The day after John’s 75th birthday, there was a knock on the front door. You could almost feel the excitement before John opened the door. Neighbor Logan came dancing in ahead of the still-warm cake Shawn had baked. What a surprise! They set the cake on the counter, put the candles on it, and lit them while I raced to the other room to get the toy camera. Normally it would have been in my pocket. There was no time to compose a shot. I was lucky to get everyone in it, even if their faces didn’t show.
Shawn cut generous pieces, which we enjoyed at a leisurely pace on the back porch. The dish was called “Do Nothing Cake”. I thought it was a misnomer, because it tasted like Shawn had done lots of special things to it. However, we did nothingbut sit there and gobble it up. Delicious! We loved having a chance to visit with them after the busy summer we had in both households.
The story of the evening that I remembered best was Bob’s rescue. They lived in Florida at the time, and Bob and a friend were near a canal. It was a deep thing, complete with alligators and snakes. A woman driving a large car was not paying attention and drove into the canal! The men jumped in the water and tried to pull her out. It seemed to take forever for her to get the seat belt undone. She was not a small woman, and they were pulling her through the window. Her foot got caught in the steering wheel. Bob kept pulling up as his friend twisted the foot free. As soon as they pulled her out, the car went glug! glug! and sank out of sight. What drama! Isn’t it special that we live across the street from a real hero?
When John said he smelled smoke, we all thought we might need a hero on site. No, the candles had not set anything on fire. I suggested he go to the front door and sniff. The smell was there, too, and Bob remembered their next door neighbor was having a party. Maybe they had a cake with lots more candles than ours. We sat back in our chairs and watched white clouds glow behind the mountain, lit by the full moon rising. What a lovely end to John’s birthday celebration!
Our son, John $, declared that we could not let John’s 75th birthday slide by without some signature celebration. Other family members were far, far away, so it was up to us. The night before the big day, $ sat with us, phone in hand, to plan it. He remembered John’s mentioning that he’d love to have a prime rib dinner with horseradish again some day. That came out several weeks ago when he was talking about working in London in the 80’s. Two steak houses went on our mental list. Because of John’s love of history, we knew something historical needed to be the focus of the day. I had already faded at that point, so the next day I got up not knowing where we were headed.
North Carolina narrows to a point on the western end, and we live in that triangular area. By driving north, we came to Tennessee. The mountainous scenery on the interstate was spectacular. A few minutes after putting gas in the van, John asked, “Did you hear that? What was that?”
I thought a noisy car had passed us, but the fellows felt the sound had come from our vehicle. Every once in a while we heard it. To me, it sounded like a few pebbles dropped down and hit the underside. The road out of our area was recently graveled. Maybe we had picked up small stones that were dropping. The noise was irritating but not worrisome at that point. As we drove through Johnson City, I asked where we were going. Our destination was Rocky Mount, one of the earliest homes in the area of the Southwest Territory, which later became Tennessee.
We saw no other cars or any sign of life at the visitor’s center. $ tested the door and found it open as another couple pulled in. A friendly receptionist explained that the tour would take about an hour and a half, so if we’d take a bathroom break, she would get the introductory film ready. What a lovely experience we had! The five of us had individual attention from the docents who had donned period costumes and assumed characters of the 18th century while guiding us through the old house. A daughter of the family showed us the great room with her mother’s desk that had a secret compartment. The one chair in the room was reserved for her father, although her mother was found napping in it once in a while. Going upstairs to her parents’ bedroom, she explained that an important visitor was with them, so he was given their room. They slept across the hall where their children and grandchildren normally stayed.
We were handed off to her daughter who showed us her grandfather’s dark study. The place was self-sufficient, since they lived far from the village of Jonesborough. They made their own ink from black walnuts. Going into the dining room across the dog trot, she explained the purpose of a two-tined fork and a knife at each place setting. The fork was for holding food steady on the plate. You used your own knife that you wore at your waist to cut the food. And the table knife? That conveyed food to your mouth! Although shaped like a knife, it had no sharp edge. The daughter said it was hard to learn how to eat without making a mess. Adults ate alone with one child in attendance to wave a fan, keeping the flies moving. There were only two meals. Breakfast was often fruit and cream, and dinner would be a simmered stew.
The daughter took us to a separate building where a black slave showed us how she cooked. Baking was done only one day a week. She showed how to prepare the brick oven. First thing on the list was bread that took the hottest fire. Loaves were put directly on the coals! After that came pies, and cakes were last because they took less heat. It was her opinion that many women died when their long skirts caught fire in the huge fireplace where all the cooking was done. Roasting a turkey or other meat in front of the fire was done only once a month. The butter was churned by hand as she sat in a chair rigged with a foot pedal. The pedal moved a cloth over her head to keep the flies away. As we left the area, she pulled various herbs from the garden, telling us how they were used. One herb worked as a laxative, so on the way to the outhouse, you grabbed leaves of lamb’s ears in case there were not enough corncobs. I giggled to myself, knowing there were more lamb’s ears in my garden than any other plant.
