We Are Our Mothers' Daughters

Cokie Roberts said it so well in her book, We Are Our Mothers' Daughters. This is truly the most frightening thought. But the older I get the more I realize I cannot escape it. Like a moth being pulled to a flame or rather a star being pulled down a black hole, more and more I find myself saying and doing things that remind me of my mother.

But so far I don't seem to have the strengths she had. I haven't managed to get those qualities that I and so many admired in her.

Did I receive her genetic disposition to remember everyones birthday and anniversary and the obnoxious talent to always manage to have the US mail deliver the card on the appropriate day? No. I do well to remember the day at all, much less get a card, a stamp, and get it mailed. The idea of having all that coordinated in time for the thoughtful note to arrive on the proper day seems exhausting. Yet she remembered her family, her friends, members of her Sunday school class, her bridge club,current neighbors as well as those we had fifty years ago, etc. never missing an occasion.

Can I make my own clothes, design curtains for my den, paint in oils and acrylics? No. Nor can I play a piano or discuss the bible and its history from an academic point of view. A major in Religious Education and a minor in Music from Wake Forest served her well. Six years of piano lessons left me with the inability to even play the simplest verse of Red River Valley.

Mama could tell you at any given time during the fall how well any ACC football team was doing and probably most of the SEC teams, at least those in the Eastern Division. She knew baseball, the players, the rules, and the stats as well as any fan. 

I can remember when she was in CCU just a day or so before she died she had insisted her TV be turned on and tuned to a channel showing the Braves game one afternoon. The nurses did so mainly just to mollify her. By this point they felt they were just keeping her comfortable. I entered the room and  walked up to her bedside. 

"We're not doing so good," she said.

"You or the Braves?"

"The Braves, they can't get a man on base and the next man up is not one of our better runners."

"How do you know who's next?" I asked, not knowing much about baseball.

"They announce the lineup at the start of the game."

I just sat down to let her rest. A few minutes later, I was sure she was asleep by sound of her breathing. Then I heard from her bed, "Now, that boy is going places. They paid almost nothing for him and everyone said he would not amount to much but he can hit. He needs to work on his fielding, but he is coming along." There was a base hit and loud applause.

 The nurse came in to check on her. She looked at the monitor, adjusted Mama's covers, and made sure all her wires and tubes were not tangled. Then she came over to me, "She seems to be resting well, finally. Perhaps we should turn the TV off. I really don't want her to be bothered."

"I don't think that's the case."

About that time, from the bed, we heard, "Now Chipper Jones is up next. You know this is his last season."

"I thought he was long gone," I said. 

With that she started giving out his stats for past few years and when he had been on the disabled list and for what injuries.

Oh, I am my Mother's Daughter. Apparently I have every innate obnoxious character trait she had. My daughters are quick to remind me with an eye roll or some phrase like "Seriously" or "That is something ZeeZee would have said".  All those little quirks I grew up with that drove me nuts, I find myself doing today. Mannerisms and habits that I chided her for, just come naturally to me these days. 

I only wish she were here for one more Mother's Day so I could tell her how I never knew I would miss her so much. How I never told her I loved her enough. And how much being my Mother's Daughter means to me. 

Quick Peek at Chapter 54

Passage from Chapter 54 "A Lost Mother"

. . . She had a home in the mountains of North Carolina and it was not unusual for her to get up any given morning, pack a small bag, and take off just to "check on things up there." . . .

One evening I received a frantic phone call from one her cousins. "I cannot get in touch with your mother. Do you know where she is?"
    I thought for a moment. "No, I don't. She may be in the mountains. I haven't spoken with her in a day or two."
    She quickly responded, "So you don't know where she is?"
    "Not exactly”, I said, as the thought of my mother laying in her home by herself calling “Help, I've fallen and I can't get up”, and there I was, the irresponsible daughter, totally unaware there was a problem.
    "Well, I can't find her," she said in exasperation.
    "I didn't know she was lost," I replied.
     This conversation continued for another minute or so until she realized that I was not going to be of any help. Before I went back to bed, I checked my answering machine - no message. Then I called Mama's house and sure enough I also got her answering machine. When I hung up the telephone, my husband asked,      “Who was that?"
     "Mama's cousin - seems she cannot find Mama."
     "I didn't know she was lost."
     "Neither did I."
      I must confess I did not sleep much that night. I was overcome with guilt. For years, I had assumed my mother did not want a "hovering" daughter. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was being inattentive. If something happened, and Mama's cousin was right, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. First thing the next morning, I drove over to Mama's house full well expecting to find her body lain out on the floor, most likely trying to reach the phone attempting to call her negligent daughter.

