My Grandfather’s Clock

Son $ saw a business card for clock repair at Haywood Smokehouse (where we love the BBQ). John called the number listed for Daryl Bridges, and the man came today. As he stepped through the door, John told him, “This wall clock was hanging in the dental office of Anne’s father and grandfather, so it’s an old one. We immobilized the pendulum, but it wouldn’t work after we moved.”

Daryl looked at it on the wall, gave the pendulum a slight nudge, and waited to see what would happen. He opened his small box that looked like a tackle box and picked out a round gizmo. Having given us permission to watch, I dared to ask, “Is that a stethoscope for a clock?”

“No,” he said. “It’s an amplifier.” He stuck the probe into the winding hole, tapped the pendulum, and listened. It would tick one way but not the other.

“Do you mind if I take it off the wall?” he asked.

Of course, we wanted him to fix it, so we said yes. He approached it reverently, lifted it off the wall, and laid it gently on the table. Inside he found the invoice with a list of the things that had been repaired in 1982. He could read the name Garstang, and I remembered that was the name of the clockmaker. He couldn’t reach the top of the pendulum through the door. We gave permission for him to remove the hands and clock face. Peering with a flashlight, he discovered the pendulum had slipped and was not hanging correctly.

Daryl said he liked knowing the stories about old clocks, and I supplied a brief history. My granddad had an 8^th grade education and worked as a tinsmith. He went to Vanderbilt in Nashville and told the dean that he was there to become a dentist.

The dean said, “You can’t do that.”

Granddaddy said, “I have to. I’ve sold my part of the business.”

After much discussion, the dean finally said, “You can start classes, but one wrong step, and you’re out.”

This clock hung in the lab of Granddaddy’s office, covered in dust from the plaster of Paris dentists used back then. My dad had it cleaned and refinished when he moved his office to a ground floor storefront.

Daryl pointed to oil on some pieces of the works and recommended a good cleaning. It may take a month or two, because he has several jobs ahead of ours. The poor old clock has hung motionless on our wall for eleven months. One more month is nothing. It will be great to have it back. I wonder if it will still say “Tock Tick” instead of “Tick Tock” as my mother insisted it did. After Dad’s retirement, it hung on the wall of their bedroom. That’s where the clock had a new purpose, helping Dad set his hearing aids correctly before going out. It was still ticking steadily when we went there for his funeral.

Saying Goodbye for Now

Our last evening with Kate was very pleasant, because I could put off thoughts of saying goodbye. Logan (5) and Bob came across the street to visit for a while on the porch. The young boy supplied power for the trains, since the transformer caught fire a few days ago. Living in the mountains can be very exciting at times.

This morning I heard an alarm at 5:15 which I presumed was Kate’s, so I got up. Everyone appeared to be asleep. By the time I dressed for walking, John was up, followed by Kate. She had packed the car last night and left after a light breakfast. We had two quick goodbyes, after which I started walking. The hardest goodbye was the third — waving as her car disappeared down the street. I had an hour then to try to concentrate on all the good times we had while she was here.

I’d pegged Kate’s leaving as the time to attack the climbing hydrangea, which we have watched not bloom for two summers. Internet instructions said to cut back in late June or early July. As John, Nate, and I had breakfast on the porch, I decided I might as well be truly miserable. Out came the loppers and clippers. There is nothing like gardening to make the rest of my life seem to be a delightful dream. I wonder if taking off my glasses would help. You finish one job, and your eyes wander a bit, luring you to yet another rogue plant that needs to be curbed. The quick answer is no, because I’m so blind I might cut off a toe instead. I allotted ten snips for the wisteria and removed low branches from the crepe myrtle at the front. I hope super gardeners Amy, Shawn, and Beth will give me a virtual pat on the back. For immediate gratification, I should have taken before and after photos.

Found a picture from a month ago and ran outside to record today’s hack job. I can’t see much change, certainly not a half hour’s sweat difference.

Golly Pete! I don’t think the clothes pins changed, either.

