My latest adventure was this past weekend.

Gay and I drove up to the mountains where I lived for over thirty years. We made reservations at the Holiday Inn Express where we have received the utmost care from housekeeping each time we stay there.

We had planned to stay three nights, but the prices had gone sky-high. We had paid less that 100 dollars a night or a little over one hundred dollars, but for this weekend, the rooms were two hundred dollars plus tax, etc. We were told that although we are good customers the local hotel could not give us a discount. The prices are set by the big company.

I was disappointed and still don't understand why good customers are not given a little bit of favor. To stay three nights, Thursday - Saturday would cost over 600 dollars. Needless to say, we canceled Saturday night. During this time of year many things are happening in that area. Friday and Saturday nights in Hayesville, two concerts were planned. 

In Hiawassee, we first thought there was a vintage car show. The old cars spruced up to look like new, filled the parking lot at the hotel which we were told was completely booked.

But, we later learned that those cars were going to be a part of a grand parade down the main street of Hiawassee. The occassion was the birthday of the major event-setting for concerts and festivals, the Fairgrounds, on the lake where Barry and I often spent time listening to music and enjoying the wares spread before us during Fall Festival. 

At ten o'clock on Saturday morning, I needed to be across the main street for a workshop led by my friend, Scott Owens. We heard conflicting times as to when the parade would be blocking Main Street, but decided to make sure I was across the street by 9:30. 
My sister dropped me off and was to come back to pick me up at noon.

All was fine. Gay checked out of the hotel at 11:00 AM and found she could not get on the street because it was filled with old cars, a few floats, open convertibles, tractors, and horses. She simply parked in a lot overlooking Main Street and watched the parade go by. She said it went on for over an hour. 

At 12:30 she was able to cross the street and pick me up. But traffic was horrible. A group of us were going to meet at a restaurant down the way on Main street and we made it just in time before a mule drawn wagon approached. A long stream of cars crept behind the wagon. One of our group missed lunch because she didn't see the restaurant and drove past it. When she realized she needed to turn around she said the traffic was almost at a stand still, so she sent a message she would not be there.

I constantly gripe about the traffic in Roswell, GA, especially after three o'clock, but I had never had traffic interfere with my plans in the mountains. I had never been in Hiawassee when they held a parade on the main street that runs through the little town. 

In spite of the parade, and outrageous hotel prices, I had a very enjoyable time while there. 

It was good seeing many of my dear friends, and I am so blessed that Gay is happy to be there with me. These trips take a toll on me, but when I can come home and rest a couple of days, I am fine. 

No more trips now for awhile. As fall is approaching, I have plans for myself at home. So many things I want to do and soon will be able to do, I hope.

Hugs to my virtual friends out there. And hugs to my family and friends close by. What would I do without you?

Stu and Gay, my best friends and family 

My next adventure was not much fun

moveable kitchen cart

After spending a wonderful weekend in the mountains of NC and North Georgia, I came home energized and anxious to write and submit some of my work. Gay was pleased to see me feeling much better and anxious to start writing again.

All was well until Tuesday evening. I was in the kitchen making myself a cup of coffee. I turned away from the Keurig to get some water and suddenly my foot slipped, I felt myself falling and reached out to balance myself on the kitchen cart I bought for storage. But it moved, and I fell on the hard floor. I realized quickly that I could not get up. My left leg, foot, and my hip were all in great pain. 

I was fortunate that Gay and Stu had come home and were upstairs. I called out loud and repeatedly, afraid they might not hear me, but they did and called that they were coming. Gay said when she arrived Lexie was sitting close by my head which was resting on the floor. I didn't even realize she was there, but it was so sweet to know she sat by me quietly as though she could comfort me. 

That was the beginning of another night at the ER. 

"Just give me an ice pack and help me to bed," I told the firemen and my family. But all of them insisted I should be checked out to see if I had any broken bones.

Many hours later I was dismissed with the assurance that nothing was broken.

In the days that followed, I felt as if my back was broken. The pain was atrocious and sitting was almost impossible. Today is the first time I have been mostly pain free. I drove my car up to Canton, GA and Gay and I had dinner at the https://www.crackerbarrel.com/ after trying to shop at an outlet mall. Too much walking was involved for shopping so I won't do that again any time soon. 