(And, the story continues . . .)

In Paperback and On Sale

Many people have opined that they still wish to hold a book with a spine, turn the pages with their fingers rather than swipe them on a screen. Finally the book is available in Paperback on Amazon. And, better than that, it is on sale. Regularly priced $10.99, Amazon has it listed for $9.61. 

You asked for it.

And Down She Goes . . .

Well, I hope the party is not over. As I knew it would, the book's ranking has slipped past #8 and I will not check today.  To continue my "Bits and Pieces" Tour, here are a few paragraphs of Chapter 25 "The Arts and Furnishings of High Acres". (This comes from the middle of the Chapter.)

      Daddy paid Stanbury for the trunks and gave him a little more guidance for the next sale. Sure enough, the next time up we found two antique trunks with beautiful leather and wood, and lovely
paper linings. Mama was thrilled. She thanked Stanbury profusely. He beamed in pride. They rarely spoke the same language and he was thrilled he had finally made her happy. She then asked, "Do you ever see any of those old iron beds at those sales? Anything like that you see, just buy it for me."

Stanbury looked at Daddy who just gave him that “Go ahead, I'll pay for it” look. From then on we never knew what treasures would await us upon our arrival at the farm. Stanbury did come through with two iron beds. One had brass balls on the corner knobs, although only on three of the four corners. There were old milk cans, a yoke for a plow mule, a dozen or so old green jars, glass transformers, a dress maker's form, a Mexican blanket, and wooden milk crates. He bought her incomplete sets of mismatched china, an old table, a chest with all the knobs missing, various odd looking chandeliers,  two cane bottom chairs, and several old quilts, just to name a few. Sometimes trash, sometimes treasure, you just never knew. One day, Daddy asked Stanbury how he knew what to buy. "Well, if it looks like junk, then I know it’s what Miss Zenith wants. Darn if I know why. But I buy it any way."

Moving On Up

#5 on Amazon's Humor/Families and Parenting List, I may never see this height again but will bask while I am here.

Now I am at work on the hard copy which I hope to have out in several weeks. In the next 24 hours "Sterling Silver" will be removed from BN. No, I have nothing against the Nook. However, in order to keep this book in the rankings and not have it drop into Never Never Land (although it will not make me any money) I need to put it in the Kindle Select program. So if you check with Barnes and Noble and see it is no longer there, that is the reason.

In the mean time, the book is out in public and a lady called all a flutter that she had bought it and was so excited to get home and read it. I just did not have the heart to tell her that she may recognize one of the characters in it - her. I just hope she has a sense of humor.

A Book is Born

It's finally here. My book is on Amazon and at Barnes and Noble in eBook format. It will eventually be available in hard copy. Thanks to everyone who helped make this possible. 

Live and in Color!

Well I did it. I mashed that button, the one that said "Publish". What have I done? Now God and everybody will know that I have written this book. How many people will have their feelings hurt that I wrote about them? How many people will have their feelings hurt that I didn't write about them? I only hope they read the two disclaimers I wrote as well as the introduction explaining that it was all going to end well and the afterword explaining how I thought it all went OK. 

Now I just need everyone I know, have ever known, have ever met, and their kin, their neighbors, their long lost cousins who live Debuke, as well as their Aunt Silvia no one speaks of, to be curious enough to go to Amazon and search for "Sterling Silver and Dollar Stores" under books. Click on the link - please. Just doing that will show Amazon that I have friends (or at least I could talk folks into at least going there).

If you would like to part with $2.99 and buy the book (which would be awfully nice of you) then I would really appreciate it if when you finished reading the book you would go back to the site and rate the book (1-5 stars) and write an honest review of your thoughts. And then casually mention to your friends and neighbors that you just read this book, . . . , well I can dream.

