Heroes, Sheroes, and Other Myths:

Why Superman Ain’t So Super when Disaster Strikes

I always liked the term “sheroes” because, although my daddy was a good, honest, hard-working man, he was never my hero. Since he died when I was only thirteen, before I could ever refer to him as a friend, he was the closest thing he could ever be to me, without being a hero. He was my daddy, and as Pearl Cleage said, he looked at me “as if I had hung the moon”. I would love to say he was my hero, and to many people, he was a hero. He rescued people who were stranded, fixed their cars, towed them out of snow, sleet, and whatever else they shouldn’t have been out at all times of night in, and he was a hero to them. To me, he was just daddy, and that was enough.
My real “shero” was my Granny. As I sit in my dark house on my birthday, September 22nd , without lights for the fourth day in the wake of hurricane Isabel, I realize just why Granny was my shero. Heroes are men who rescue women from imminent danger when they are the “damsel in distress”. Although I have spent much of my life in distress, there has been no hero to rescue me. I have, by the grace of God, managed to get by with a lot of prayer and some basic “mother-wit”, and that is where my shero enters the picture.
My Granny died when I was only 11 years old, but she taught me so much in the first 11 years of my life that I have used all these other years, that she could be no less than a shero. People ask me all the time how my sister and I know so much and know how to do so much—how we had the courage to have gastric bypass surgery and succeed at it when most people fail—how we know so much about computers and technology when most people in our generation are still wary of it—even how we, last Sunday, managed to make it to church looking stunning in our church hats, yet saying that neither of us had electricity in our homes. Our reply—we still had hot and cold running water and a Coleman stove to make coffee—“Aren’t we blessed! ?”
The truth is that, from my birth to my grandmother’s death, she taught me things that I could use for a lifetime. She used to say “how to make do”. We didn’t have any power to use the blow dryers or electric curlers, so we washed our hair and slicked it down, dug out some hats, and then found clothes to match the hats we found. Granny would have loved that. I could almost hear her cheering and saying, “You go girls, show them how to work it!”
Granny had a second grade education, having been born in 1884, in rural South Carolina and not allowed to go to school, but she read well and taught her nine surviving children (including my mother who was the youngest) and later my sister and me, how to read. She knew that knowledge was power, and she stressed that every day that she lived. Even now, if I want to know how to do something, I read about it, or get someone knowledgeable to teach me. When it’s beyond me, as my financial problems frequently seem to be, I find an expert. One thing about being knowledgeable that most people overlook is knowing when some problem is too great for you to solve all by yourself. Granny taught me that, too.
Using my sports walkman and some mini-speakers I took off an old, cheap, broken radio, I have listened to accounts of the devastation of Isabel. A lack of electrical power is no real reason to “trip”. Houses, cars, and other possessions were demolished, but very few lives were lost. Then, in news reports, I hear people whining about things that I consider trivial—like places running out of ice. I know that people can’t afford to lose their food, but I also know that there are ways to deal with all of that. The food from my refrigerator and freezer are in separate coolers, and I’m not sure I can find ice for either of them. If I don’t, there will be another freezer cleaner barbecue big dinner. Friday night it was fried chicken, fixed in a cast iron skillet on the barbecue grill. Saturday night it was all manner of meat that could be grilled—chicken, fish, and even turkey wings and drumsticks, and, of course, corn on the cob, grill style. Sunday, we got rid of the ground meat—ground beef, ground pork, ground turkey—in spaghetti sauce, and thawed bread, brushed with melting butter and sprinkled with garlic powder. The next sacrifice will be a pork shoulder roast, once frozen solid, that wouldn’t fit into either cooler. Then, I turn on the battery-powered radio, and I hear people complaining about the lack of power, with the power company apologizing profusely about the inconvenience.
Now, there is no love lost between myself and the power company, who, I imagine, would not have to apologize so much if they didn’t overcharge tremendously for electricity during good times (then give imaginary rebates that consumers never see because they just apply them to the next tremendously outrageous bill). However, on Wednesday, when Isabel was imminent (there’s that descriptive “hero” word again), bucket trucks and power lineman convoys were already being strategically placed so they could rush in and become heroes. It didn’t work because God had other plans about the devastation and damage, and so they have had to apologize for not being able to be heroes.
Sorry guys, but it’s sheroes week, and we are working it. All the beautiful, decorative candles that we used to try to create a romantic mood, are now being used as night lights to make our babies feel safe and secure in electrical darkness. All that food we stockpiled is making family get-togethers a daily occurrence, possibly to the dismay of the men-folks. Who wants all those people around all the time…She does. Our kids are continuing their studies, since there has been no school, by lamplight. It was good enough for our mothers and grandmothers, wasn’t it? A gallon of spring water means cleanliness and good hygiene for a whole family. “Birdbaths” my Granny used to call them. Family interaction, with or without pulling the dusty board games out of the closet or off the shelves, has replaced PS2, Gamecube, and Xbox, and the constantly droning, as-close-as-you-can-get-without-being-X-rated videos that has become a way of life for most of us.
Thanks, anyway heroes. We’re sorry that Superman has a bit more than even he can handle right now. We applaud your efforts. However, while you are working, we “sheroes” will continue to keep things together for ourselves and for our families.

