bessie, shrieked. 

Larry seemed to know just how to irritate Pappaw.  One day Pappaw was chasing him with a switch.  Mammaw’s hedge went all the way around the yard with about five different openings to walk through.  It was really funny watching Pappaw trying to catch Larry by running through the opening just in time to see Larry jump back across to the other side in the middle of the large bushes.  Pappaw even almost laughed as he forgot what he was mad about.

We built nests in the yard for the Easter bunny.  If there had been a neighborhood at that time, Larry could have been heard crying.  He had marked one of our colored eggs with a little white dot, and somehow the Easter bunny put it in his nest out in the yard by mistake.  I think that was just about a week after we all were frightened because his hand was stuck on an electric paint sprayer.

Did you ever play with those little toy cameras that when you pressed the button a snake’s head on a spring jumped out?  I guess they would be banned today.  Well, I cannot tell you how many times Mammaw let Larry and me spring that little snake right at her nose. 

I have no idea why Mammaw would not keep any more grandchildren for mommies to work, but our grandparents were super.  Pappaw taught Larry how to make ladders and other things with string as we sat listening to the radio one night while Mama and Daddy went to the movies.  Mammaw sang songs and gave us hot biscuits with newly churned butter.  Years later when Larry rode a real motor bike Pappaw hopped on the back and rode to the store with him … at least once.

Probably my favorite Larry story however,was the day Robert Sheets rode his pony up in our yard.  He had bought two little plastic birds for us, one red and one blue.  If you put the birds in water and blew the little slot on the bird’s wing the bird would sing through an opening around its plastic throat.  Larry wanted the red one and I took the blue one.  I think a little later Larry must have remembered that I could see the color red as he asked me if I would swap birds with him.

Clap When the Fiddle Plays

A friend and his wife were playing a fiddle tune which was toe-tapping good.  The audience began to clap to the beat.  He was not happy about this and said that this could cause the performers to lose the rhythm.  Perhaps so, however, this is my opinion.

Don’t cry, it’s just a movie.

If you laugh too hard your make-up will smear.

 I really want to play that game, but what if I lose!

Don’t kiss me here, people are watching!

My child is running—running-running!  He’s going to win! 

Don’t scream too loud, he might get embarrassed.

Don’t sing too loud, you may be off key.

Your biological clock ticks to your biological rhythm.

That no one will hear unless you learn how to

Clap When the Fiddle Plays!