But then, it is a compelling story about a southern lady, an eccentric lady, who over comes the odds and comes back for a second act. I think readers will find it humorous , endearing, touching, sad, and poignant at times. But, the story is interesting - or at least I think so.

Seriously, I just ask that you go to Amazon and click on the link to the book, no investment but your time. This effort on your part could possibly make big difference in the convoluted Amazon algorithm of how they determine their rankings. Apparently, it is more than just your pretty face. 

So that is today's news.

A "Bit" of Chapter 60 "Mama's Family Beach Trip"

Chapter 60 "Mama's Family Beach Trip"

One May, several years ago, Mama showed up in my office all excited. “Well, I found us a place at the beach.”

       Clueless as to what she was talking about, I asked, “Us?”

       “Yes, I rented us a place at the beach for a week.” She could tell by the puzzled look on my face that I didn’t get it. So she continued, “For our family beach trip.”

       “What family beach trip?”

       “I thought it would be nice for all of us to get together for a week this summer at the beach. So I rented a house big enough for all of us to stay together.”

       “Um and when is this ‘family beach trip’?”

       “The second week in June, the weather is so nice then.”

       “Mama, I can’t just take off from work then with no notice. Does my brother know about this?”

       “No, but his children love the beach.”

       “We all love the beach. That’s not the question.” It was at that point that I realized it didn’t matter if it suited or not, we were going on a family vacation the second week in June, come Hell or high water. “Well, I suggest you go home and call him right now so he can make plans.”

        “I’ll just do that. He’ll be so excited.”

         “And so surprised,” I added. That night I got the expected phone call from my brother. 

         “Did you know anything about this?”

         “No, and I’m sure it suits your schedule about as much as it does mine.”

         “You couldn’t stop her or change her mind?”

         “It was a done deal before I knew about it.”

         “Did she tell you she has invited her college roommate to join us?”

         “No, I wasn’t privy to that bit of knowledge.”

A "Tid Bit" of Chapter 68

The first part of Chapter 68 "Just Shoot Me Now"

We were not sure we would make it through the week. The jury was out. My brother, his family, and I were all trying our best to keep my mother happy and so far we were not doing very well. It seemed everything needed to revolve around Mama. I could not speak for anyone else, but I was getting dizzy with the revolving activity.

If Mama was not talking nonstop about subjects she knew nothing about, she was muttering under her breath. My fifteen-year-old niece bravely agreed to accompany her to the post office, knowing full well that was guaranteeing her a forty-five minute jaunt around the island visiting several rubber snake emporiums, all the while being a captive audience to Mama’s non-stop monologues. My niece returned with a sarcastic smile and announced, “OK, someone else has to go next time; I just took one for the team.” (At least she had maintained a sense of humor.)

The cooler under the back porch that housed the wine and vodka fueled our sanity. My poor nephew was chastised every time he went in or out of a door – “too much coming and going.” The ceiling fans needed to be kept off. (Our theory there was too much movement.)

Small paper plates needed to be used during the day. The large ones needed to be saved for supper. The fact we had 200 large plates was irrelevant, much less the possible use of “real” plates given we had a dishwasher. (God forbid.) The lasagna had to be reheated for lunch. My theory here was cold lasagna falls in the same category as bad beach water – it was sure to bring on serious illness or certain death.

(to be continued when the book is published.)

The beginning of Chapter 28

The first three paragraphs of Chapter 28, "High Acres, A Holiday Inn"

Visiting High Acres was not for the faint of heart.  Although it was a great place to relax and get away from it all, Daddy always wanted to make sure everyone was taken care of.  He loved High Acres and loved nothing more than to share it with friends and family, making sure everyone had a great time. And this would start with Bloody Mary's as soon as you rolled out of bed ('Hair of the Dog' as Daddy called them) and the consumption of libations continued throughout the day until bedtime. 

Regular guests learned early to pace themselves, lest they suffer undue bodily harm. It was not unusual to have someone fall off a horse when the horse was standing still or, worse yet, fall off the back deck and roll down the mountain through the apple orchard. Yes, it happened more than once but we would always send the jeep to procure them. 