We were all so thankful that I had not broken my hip. I know that could have made a huge change in my life and in Gay and Stu's lives. 

Life is good and I am very blessed. Next weekend, I will go back to the mountains when my dear friend, Scott Owens, poet, wil be in Hayesville and in Hiawassee. 

We will have a good time and I will feel good, I'm sure.

Have a good week. Hug someone.

The Adventures of Glenda and Lexie

This is Lexie trying to tell me something important. If I could just learn dog language we would have the most interesting conversations. 

Life is never dull for me. I will begin with my visitors on my deck a few weeks ago.

One evening, my darling Lexie, began going out on the deck and barking. 
After ignoring her for a while, I decided to open the door and turn on the light to see what had upset her.

As you can see in the photo above, an opossum had dropped by and found appealing the food that I had left for the birds.  I tried to shoo him away, but he would not move. He crouched a little bit and hissed at me. Lexie had calmed down once she knew I had seen the visitor. So, I said, "Mr. Possum, have fun. I am going inside."  Opossums are good animals who eat ticks and help keep us safe.

In a short time, Lexie began barking again. I went to the door and looked out. The opossum was still eating, but another creature had arrived. In back of the opossum, I saw four small feet clutching the post. I could not see the body that was behind the post until suddenly the new guest poked his head around to see me. The little bandit evidently thought he might chase off Mr. Oscar P. Opossum, and eat the remaining berries, but that was not to be. 

As soon as I opened the door to step out on the deck, Rocky Raccoon disappeared only to show up a few minutes later, his head cradled between the forks of a nearby tree. He was so cute, I had to laugh. I said to Lexie, "Come inside now and let them figure out who will eat the remainder of the berries." 

I never expected to find two wild animals on my deck here in the city. That did not happen in my home in the mountains. But the empty lot on one side of me here is forested and our back yard is left to the Ivey and wild flowers. Just as I learned to live with deer eating my Hosta in the mountains, I'll feed these small creatures and hope they will leave my suet feeders alone. 

I'll post about another recent adventure next time.

Be kind and enjoy every day. 

Sandy Benson Writer

I found time today to peruse some of our members sites and discovered Sandy Benson has a blog that I had not seen before. She published books, and I reviewed one of them; however, I really enjoyed this post on her blog. 

https://www.sandygbenson.com/short-stories

She wrote a short story and then turned it into a play for the Peacock Playhouse in Hayesville, NC. Sandy is a volunteer for the theatre and helps with the production of local, original talent that performs there several times each year. Carroll Taylor, author of several books, also writes plays that have been performed at the Peacock Playhouse. 

They are both great additions to those who help keep the theatre seats filled. 

Living in a small town

This newspaper clipping was found among my mother-in-law's belongings, and I recently came across it while going through boxes of Beall information.

It reminds me of how small towns are very different from big cities. Obituaries in small-town newspapers are written so the reader knows who has died and who he was related to in the town. Because all the residents of Rockmart GA knew who Mrs. Beall was, it was appropriate to say the woman who died was Mrs. Beall's mother.

Mrs. Beall's Mother Dies Suddenly Sat. It looks like a news item, which I am sure it was. The Mrs. Beall in the headline was my mother-in-law, Helen Alexander Beall, who was co-owner of a popular dress shop. Her mother was Mrs. Roy P. Alexander, and the Alexanders were a well-known family in Roopville, south of Rockmart. 

Now that I no longer live in the small town of Hayesville, NC, I subscribe to their online version of the Clay County Progress, the weekly newspaper.

The obituaries are usually written by a family member, and some laud the interests of the deceased as well as listing the family members. Many of the elderly people are living into their 80s and 90s, and most of them were born in a distant city up north. The obituary informs us of where they worked and the titles or rank held if the deceased had been in the military. 

I am led to believe their happiest days were after they retired in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains. "He loved to fish and hike," or "she volunteered at Granny's Attic," and always lists the church activities, deacon, elder, Sunday School teacher, or sang in the choir. 