Cherokee and Me

The excursion on Kate’s last day here was a trip to Cherokee. We drove through the town full of motels, tourist shops, eateries, and the huge casino. Our destination was the Oconaluftee Indian Village, where we arrived just in time for the demonstration of Cherokee dance. They had dances for bears, corn gathering, bulls, and several others. A man outside the circle chanted and beat a drum or shook a gourd as the Indians circled about. At the end, the audience was invited to participate in a dance that snaked about the inner square and stands were we sat. Nate and $ represented us. A guide took us around the craft areas where we saw people making belts, pottery, baskets, blow guns, arrow heads, and a canoe. We were on our own to look into log/clay houses and the council house.

I never thought about what Cherokee Indians sound like, and I found out they sound like me! They have Southern accents. The reason behind it is sad, though. Until recently children were punished in public school if they spoke Cherokee. Now that the language is almost extinct, Americans are urging them to preserve it.

As we were leaving, we walked past where the dancing had been and heard an older man’s lecture. He was fantastic. I wish I could remember all he spoke about. I always associated feathers with Indians, and he said that eagle feathers were used in sacred dances. They trapped eagles, removed a few feathers, and set them free again. Elements of dance included thanking the creator of the birds and the birds themselves. I knew white settlers brought the common cold which killed many Indians, but he listed others such as smallpox and influenza. Medicine men had been able to cure diseases before, but they tried all kinds of things against the new illnesses without success. The man spoke of body painting, saying the amount of black paint indicated the degree of anger involved. I was surprised at the drum he showed. It was made of pottery with animal skins stretched over both ends. Gourds were filled with seeds to make the rattle. He spoke of burial customs and housing, explaining carefully that now they live like normal Americans and are buried like us.

On the way home Nate picked up my hat as he got in the car and clapped it on top of his. We stopped by Jonathan Creek so that Kate could see the destination of my morning walk. She has been fighting a cold or allergies all week and didn’t feel well enough to go out early in the morning. Next year she may come later in the season.

Fourth of July

We were celebrating independence but ruled by rain. We read that there would be activities in Waynesville, so we drove down Main Street. There were lots of people walking about and several musical groups playing on the sidewalks. We also saw signs for a cookout. It began to rain. We kept driving. Fireworks were listed in the newspaper, but with our luck, they would be canned if we showed up.

Cooking meats on the grill was about as close as we could get to doing something traditionally American. John and Nate grilled apple sausages, turkey hot dogs, and turkey burgers. We also had squash from neighbor Joyce who shared produce from her first garden in 30 years. As always, star billing went to Uncle Walter’s potato salad recipe. Uncle Walter, John’s godfather, had the recipe from a cousin who owned a deli. It’s a little different every time, but always delicious. I put together some chocolate chip bars while the squash was cooking. Kate has been with us a week now, and this was the first time I baked. Her eyes lit up when she saw the pan cooling on the counter.

John could have provided us with thoughts on fallen heroes of the 1770’s, but we didn’t delve into history. I took care of fallen heroes in the garden – glads that toppled to the ground after all the rain we’ve had. I wouldn’t normally cut flowers to bring inside, but these would never have pulled themselves upright. We’ve talked about them on the porch, so they should know they are loved and appreciated.

Another round of rain came and went. We planned to watch fireworks on TV, but when booms sounded up the mountain, we sat on our porch and enjoyed the free show.

Clouds in the Mountains

Yesterday we were resigned to a day at home because of rain. Son $ called to see how we were, and he suggested we go on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Cloudy days can be much more dramatic than sunny ones. By the time we ate lunch and drove out, the rain had stopped. White clouds and ghostly mist kept our heads turning.

We got out of the car at many of the overlooks. I couldn’t resist taking a photo of Kate and Nate looking at the scenery. Kate said the hills near her in New Jersey can’t begin to compare to our mountains. My favorite cloud picture is named “Mythical Beast”. We were hungry by the time we got to the Pisgah Inn, and we were surprised there was immediate seating. The waiter said on a normal Thursday, the place would be packed. Our table was in the second row, not next to the window, but good enough. This is the only place I know which is high enough that you can look at clouds both above and below you. We enjoyed watching the staff, too. Their turnaround was amazing. Waiters and supervisors whisked dirty dishes from tables, and they had the table reset in seconds.