Daddy had this, apparently, God-given talent to be able to drink all day and rarely get drunk. There were a few people who had the reputation of keeping up with him and that reputation preceded them. Every guest may as well have accepted the fact that there was going to be at least one great embarrassing story at their expense. It was a rite of passage and most guests took it in stride. Heck, some took pride in Daddy’s recount of whatever mishap they had suffered earlier, almost as if it were a badge of honor. And if they couldn't handle it, probably they would never feel comfortable returning. But then chances were they would not be invited back. 

While most guests . . .(The story continues when the book is published)

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")

First paragraphs of Chapter 6 "A Broken Hone"

When I was just a lass in the south (in the 1960s) in my 

mother’s eyes, a social fate worse than death was to be from a 

divorced family. Her term was a "broken home". Just the way she said it made the very thought of it sound as if it were the root of most sins in life and doomed one to a destiny of social purgatory. Like many of her views, it did not take me long, as a young adult, to realize that no matter how off base, how out of date, or how far south she was, it wasn't funny.

The grand irony was that she and my father divorced after 

thirty two years of marriage and I, too, sank into that lowly social abyss and joined the ranks of those poor lost souls from "broken homes." And in my irreverent way, I never failed to play that card with her when she scolded me for some social sin I had committed.

Every time my husband and I had a difference of opinion over some issue and my mother happened to learn about it she, more often than not, took his side. One day, I was so peeved at 

something he had done, I told her if she continued to take his side, I would divorce him. The look on her face was worth the threat.

Misc Chapter Titles

Other Chapters that can be found in the book include:

Heat, Cold, and Miracles
Hampton's Legion and a Houseboat
From the Bowels of Antique Stores

Hint, one of these chapters is about childhood trips to the beach, one involves a cannon, an Oldsmobile, and the Tennessee River, and the other is a question about space heaters. If nothing else, let's say the content is eclectic. But, then so was my childhood.

A Conversation from Chapter 37

A few paragraphs from Chapter 37 "A New Doctor"

        I remember that argument well.  She had been seeing Dr. Smith for years and saw no reason to see anyone else. I failed to agree.
          "Mama, you really need to start seeing Dr. Brunson." 
          "But, I'm fine. Dr. Smith takes good care of me. He has for years." 
          "I know, for something like 50 years. He must be in his 80's." "He is 81." 
          "How are you seeing him any way, he closed his office years ago?" 
          "Oh, I see him in Sunday School. If I ever need him, he is always there." 
          "What happens if you need him any other day of the week?" 

(Of course the rest of the Chapter can be found in the book, due to be published soon.)

And, Then in Chapter 47 . . .

THE UNIMAGINABLE ACCOMPLISHING THE UNHEARD

Mama was telling this grand story about my Aunt J'Nelle being the Dean of Women at the most prestigious boarding school on the East Coast and how she was "removed" because she was caught buying beer one night while wearing a rain coat. Well, that was not quite the story. Yes, in the 1960s, my dear Aunt was the Dean of Women at a girl's boarding school in Virginia. And while, it was (and still is) very well thought of, I do not think the royal family sends their daughters there.

She was "seen" one evening by one of the professors purchasing beer off campus while dressed in a rain coat. The issue was more that of her attire than her purchase. And, her employment at the school was never threatened by that incident. Later, she left the school simply to get another degree (and most likely because being Dean of Women was a type of "employment" - something she shied away from most of her life, much to my grandparent's dismay.)

To say my mother had the flare for the dramatic was an understatement. Just as my father faithfully waited for the South to rise again, my mother pined for the old days of chivalry and calling cards, which is fairly ironic given how she prided her independence - quite the conundrum. It is amazing that I managed to make it into this century without all that baggage (my love for Victorian silver aside).

Whenever there was a lull in the conversation, my mother felt the need to fill it in with a story, that generally had just enough truths in it for my brother and I to vaguely identify the cast. However, once the tale started to unfold, we were as rapt as everyone else, because rarely did we recognize the plot line, even when we were the main characters. And, if we called her out on it, she got irritated, so we stopped commenting until the slight exaggeration became the ridiculous.