We know the subject of an obit was a native of the area because he was born in Clay County, or born in one of the Georgia counties bordering North Carolina. We learn where he went to school, what he did after graduating from High School, and if he had always lived there. 

If it is an obituary of an elderly woman native to the area, she is lauded for being a great mother and grandmother. She loved quilting or baking or helping at her church. Hardly ever is a job mentioned for this woman. We learn that she was loving and giving and happy in her garden or putting up vegetables from the garden. 

When I first moved to Hayesville, I often found that an obituary of a native would mention that she had worked in one of the mills that flourished there before they were all closed and relocated overseas. That move affected families, especially single mothers, in a negative way as their opportunity to earn a living had ended. There were no other jobs similar to the ones that had been lost. 

There is a big difference between an obituary written by a loving family member and the impersonal ones written by a member of the newspaper staff or the funeral home. I feel a bit sad when I read those not written by someone familiar to the deceased. 

I have written or helped write obituaries for my parents and siblings. It is a heavy undertaking, and I have written my own for my family to have when I am gone. 

Today has been a long day, and I am tired. I began home physical therapy today and went to my chiropractor who helps me so very much. She is the most unusual doctor. She says she is a functional chiropractor, which means she does other kinds of healing even if she has to get down on the floor and work on my poor legs as I sit. 

The world is filled with people who help others in diverse ways. I am grateful for those people who don't necessarily follow the norm, who find more than one tried and true way to make me feel better. 

In a world filled with war, murder, death, and torture, it is often hard to face another day with hope. But I know that hearing about the horrible things going on in our country and around the world will not help me because I can't do anything about those atrocities. But I will concentrate on where I can still be of use to others. I will spend tomorrow working on my new writing class, which begins on June 30. My six students will make me happy, and they will enjoy writing their memories. 

Thanks for stopping by and reading my thoughts tonight. I appreciate you and your comments. 

COVID keeps coming

I am pretty sure I have Long COVID and my pulmonologist thinks so, too.

I have had four cases of COVID since 2020, even though I had my shots.

My breathing problems are probably due to inflammation of the airways caused by the virus. It surely makes a difference in who you choose for your doctor. The previous one said I didn't have Asthma and my lungs were clear. She offered no reason I had shortness of breath. 

The new doctor said I do have Asthma and is looking for the reason for my problems. I am scheduled for more tests and I am using a steroid med in my nebulizer. I will have in home physical therapy beginning next week. My entire body has suffered because of the virus. I cannot walk much at all. Fatigue overcomes me almost instantly. That is one of the symptoms of Long Covid. 

It is hard to believe that before I had the first COVID virus, I lived alone in my house in the mountains. Drove my car anywhere I wanted to go, and, except for a painful knee, I was doing OK.

I thought the isolation from the Pandemic was going to be my worst complaint, but no. While the isolation was harmful to my mental health, the virus which lives inside me has inflamed my entire body, I believe. It does damage to all of the body, not just the lungs or respiratory area.

I am hopeful now that the new program I will be on will help me with all of the symptoms of Long COVID. Soon after my first COVID illness and my shortness of breath became troublesome, I was sent to a cardiologist. I had several tests and they diagnosed me with a faulty valve in my heart. I have been monitored for that, too, but there has been no change since the first ECHO-cardiogram.

When people scoff at COVID as a serious illness, I would like to tell them it is very serious. It changed my entire life. I no longer live alone in my house. I almost always need someone to drive me if I must park a distance from the door of my doctor's office. At times, my sister takes a wheelchair in the car in case I must walk a long way to my destination. 

But my mind is still good and for that I am grateful. I will be teaching again soon on Zoom. My students seem to enjoy the classes and come back for more. 

I have worked for several days scheduling volunteers to work in our NCWN-West booth at Festival on the Square in Hayesville. We have a good number of authors with books on the market now so they are happy to meet the public. 

About 3,000 people attend the festival each year, and some of our writers sell lots of books.

            Rosemary Royston

I will miss being there, but plan to be in Hiawassee in July when Rosemary Royston, excellent writer and well-published poet, will teach a poetry workshop. 