Although the light was fading, we went to my favorite waterfall on the way home. I looked for the wildflower trillium near the spring, but nothing was blooming there. Several years ago I took a picture of trillium which Beth identified for me. There is a lot to be said for instant gratification with digital photos.

We had rain again this morning. The top attractions Kate wanted to see during her first visit here were Andrew’s geyser and a train going through the Loops. When we got our act together, we drove to Old Fort and out to the geyser which wasn’t geysering. It isn’t a real geyser, anyway, but water was bubbling from the hole. We were almost ready to leave when the stream of water intensified and gradually soared into the sky. Nate was the first to hear something on the tracks. It was a pickup truck on train wheels, running down the mountain. John wondered if they were checking the tracks before sending a train. Nothing else happened. Finally we set a limit, saying we’d leave at 1 if no train had come. Just in the nick of time, we all heard a train whistle echoing through the mountains. It rumbled through the extreme curves, which I presume is why they call that stretch the Loops. We knew not to talk to John who was counting the cars – 78 today. Maybe we all have a compulsive desire to count certain things. I’ve broken my habit of counting silverware when emptying the dishwasher, but he still counts railroad cars on a moving train.

After the train left that area, we went to Old Fort and saw it go through the town. Next stop was the Moose Café. $ introduced us to this restaurant years ago, and it’s always been a favorite. They put biscuits and their special apple butter on the table when you order, and they serve fried chicken, collard greens, country ham, liver mush, chicken and dumplings, and other Southern fare. The meals are terribly carb-heavy, which I tried to balance with a spinach/peach salad. The ploy was unsuccessful, but I gave myself 100 points for trying.

Adjacent to the restaurant is the farmer’s market, now in full swing. John and I went in the winter when only one building was open. Today there were the usual fresh fruits and vegetables, but other stalls had craft items, clothing, pottery, home decorations, and jewelry. We poked about one area featuring gourds. We made the mistake of engaging the proprietor in conversation and couldn’t get away. I wondered where John was and spotted him on a bench, asleep. The woman told us how many days it takes for a very small gourd to dry enough for her to paint. The largest ones take a year! Her signature pieces have a few leaves painted on them. She cuts the top off around the jagged leaves, which I found esthetically pleasing. She also used gourd seeds to make earrings. She had many items there and mentioned that her work was in six other galleries. Before we left, she gave Nate an egg gourd ornament that someone had broken, suggesting ways he could decorate it.

Family Visits the Mountains

063015 (2) — Thom Barbara John $ Kate Nate

John’s sister Barbara and husband Thom arrived about six hours after we got back from the baptism of their grandson in Maryland. Our first meal together was breakfast, out on the screened porch, as usual. What was different was the temperature. It was so cool that I brought out sweaters and lap robes. Thunder rumbled; rain followed, and we sat there visiting.

When it cleared, we headed for Cataloochee, stopping at a great lookout on the way. One of my favorite things to do is to get out of the car to feel the breeze and smell the fresh mountain air. A couple from South Carolina joined us at the railing. Son $ engaged them in conversation, something he does brilliantly. The way he looks and talks puts people so much at ease

that they begin to tell him their life stories. I walked over to Barbara, a linguist, and suggested she might want to get closer to hear their speech. She did much more than that; she recorded them. I enjoyed picking out things that I wouldn’t say, even though I have a Southern accent. The woman talked about “goin’ up air” which translates to “going up there.” $ also corrected their information, that people in Maggie Valley where they are staying, said there were no bears around. There most certainly are, and they should be aware of their surroundings at all times in the woods. A few weeks ago a 16-year-old boy was dragged from his hammock as he slept, and his dad was finally able to get the bear off by punching him in the eye.

