Old Hometown

She often writes of the days of yore, when our hometown was a different place. It was a slower, simpler day, and her writing sparks memories and tugs at my heartstrings.

She wrote this morning of the farm fields which were in and around our town. There were expansive acres of potatoes, dotted with bent over migrants who worked the farms. These people would make a trek each season, from the southern states, to work until after the harvesting. I would often see these strangers, their black skin and clothing covered with rich, brown soil. They would pass my grandmother's house, wearing stocking caps or ragged turban-type coverings to protect their hair from the dirt. They frightened me, but never so much as spoke to me. I guess it was the fact that they were not familiar to me, like most everyone else in town was.

While on the job, they would live together in group housing, places that were usually not much more than shanties or shacks located somewhere near the farms. I would imagine that living conditions in such places were not very good. Too many people in too small an area can cause difficulties and frayed nerves. At times we'd hear or read of some disturbance at one of the 'migrant camps' and police would be called to settle the matter in a lawful way.

Old tractors were seen putting along the Montauk Highway, slowing the cars traveling east to west. Somehow, it never seemed to bother the drivers of the automobiles behind the farm equipment. It was a way of life and people were tolerant of those who were making a living by working the land. We learned quickly, as young girls helping with household chores, that 'potato dust' made its way to window sills inside house and it had to be removed nearly day during the farming season.

These days, the farms are all but gone. Most have been sold to developers and the fields have grown up with large, unbelievably expensive, houses. There is no need for migrant camps as the migrant workers no longer make their way north for potato planting and harvesting. Tractors on the highway are rare. Patience of drivers on the road is also rare, and slow-moving equipment would not be looked upon kindly. Everyone is in such a hurry to get wherever they are going.

I am sorry to say that things are not the same in the old hometown. The landscape has changed, the people have changed, the attitudes have been altered. It is all too obvious. I'd rather slip back in time and remember how things used to be, when life was as simple, when traffic was slower, and when the potato dust rode a Spring breeze.

For Mom on Mother's Day

I know I wasn't an easy child,

I had a stubborn streak, that's true.

I must have been quite a challenge

But it was a job you were called to do.

He could have put me anywhere.

He could have given me another.

But thankfully, God knows all things

And knew I needed you for my Mother.

A loving woman with a gentle hand

And all the right words to say,

The one who'd teach me right from wrong

As I traveled along life's way.

When God puts things together

He knows just what to do.

He never makes a single mistake

And He knew....I needed you!

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

I love you!

KBW 5-10-2009

In the Garden

Someone once wrote, 'One is nearer to God in a garden than anywhere else on Earth.' I agree, as do most other gardeners.

I took a walk among the blossoms

In this morning's early light.

I marveled at the sweetness

Of every thing within my sight.

I wandered o'er the muddy path

Examining each bloom.

And I thought how bright the colors were

In every garden room.

I heard each special birdsong

As the winged creatures took to air.

I felt the blessings fall on me

As I whispered praise while walking there.

I bent to catch the fragrance

Of the rose, still damp with dew

And I thought I heard God whisper

"I made this all for you."

(copyright) KBW

May 9, 2009

Never say "Never"

My mom always says, "Never say 'never' ", and by this time, you would think I would have learned to listen. Somehow it seems that the wisdom in that little phrase has escaped me.


Thinking back, I can remember a number of specific times when I said "I'll never..." followed by some act or idea I deemed impossible for me to ever even think of doing. As a rebellious child, I said, "I'll never tell my kids 'because I said so, that's why.' " "I'll never leave East Hampton" I said once. "I'll never own a computer. They put people out of work" I declared in my ignorance.
"I'll never move to the South. EVER! I don't even want to visit ." "I'll never get to retire."


Guess what? I did say 'because I said so'. It just came tumbling out of my mouth one day while in the middle of one of those 'why/why not' sessions that kids always want to have when parents are at their most weary. I guess they think we're in a weakend condition, and if they strike then, we'll give in. I didn't, but the dreaded words were said.


I did leave my beloved home-town, too. When it became unbearable for us to stay, and after years of deliberation, we packed up and moved away, saying we'd never go back. (there's that word again!) And...guess where we ended up? Oddly enough, we're in the South. We're also retired! Ironically, we probably would not have been able to retire had we stayed in East Hampton, so much good has come of a few occurances I'd never dreamed of.


Not only did I get a computer, I am now using the fourth one I've owned. I believe they've opened up an entire world to me, and to other users of them, and I can't imagine why anyone would not want to use one. As for my silly statement about them taking jobs from people, I recant. In fact, I'm sure that many people have jobs because of the popularity of computers.


Now, I hope I have learned to listen to my mother, after all this. I hope I'll never say 'never' again, but I wouldn't count on it. I'm never good at keeping resolutions.

A Career for Me?