She has published several books and teaches often at the John C. Campbell Folk School in their writing department.  I will enjoy being with my writing buddies again. 

Hope you are having a wonderful summer. Don't get COVID while you are out having fun.

FOR MORE INFO ON LONG COVID:

My Life Now

                                                                             

My life now is quite different from the life I led in Hayesville, NC, for the past thirty years. There I was out and about almost every day. If I wanted to go somewhere, I simply got into my car and drove to one of the small towns nearby, where I shopped, visited with a friend or simply stopped in a restaurant and ate alone. As a writer, I like to listen to those around me. I often get a line or an idea from some conversation. 

As a member of the NC Writers' Network - West, I had many friends among the locals. We often got together for a late lunch and had a good time talking and laughing for an hour or two. Some of us had no one at home to hurry back to, and we stayed even longer. 

I don't know anyone here in Roswell except my sister and my niece. The three of us often meet for a long lunch. I enjoy both of them. But I haven't made friends here. I joined the Georgia Writers Association, but their meetings are not near where I live, and they meet at night. With my physical difficulties in walking very far, I usually feel more confident when with someone than alone. But I haven't found a writing buddy who would accompany me. 

I don't drive at night in the city. I often get lost, and that is a frightening experience. All those years I lived in a rural town in the mountains, I had no fear of driving at night alone from my home to the surrounding towns. I knew all the curvy roads, all the landmarks, and when others would not drive at night, I had no problems. I don't see quite as well at night as I used to, but that was not a big problem then. 

So, I have found more things I can do alone at home. This spring, I am enjoying growing vegetables as well as flowers in my deck garden. 

My first tomato grown on my deck

Squash plant beside my little tomato

  My crookneck squash has been fun to watch. It has had large yellow blossoms, and now, I think it is going to make squash.

I live in a shady area surrounded by trees, which I love, but I only get the midday sun. One end of my deck is not covered. That is where my veggies grow. I have another tomato plant, a green pepper plant, a dill plant, and basil that are doing pretty well.

    

Basil is a member of the mint family and is known for its aromatic leaves and delicate flavor. Basil plants typically grow to be between 1 and 5 feet tall, depending on the variety, and I hope mine won't be too tall.

I am learning about growing basil.

Basil thrives in sunny locations with 6 to 8 hours of sunlight per day. My deck is not likely to get that many hours of sun.

Basil can also be grown in containers or raised beds, ensuring adequate drainage.

It's cold-sensitive and should be planted outdoors after the last frost. Mine is certainly grown in a container. I can't even walk on rough ground, and certainly cannot plant anything that needs to be watered and cared for.

I look forward to snipping off fresh young leaves for seasoning my cooking. I still cook some, but not every day. I try to prepare a dish that I can enjoy for several meals. The only thing I cook every day is my breakfast. I like a big breakfast of eggs, toast, sausage or bacon and a combo of grits and oatmeal. That is probably the largest meal I eat each day, but the second largest is my midday meal. I eat light at night. 

At my home in the mountains, I always had hydrangea and red geraniums on my deck. I bought a small hydrangea (see in the photo below), but it is not blooming very well for me. And the red geraniums are not blooming at all. Stu hung a planter on the railing of the deck in the sun, so maybe that will help.
                                              

                                                                                                 

Hydrangea between two geraniums that just won't bloom

Sounds at night remind me of my childhood.

Tonight I hear the cicadas singing, and it reminds me of the nights when I was a child and we could hear this sound from the swamp across the road on our neighbor's farm. My brothers told me it was frogs making that noise. But I feel sure what I am hearing tonight are cicadas. They were expected to be in Georgia in May. I feel sure they are close by. They don't eat leaves, flowers, fruit or produce, so my deck garden is safe.

They are a valuable food source for birds, and they can aerate lawns and improve water filtration into the ground. They even add nutrients to the soil as they decompose. I just learned all this. I only knew they sang all night. One evening when my little great nephew, Luke, was staying with us at our house in the mountains, he fell asleep on the sofa as he waited for his grandmother to pick him up. When he awakened suddenly and sat up, I asked, "What's wrong, Luke? You can't sleep?" He said, "No. The bugs are too loud."