I had been watching for the rhododendrons to bloom at higher elevations, and I was rewarded. $ spotted a wild flower we didn’t know, bee balm or wild bergamot. We took pictures of the red flower and wanted to make tea with it. He said we’d need a lot of blooms, and we weren’t going to pick all of them in that one area.

The Caldwell house was built in 1903 and was open for people to wander through. Barbara headed for the stream, and Thom said, “Don’t encourage her.” She is an adventuresome person. A few minutes later I said to Thom, “She’s got one shoe off.” One of us dared her to wade across the stream rather than taking the wooden bridge, and she was off. Kate whipped out her phone and took a video, while I went to the other side to get a still shot.

Just across the road was an old barn which others explored. I stayed outside to get a picture of them. We hoped to see elk grazing in an open glade, but we spotted only one young one close enough to the road that others took a photo of it.

There was a two-room schoolhouse to walk through. My mother taught a year or so in a school that small in the late 30’s. We looked at patched holes where stoves had been and sat in the desks. My fifth grade desks looked just like that, only we had five rows. I sat in the back desk in the middle row, which was one desk shorter than the others. (For classmates, that was Mrs. Eidson’s room.) The old windows would have been propped open with wooden blocks attached to the side of the frames.

It was 2 p.m. by the time we drove out of Smoky Mountain National Park. We headed for a restaurant with the area’s signature food – barbeque. Pulled pork and brisket were our choices. The waitress was full of fun, teasing Nate. I don’t remember how it started, but she said he could wash dishes to pay for his meal. She seemed surprised when he pursued it, wanting to know how many hours he’d have to work. It was one thing after another as we laughed our way through the meal.

Barbara is always eager to walk, and I should be. I suggested we take a quick stroll beside the stream at the rec center. John opted out because he hand was tingling from angina, and $’s ankle was hurting. Thom stayed with them in the shade, while Nate and the women walked past the skateboard area, fenced dog park, and children’s playground. Just as we turned to go back, two women and two children lugged a two-person raft to the stream. We watched as they put in at a low place, and the boy and girl got in with their paddles. We were walking faster than they were floating. When they lost an oar, we watched to see if they were able to retrieve it. They caught up to it when it hung in a low branch. We would have been through with our walk much quicker if we hadn’t hung back to see what would happen when they came to a small waterfall. The whole time we were both pleased and apprehensive that the adults left the children to go it alone. We rejoined the others and came home, not knowing how much further the children would float.

Dennis came across the street to play backgammon with $ and Nate. Thom took $’s place, and they played long enough that Dennis’ folks called for him to come home. The Brownworths wanted to record John repeating some of the stories his dad told him, saying Dad didn’t share his war stories with Barbara and Chris. John said he spoke into the recorder for 45 minutes. We were sorry to see them go, but they had people to see, and we have a daughter and grandson to enjoy. Family times never seem to last long enough.

Our Nephew, the Author

Rumor had it that our nephew Lars Brownworth made a best seller list. When I saw him yesterday, I asked where to find it. It was on a monthly list from the New York Times under the category Expeditions, Disasters, and Adventures. His book The Sea Wolves about Vikings was number 7 for June. I presume it will still be online until July 1. I tried to copy and paste it here, but it wasn’t readable. If you want to see it yourself, go to the New York Times web site under best sellers. The monthly categories are listed on the left side of the page.

I’m bursting with pride in his accomplishment. I have a feeling many of our family members and friends have done noteworthy things that have not been publicized. If anyone has good news, please share so that we can shout it from the rooftop. On second thought, we’ll use a WordPress blog to reach more people.

Winner, It’s Pooh

Logan, who lives across the street, celebrated his fifth birthday with a Pooh party. The boy was totally delightful – excited, exuberant, and polite! The excitement had been building all day until dinner time, yet he didn’t have a meltdown from all the stress. I loved watching him pin the tail on Eeyore. He was tempted to peek around the blindfold, but he stuck to the rules. He and his little niece took turns, then they included Dennis who is six feet tall. Eeyore was about two feet off the floor, so Dennis spun around on his knees before aiming. After half an hour or so, Logan wanted to pin on more tails with just as much excitement as the first time. That little boy was a winner.