Over time, we had just rolled with the stories and only offered corrections when it was obvious that she had moved into another realm - that of the unimaginable about the unlikely accomplishing the unheard of. Then the madness needed to stop. For example, she started a story (about my wedding) directed at my daughters, "You know that your mother had more bridesmaids in her wedding than . . ."

(Once again, the rest of this chapter and many more can be found in the book when it is published.)

And, the Cover, Please . . .

A Taste of Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Mother Nature’s sense of Humor

My mother and I showed up at a friend's wedding in the same dress. Now, I'm not talking about same color or similar design - I'm talking same dress. And, my mother was not one to try to hide her age by dressing a generation or two younger than she was. Let's just say her style was not "hip" as my youngest daughter would say. This meant that if she was not trying to achieve a "younger" look, then I had achieved a matronly look - by default.

Would anyone notice? Would anyone notice? Are you kidding?  We were at a hometown wedding in a small town and it had often been said that my mother and I resembled each other. Well, on that day, that was an understatement. To make matters worse, she looked better in the dress than I did. The good news was the reception had an open bar. The bad news was that I had to attend the wedding ceremony first. Certainly, the church was big enough for me to slink into the back row, unnoticed. Or, better yet, go home and change clothes.

There are two things a southern woman can always change - her mind and her clothes (and of course her hair color - but that is for another day). Unfortunately, in this case, when I made the former, I had no back-up plan for the later.  It wasn't like I had a nice selection of dressy wedding frocks hanging in my closet. Then, it just got worse. A friend of mine approached me.

"I just saw your mother and she looks so good." Then she stopped. "Y'all are wearing the same dress."

"No kidding."

"You didn't do that on purpose, did you?"

"Sure, I enjoyed the mother-daughter outfits so much when I was six I just couldn't resist doing it again." I said sarcastically. If I killed her now, where would I put the body? I asked myself, not referring to my mother but my busybody friend who was about to turn my evening into reality show Hell. 

Then my youngest daughter came over to me. "Do you realize that you and ZeeZee have on the same dress?"

"Yes, it's hard not to."

"You are worse off than I thought."

(And, as they say, the rest of the chapter is in the book . . .)

A Bit of Chapter 32

This is the first part of Chapter 32

THREE DEGREES APART AND SOCIALISM

I have always said that where most of the universe enjoys six degrees of separation, in the South we only have three – at most. If I wasn’t aware of it before, it became painfully evident my sophomore year in college. I started dating a young man who just happened to be from the small the town nearest the farm my Mama grew up on. The first time I brought him home, naturally she was curious to find out who his family was. 

Of all the nice young men at college, not only did I manage to pick one from my Mama’s home town, I found one whose mother was in school with my mother. To make things even more interesting, they were mortal enemies. When Mama realized whose son I was dating, even her good upbringing did not keep her from making snippy remarks.

And the feeling was mutual because when my beau revealed the identity of my mother to his own mother, apparently the reception was not much kinder. In the two and a half years we dated, I never got invited home with him. We would visit his parents at their place at the beach, but never at their home. 

Needless to say he dreaded coming home with me. If dealing with my mother wasn’t enough,  . . .

(You'll have to wait for the book to see how it unfolds.)

CreateSpace Preview

If you wish to preview the book, below is the link to a Preview of it on Create Space. If you know of anyone you think I may benefit from their comments as well, please forward them the link. I need as much input as I can get.

Sterling Silver and Dollar Stores Preview

Welcome

To help introduce my book, this labor of love, I thought I would share bits and pieces here. For those readers who follow my Blog: My Life a Bit South of Normal , you will recognize some of this because I have been writing about Mama for years. And in total frustration when she was driving me crazy, like all our mothers do at times, I always said I'm going to write a book about this, but she'll have to die first. Unfortunately, she died way too early. 

So, a year or so after her death, I decided why not? Perhaps I would find it cathartic. What I found when I started pulling the memories of her from my childhood, my teenage years, and my adulthood was not exactly what I expected. She was much more complicated than I realized. And the more I wrote, the more I realized how much she meant to me and how much I miss her.

Yes, she was smart and talented. She was southern to the core. She was a raging alcoholic for years. She overcame incredible odds to sober up, and never looking back or wallowing in self pity, moved on with her life. She was a mother, a grandmother, and a friend.