He would not be able to sleep here tonight because the bugs are really loud.

That's all, from my solitary world in the city. I am blessed to be surrounded by nature. The ducks on the lake and the turtles sunning themselves on a log out on the water give me pleasure. To grow old in this setting is very special to me. I am thankful. 

Until next time, when you meet others, smile and say hi. It will make their day and yours. 

• 
  

Summer's gifts

As a child, I always looked forward to June. School was out. I could sleep until I woke up late in the morning. No pressure, no deadlines, no homework, just freedom, peace, and time to read and play. 

Our family never took vacations. We had a farm, and that meant working every single day to care for livestock, milk cows, and ensure all animals stayed within their confines. My father and his four sons worked all day, every weekday, in the fields. Summer was the growing season for peanuts, cotton, and corn. 

I was infatuated with corn. From its earliest days, when two shoots came out and tentatively tested the air, corn amazed me. Those two green shoots became a stalk with long leaves. Next, tiny ears of corn appeared on the stalks that were taller than I. I liked walking in corn rows. I felt like I was in a tunnel as the leaves reached out across the space between rows. 

As the corn matured, the plants towered over me, and the ears of corn grew fat in their husks. Silky streamers protruded from the ends, sometimes white or pink before they turned reddish-brown. They became the hair of glamorous girls in my imagination. Sometimes I stopped and braided the silks the way Mother braided my long hair. I learned that each strand of corn silk is connected with a kernel of corn.

We often had boiled corn for our midday meal, which we called dinner. It was so good with Mother's homemade butter. I hated the job of silking the corn. We had to find the tiny strings embedded between the rows of kernels. 

When I was a child, corn was not as sweet as it is today. It was always good, however. A few years ago, I bought some corn at an outdoor produce stand. The corn had been enhanced to make it extremely sweet. It did not taste natural. What disappointment! We humans think we must enhance or improve all of nature's plants to suit our cravings, sugar being one of the worst.

Here in the city where I now abide, Publix has begun buying fresh corn. My sister, Gay, has brought me several ears and I am happy to say they tasted good, not overly sweet. 

My deck garden is doing well. My squash plant has been full of yellow blooms. I hope they become crookneck squash. One of my tomato plants has three green babies, and one is beginning to blush. I can't grow corn on my deck, but I have flowers and lots of Hosta.

Yesterday, Stu, my bil, put up holders for my bird feeders and hung a plant holder on my deck. He is handy with a drill and a screw driver. He is also kind and helpful.

June is the birth month of my beloved sister, June. The 25th is embedded in my memory. I often say a little prayer of gratitude for having such a generous and loving person in my life, one of the women who made me who I am today. 

My sister, June, sitting in the chair. I miss her

If you are a regular reader, thanks so much for stopping in today. 

If you are new, please come back again soon.

For Estelle

Today is the day of the funeral service for my dear friend, Estelle. I will share two poems she wrote in honor of her grandchild who died too young. They speak to me on this day of mourning. 

OPENING ACT

            For Tara

Floating painlessly above sand dunes,

she picks a star from the heavens,

places it in her hair.

She dances -- arabesques, pirouette, tour jetes.

Crabs click castanets.

Fish swish their tails like bows

on a thousand violins.

Shells clang cymbals,

and sea oats wave batons.

She sees her family sleeping,

throws a kiss across the waves,

understands that the ribbon of love

connecting her heart with theirs

will one day erase tears.

The moon lay down

a golden path on a velvet sea.

To choirs of angels,

applaud of saints,

she dances with joy into eternity.

MOURNING DOVE

            For Tara, 1964-2003

A Mourning Dove was my companion.

She strutted and cooed

outside my window.

I fed her crumbs from my morning toast.

She returned in the evening

and a gray mantle enveloped

the distant mountains.

I sustained her. In some ways

I cherished her.

Then I remembered

peacock colors covering the hills,

tinting the trees, the clouds.

I sang again. Thanked my companion

and let her fly away.

Quiet Times 

Poems by Estelle Darrow Rice

copyright 2004