Logan’s mom took the cake with all the decorations and special food. Pooh presided over the festivities from his perch on the chandelier. On the table were cupcake liners with honeycomb cereal, pretzels that might have been Pooh sticks, tiny bear cookies, and the birthday cake. The cake represented a honey jar complete with marshmallow bees and tiger tail candles. Shawn’s artistic ability was much in evidence.

While Logan was playing, his dad readied the tablet, which was his big gift. Bob downloaded a disk, installed the batteries, and had it ready to play with before Logan got ready for bed. We were very pleased to have been included in this special celebration.

062415 Bob AM Logan JC — John and I with Logan

Father’s Day Revisited

We celebrated Father’s Day a day late with our son John $ by driving to Tennessee. He found the most delightful restaurant in Maryville, Sullivan’s Downtown on W Broadway. It was a locally owned restaurant with an interesting menu and good service. As we drove through the town, I craned my neck and tried to recognize anything from the last time I was there. It was the summer of 1960, and my parents and I were on our way to pick up my brother from his summer job as a camp counselor. I requested that we go through the town because my BFF Becky would be going to college there in a few weeks. These many years later I saw absolutely nothing I recognized. I read later that the restaurant was in the old J C Penny building, erected in 1925. Just down the street was a coffee/ice cream shop with an amusing bench in front.

Fortified with shrimp and grits, scrod, and a deluxe hamburger, we drove to Fort Loudoun (pronounced Loud-un with a swallowed “d”). This recreated fort was in use from 1756 – 1760 during the French and Indian War. The video was excellent, featuring re-enactors dressed for their parts. Husband and son are the history buffs, so I left the details to them. I was thrilled to find the young ranger grew up not more than 30 miles from my hometown. Of course, I thought he was riveting, with his amusing intro to the movie and lively tales of growing up in West Tennessee.

062215 Ft Loudoun center — Center of recreated Fort Loudoun

062215 Ft Loudoun JC near wall — John near an outer wall of the fort.

We walked through the fort, and there were two things that I found most interesting. Outside the wooden walls was a hedge of ???? with thorns up to four inches long. You wouldn’t cross that lightly! Inside the barracks were bunk beds with tin candle holders. The soldiers might not have done it, but I imagined them reading in bed. I was pleased that the normally camera shy $ agreed to pose with the candle holders.

We drove over Fontana dam after a wild ride through the mountains. It seems the twisty road was fairly quiet until someone posted it on the internet. There are 318 curves in the 11-mile stretch and is now considered America’s number one motorcycle and sports car road. Its name? Tail of the Dragon. Signs warn you that it is illegal to stop on the grass to take photographs. $ was surprised at the lack of traffic on a Monday afternoon. I was surprised by three sets of photographers on three different turns. Wish I’d taken a picture of one of those setups. Each had a vehicle or so, a large sign with the name of the company, and two people sitting in camp chairs aiming cameras up the road in both directions. I presume some bikers might stop to buy a souvenir shot of themselves on the famous road. Somewhere there must be three deleted shots of Snot, our Sonata, with $ and me visible through the windshield.

Day 11, Blogging101: Why I Chose my Blog Title

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All About Me.”

Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.

Mehrling Muse, the name of my blog, seemed to suit me. I often do things backwards, so starting with my last name seemed appropriate. I like to make people smile, so something aMUSing seemed appropriate. We had well-loved cats years ago, and we heard mew, mew, MEWS all day long. Finally, I am a MUSician. You know now that I like to pun. This was written in five minutes, because we are celebrating Father’s Day one day late with our son.

The assignment today went on about writer’s block. I’ve read about it but rarely experienced it. Of course, there is a difference in writing when you feel like it and writing something to order. Many times I’ve started writing by saying I had nothing to write about, and then I filled a page or so with ramblings. Words swirl around in my head constantly, and sometimes they just have to burst out. Blogging is the perfect medium for me.