It's Saturday morning... again

Saturday mornings have special memories for me...

When I was a little girl, we played "church" on Saturday mornings, in preparation for Sunday. My mother played for several "country" churches, in addition to working with the choir at our church. We stayed in church ALL DAY on Sundays, so you would have thought that we wouldn't even want to think about church on Saturdays, but we did. My sister played the piano and directed the choir (me) in singing the hymns. I never learned to play the piano, even though I took lessons for years (but that's another story), so Anna could have that job! Mama and Granny listened, but they weren't really a part of the service. Daddy escaped by going to work! We "sang with fervor" all the hymns that Anna could play, and even those that she couldn't! We sang loud... and on summer Saturdays, we had all the windows and doors open!! (We didn't have air conditioning) People who were catching the city bus (the bus stop was right in front of my house) would turn and look, shake their heads, and probably hope the bus would hurry up!

After we had sung so many hymns that even Mama, who never tired of hearing and making music, said "enough", it was my turn to give my contribution to the service. I was the preacher, and I had always prepared a sermon. If course, the Bible stories that we were used to hearing had to have my own special "spin"... after all, I am a writer, and it is my duty to compose new and different works of literature, but I'm not really sure it wasn't complete blasphemy, the way I told the stories. "Suffer the children to come unto me" became... "and Jesus said, 'bring them children on in here'"! And they woke the children up, who were sleeping because that's what they did in church when they got bored, listening to the grown people talking, and not being able to say anything because their parents would whip them if they made noise in church. They brought them in and looked them over. And then Jesus said, the grown people would have to be like children if they wanted to get to heaven... and then he laughed, and the children laughed, because He knew the grown folks couldn't be like children. They were just too old!! And then Jesus told them to go on home and try to act like children!!

When my sermon was over, we sang a hymn and "went out and got some olives"! (We didn't have a clue about what The Mount of Olives was... but we had Mt. Olive pickles and olives in the refrigerator!)LOL

Those were great days and great times!

Have a great day, people!!

Approaching "Double Nickels"

In September, I will celebrate my fifty-fifth birthday... and I am really excited!! I am so happy to have lived as long as I have, and have no aches and pains to speak of, that I wake up every morning thanking God for such a wonderful life. Sure, I'd love to have more money, and I'd like to publish at least one book, but all-in-all, it has been pretty good!

Why, then, do I have some former classmates who list their birthdates as the year of our graduation from high school/ entrance into college ( as undergraduates)? Why do they lie? Why not just leave the year off? I guess they think that, because they dye their hair to appear on screen (the two that I'm thinking of are both in areas of entertainment) people won't think that they're as old as they really are. Is there really something wrong with being over fifty? I figure that, if Oprah doesn't mind admitting her age, I don't mind admitting mine!