Daughter of the house, John, John $, the cook, other tourist
We spent quite a bit of time in the museum after the tour. Surprisingly, John was ready to go before I finished looking at things! He was aware of the time and knew we needed to eat a light lunch if we planned to eat dinner at a reasonable hour. We found a fast food place in Johnson City and then drove on back roads to Jonesborough. The car made funny noises again, but we weren’t going far. There seemed to be more racket when we were out on open roads. Anyway, $ had wandered around Jonesborough early this year and thought we’d enjoy it. In stark contrast to $’s other visit, the town was bustling with cars driving through and people walking on the sidewalks. This town was the first settlement in the area, becoming the center of government. It still boasts a large stone edifice for the county courthouse. I loved seeing the outside of the International Storytelling Center. That seemed to be the main attraction of the present day. There were numerous bed and breakfast places, antique shops, eateries, and two candy stores. I took a photo to show John enjoying a birthday phone call from sister Barbara and Thom.
The Johns on Jonesborough’s Main Street
On the way home, we got on the interstate where the car sounded like something was going to fall off. $ wondered if we had mudflaps that were doing more flapping than mud slinging. We pulled off, and he walked around the car, looking high and low. He could see nothing out of place. Back on the road, John exclaimed, “I know what it is! There is a rubber piece over the door that the wind is catching.”
We went to the nearest town, checking Walgreen, a convenience store, another large drug store, and a supermarket. Finally they found duct tape, and we were shortly on our way in peaceful silence.
We ended up at J. Arthur’s, a steakhouse in Maggie Valley. Surprisingly, the parking lot was full, having only two empty spaces. There were also about 20 motorcycles parked there. Maggie is a magnet for motorcycles, probably because bikers love mountain roads. There is also a biking museum in the town, “Wheels Through Time.” Although the dining room was almost full, we were immediately seated at a booth at the far end of the room. As the waitress came up to our table, she said, “Just want to let you know that we are out of prime rib and mashed potatoes.”
Happy 75th Birthday!
Oh, dear. The specials included fried oysters, which tempted John for a minute, but he and $ agreed to share a rib eye steak. If the birthday boy had meat on his mind, steak would be the second choice. $ asked if they had horseradish, and our waitress brought it out immediately. The day was saved! We didn’t save room for dessert and toddled off homeward, sated and happy. It’s just as well we didn’t want a sweet, because I hadn’t bought it yet. The request was for angel food cake, which was on the shopping list and not yet in the house. We brewed a pot of coffee and sipped it while chatting on the back porch. There we rehashed the day, talking about the things that we had enjoyed. I loved a gizmo in the dining room of the Rocky Mount house. It was a wrought-iron rod with a handle at one end and a curved U-shape at the other. We couldn’t guess what it was, so the docent demonstrated. Her grandfather loved hot coffee, so he would hold the rod in the fire. When it was hot, he plunged it into the coffee in his cup. Ah! Better than a microwave!
Gardening at dawn sounds like an extreme sport, but it isn’t at our house. Before I go into the garden, we take an hour’s walk to the creek and have a leisurely breakfast on the screened porch. My goal was to expose all the boundary stones before the first frost. We inherited this garden with the house, and I had no idea how to take care of it. The owner said all I’d need to do was keep it weeded. That was a challenge, since I could not distinguish weed from prized plant. The solution? Wait a year to see what bloomed nicely and what seemed exceptionally greedy. In that period of time, and probably before we moved in, some plants took advantage of my ignorance. The worst two I later found out were creeping thyme and that wicked wisteria covering the pergola. By waging war on the wisteria, I seemed to keep ahead of it this year. Thyme had crept everywhere – sneaking into the two rose bushes, threatening a young crepe myrtle, obliterating a stone pathway, and totally hiding two rock gardens. Low-growing evergreens had jumped their stones, too. That’s where this onslaught began when sister-in-law Beth and grandson David helped expose the triangular boundary.
I don’t remember how I found the stones that must have originally been rock gardens. I don’t consider myself powerful, but believe me, I had some pull when it came to those areas! They looked quite raw and will be that way until I decide what to do with them. Meanwhile, the creepy herb will waste no time trying to reclaim the garden and take over the porch while it is at it. Vigilance is the name of the game.
I’ll include a sneak preview of the water feature that John and grandson Nathaniel installed this summer. The photo was taken from the side, because the front is not ready to be shown yet. It looks a bit raw, since the surrounding plants have not filled in the area. Don’t suggest it. Creeping thyme could have done the job overnight.
