The Book

It is said Southern Women are Steel Magnolias, and that is often the case. I decided to write a book about the strongest Magnolia I knew, a true Magnolia grandiflora - my mother. Like anyone, there were many sides to her. She was extremely complicated, to say the least. Her lifetime was full of love and loss, joy and hardship, downfalls and redemption, relapse and recovery. But through it all, there were some things she never lost sight of: always mind your manners, pay your Junior League dues, and don't forget to polish the silver. And when it was all over, I learned she was even more complicated than I thought. I loved her so, but like so many of us, never told her enough.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

A Few Paragraphs From Chapter 21

Chapter 21, Our House on High Acres

From Chapter 21, "Our House at High Acres"


When my parents bought High Acres, the farm in the mountains of North Carolina, they immediately wanted to build a house on it. The location was not an issue. The house site offered a 360-degree view of hills and valleys that included three states. Although the sunsets were spectacular, the winds could also be quite stiff at times. But my parents had their heart set on putting their house on top of that hill. Stanbury, the farm overseer, just stood there, scratched his head, put his cap back on, and said, "Warll, we'll have to nail the shingles on real tight."

Now my mother, being very practical, found a grand old 
Victorian house in our home town they were razing to make room for a bank. She took it upon herself to purchase the home and have the company that was tearing it down number the pieces (that is the windows, the staircase, the doors, doorways, arches, mantles, and any other architectural pieces worth saving). Then she informed my father that it was up to him to get it transported to the farm. My father's response was, "Then what?" 

"We'll use the pieces to build the house," was my mother's 
reply.

So the numbered pieces were loaded and transported up to the There was the ornate archway leading into the great room which had all the windows stacked on the floor. Perhaps, I thought, it was going to take some time to come together. I could tell by the look on my mother's face this was not what she had in mind.

"Where are my white columns?" my mother asked quietly. My father pulled her aside for a conference, where he explained that due to the exact location she had chosen to build, unless they had done some very expensive excavation, which was not in the 
budget, the footprint of the house was relegated to its square shape. "But, it's so plain", she said. 

"It just looks that way now", my father assured her. "We just got started. Give it some time."

A month or so later  . . . .


(and the story continues, soon to be published, "Sterling Silver and Dollar Stores")

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