This past week, I began the process of stepping up my workout schedule by adding at least one, maybe two more days... Water aerobics on Monday and Wednesday (adding Monday instead of just on Wednesday), Zuumba on Tuesday, and I may even add a low-impact workout on Thursday. I'm not really interested in losing weight; it just makes me feel good! There are lots of people in my YMCA classes that are older than I am, and none of them believe me when I tell them my age (they think I'm younger!) I do not dye my hair because I don't want it to thin or fall out, and, besides, someone once told me that even if I did, I couldn't de-age my face and neck! My face and neck look pretty good... but I'm still not coloring my hair! Gray is a color!

Anyway, I just love being fifty-four, and I will love fifty-five even more! My children are both in their twenties, and they're intelligent (maybe even a little "nerdy"), independent thinking, and getting to be self-reliant! I feel very blessed! Will I ever deny my age? Don't count on it!

Saturday mornings... random thoughts

My thoughts this morning center on Saturday mornings of the past...

I guess connecting with a cousin I haven't seen in a long time has caused me to reminisce... since he and my daddy shared the same name (along with his daddy and granddaddy). Family has always meant a lot to me, although I lost contact with many of my father's relatives after he died. I have thought about them a lot... I don't know as much about them as I know about my mother's family for two reasons... my mother's family was around all the time and they were big "talkers". My father's family was less talkative, but then, they were much younger (my mother was the baby of her family and my father was one of the oldest in his family) and more active. They were always on the move. Now that we've all settled down a bit, we have time to reconnect.

Saturday mornings in our house were full of chores and music. I know that sounds like a strange combination, but anyone who knows us knows that my family is a musical family. When we cleaned house on Saturday mornings, we cleaned to music. My mother introduced us to all the great musicians, by way of our "high-fidelity record player" while we polished the hardwood floors, scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom floors until they were so clean "you could eat off them", and did the laundry.

The laundry was my favorite thing because it was my job to hang out the clothes (we had a washer, but no dryer... nobody did in those days). As soon as they came out of the washer, I headed out to the clothesline; winter, spring, summer, or fall. I insisted on hanging all the clothes by myself, because I loved being at the clothesline, outdoors in the fresh air, alone. The smell of fresh laundry is still my favorite smell in the world! I would sing to myself as I hung the clothes, and sometimes I must have gotten pretty loud, because people on the street would pause and listen. As shy as I was then, I would quiet down and they'd move on.

Saturday was, and still is, my favorite day of the week, and that should be no surprise because I was born on a Saturday. My life has been ruled by the saying: "Saturday's child has to work for a living"...

I guess I need to turn on the stereo and get to work...

Spring Break

It's Spring Break, and I know if it was a work week, it would be Monday... but, of course, the days are flying by! I know... I'm retired, so what does it matter? It seems as if I have more to do than ever... since I retired! I've been working two part-time jobs, both teaching jobs, and they have really been tiring, but not stressful. Thank God for a good rep, I guess! This guy I know, who has tried to get teaching jobs, just can't seem to get one. He has taught before, but I guess his reputation as a teacher isn't as good as he thinks it is!
I am taking the spring quarter off from one of my jobs... the one I probably shouldn't have taken anyway... and I was seriously considering not going back for the summer quarter. I was planning on resting... that is, until the dean of the community college where I work recommended me for a summer program at Harvard. I don't know if I'll get the chance to do it, there are many applicants, but we'll see! I am so blessed!!
Anyway, spring break has been a chance to do some "spring cleaning"... not of my house, though it does need it (especially my closet)... but of the negatives in my life that need to be gone. Sometimes we "old folks" hold on to things we just ought to let go, and people we need to just bid a fond farewell to because they weigh us down. I guess we hold on because so many of the people we once knew have passed away, and we feel like we ought to hold on to those that are left. Let me tell you, that's not a good thing to do! People who treat you like trash are themselves trash, and need to be thrown away!
Spring cleaning time is a time to put out the "trash" and breathe in some fresh air!!