When I grow up I think I'll be a crime scene investigator. Well, maybe not out on the street doing the photographing and marking of evidence, but one who thinks about all the clues and parts of the crime, and puts them together to solve the case. I'm getting pretty good at it, after watching CSI, NCIS, True Detectives, and the many other dramatizations, as well as true life, TV shows.


Of course, I think it's probably easier for me to solve these cases from my couch than it would be if I was working in the field. After all, I'm seeing the entire case unfold before my eyes in one hour, when everything is fresh in my mind, rather than plowing through mountains of photographs and reports and testimonies over months of time.


Seriously, though, I like mysteries and trying to solve them. I'm not big on blood and gore and violence, but it goes with the territory, I suppose. I like investigation. My favorite books and movies revolve around mystery, and the more twists and turns they take, the better I like it.

I wouldn't mind sitting on a jury, but I'd want to be sure that the investigators had the proper facts, as I'd never want to cause someone to be punished unjustly.


Maybe, instead, I should look into medical investigation. I like to put the symptoms together and figure out what's causing them. Years ago when I worked for a chiropractor, he showed me xrays of patients and explained what I was looking at. That fascinated me, and it still does. I am never thrilled to have that sort of test, but when I must, I try to watch the screens of the ultrasound or the echo cardiograms to see what the technician sees. I'm awestruck to know that we can see inside the body without surgical procedures.


I might be a little old to be going to school today to pursue any sort of career, at this point. The options are open to me, however, and all I've got to do is make up my mind as to which one I'll focus on. For now, I think it'll be the tv screen.

Recycling Decorator

Decorating is one of my many interests. I scour magazines and books, storing up ideas in my head for the next 'someday' that comes along. When I'm in a fabric store, I must look and feel every fabric, checking price tags for anything that 'speaks' to me. If it whispers loudly enough and is affordable, it makes its way home with me. This can be dangerous, unless there's a project waiting for that perfect textile. If not, it will sit for ages waiting for me to get back to it, and by that time, there's a good chance that my thoughts have moved on in another direction concerning the fabric choice.


I'm a frequent visitor at our local Habitat recycle store. It's the best we have found, so far, in our new environment. When I lived in NY, I had a plethora of 'thrift' and resale shops, though none were particularly inexpensive. Since I tend to be drawn to things that are not new, but rather used and cared for with love by someone before me, I always have liked that sort of shop. My house is full of such items of furniture and other goods. I like the putting together of things and the mixing of woods and pieces that others might not feel 'work' for them. Maybe they don't have the 'cozy' feeling that I get when things 'work' for me. Sometimes they need a little paint or a new gluing or a screw or nail here or there, and sometimes they are just fine as they are.


This morning I spent some time looking at some old country cottage magazines. As I looked at some of the articles and their accompanying photos, I thought..."aw, come on! How many of us
have a bedroom the size of a castle chamber, with 15 ft walls and arched ceilings? " That may be country cottage for a royal figure, but not for those of us who are retired peons with less than a serfs' income. This realistic recycler would love to see more articles and ideas for someone in my realm.


I wish I had access to an architectural recycling place. I'm asking the antique dealers and keeping my eyes open at our local flea market, but thus far, I'm still searching for perfect pieces of gingerbread, finials, etc. to place in our expanding garden and home. They will come, they always do, in one way or another if I wait long enough.


In August, we will be making a visit to our childrens' homes in our former area. You can count on me spending at least one day visiting my old haunts. I'm glad we have the van, for I suspect that there will be a few things returning with me that didn't make the trip North! I'm looking forward to my little shopping spree. It's the thrill of the hunt, you know!

SISTERHOOD

Like two old women, we sat on the front porch. Speaking in quiet tones, we shared our experiences of daughters, mother to mother. Neither of us particularly wise, neither of us particularly ignorant, we were just two women wiling away the warm day and sharing our hearts.


Women seem to have a special bond with one another. Perhaps men do, as well, but not being a man, it seems to me that if they do have such a connection, it is much different than that which women share. We seem to understand one another on so many levels, and relate to experiences as if they've been our own. Being, seemingly, nurturers by nature, we rise to the task of caring for one another. We speak, we listen, we teach, we learn. Sometimes we laugh together, sometimes we share the tears. Sometimes we can be just silent, and in our silence, understand.


She is not my sister, not in the commonly-used terminology. We are not joined by blood, but more than that, I think. We are joined by a common thread of female-ness. Though she and I are very different in so many ways, we are strung together with an inate understanding of one another. We don't need to have been born of the same parents. We each may call the other 'sister'. We are comfortable with that label, as it depicts a relationship that is closer than a friendship.


And so, we sit together, out of the hot sun, and compare our experiences shared with other, younger, females. We offer our understandings of their current behaviors, and our encouragement that they will grow through this time, knowing that we did, ourselves. We share words of support and testimonies of victories in the years of child rearing. We have an ear that hears, a word that soothes, a heart that cares, a hand to hold. We have a sisterhood.