This day needed to be marked as a major milestone. All of the stones laid out by the first owner have now been exposed. This reluctant gardener has a lot to learn, but I think the over-eager plants have met their match for the time being.
I don’t like spiders. I’m racking up no phobia here, but I could live without those critters. When I stepped out of the shower, I happened to look up and saw something on the ceiling. We have tall ceilings, so there was no way I could identify what it was without glasses. Meanwhile, I would stay out from under it.
That gave time for introspection and a little philosophy. The reason I won’t sit under the pergola, topped with the wicked wisteria, is that you never know what might drop down from above. There is no telling what all could be living in those leaves. I brought the focus back to the bathroom. Do I want that brown spot to be a spider or a blemish on the ceiling? If paint had peeled or a nail come loose, wouldn’t it be better to wish for a spider? A spot would bother John, and fixing it would require ladders, tools, and paint. Project Repair could take months and involve real cleaning. I surprised myself and voted for the spider! It won’t stay there forever, and if I don’t hit it, it won’t leave a lasting mark.
When I put my glasses on, I found the brown spot was a little flying insect, not a dreaded spider. It will be gone by the time we come home from church.
Our neighborhood group had not been together since the Fourth of July. Summer was a busy time for us and some of the others, as well. I loved Joyce’s response to my text message, “You say party? I am there!” You can’t beat that kind of enthusiasm.
Two households had prior commitments, and one was nursing their post-op dog. That left four homes to do all the partying. Food, coming in first ahead of the people carrying it, was plentiful and delicious. Read and drool! In order of appearance we had homegrown tomatoes and cucumbers, homemade applesauce, Brownies, Asian coleslaw, more vine-ripened tomatoes (never too many), and deviled eggs from backyard chickens. Of course, we had the usual burgers , brats and potato salad. Amazingly, the food didn’t seem to stop our talking.
Logan was very well-behaved, eating his meal and chatting with all the adults before being excused from the table. He and John looked at a Lego airplane that might have belonged to our son or grandson.
We talked of many things from personal history to amusing anecdotes – all fun and interesting. I picked one to share. Bob and young son Logan traveled several hours eastward to take some furniture to his daughter and son-in-law. They recently relocated nearer the coast and had not amassed much furniture in their married life. Bob said they had a chair in the living room and a crate in the kitchen. Just so you know, Bob is a man of few words, but the words he chose COULD have been exaggerated.
Logan added, “We took them a TV set, too.”
That statement started the complete story. A few days ago the young couple saw a TV on the curb and took it home. It wasn’t a good sign when water poured out of it when they tried to turn it on. Out it went to their curb. A short while later they saw a car stop. A big man got out and loaded the TV into his car and drove away triumphantly. Doesn’t this take recycling to a whole new level? I had visions of it traveling about outside like the proverbial Christmas fruitcake inside, re-gifted eternally.
The first night John’s sister Barbara and Thom came, we sat on the porch catching up on news. Now that they are retired, they walk in the morning like we do. I have a picture to prove they went to the creek with us.
Yes, she is a New Yorker wearing a subway map.
At the top of the big hill, we found Logan eagerly waiting for the bus. It was the second day of school, but the first day for him to be on the bus this season. He ran, and Bob rushed to catch up and speak to the driver.
That afternoon John noticed Logan standing at the edge of his property while we sat on the porch across the street. His whole body leaned forward, willing John to invite him over. John called him, and he ran to get permission. Barbara, a born teacher, went inside to get a book for Logan to look at. She expected him to look at the pictures of the US presidents, but he began reading aloud, “George Washington….”
She brought out another book with pictures to look for, and Logan was instantly glued to it. She promised to leave it at our house for him to look at, which she did. I think she felt sorry for me after hearing that I forced myself to play checkers one day to entertain him.
Barbara and Thom were interested in feeding the horses for a photo op. One of their granddaughters rides regularly and would enjoy seeing them with the animals. I went in the house for an apple and found son John $ with a cut apple in his hand, ready to bring it out.
Barbara feeding DW
On the way back to the house, Barbara spied a black snake in bushes beside the house. I was amused that three of us were eager to catch it, but only with our cameras.
See the black snake we were watching?
Our activity for the day was going to Cherokee to see demonstrations of Indian village life in the 1800’s. On an overlook there was a sign with writing in English and Cherokee. $ knows a lot about the Cherokee nation, and he said they are the only American Indians with a written language.
We saw demonstrations of weaving, beading, making bows and arrows, making blowguns from bamboo, and hollowing out a log for a canoe. There were traps for animals, houses of various styles, and the lodge where everyone in the community would attend meetings. We all enjoyed talking to a young man with an accent. He came from Scotland to the US to study, and met and married his wife. Unlike the US government, which requires proof of blood relationship, the Cherokee clan accepts him as a full member. We enjoyed the group doing traditional dances. They laughed, teased each other, and paid special attention to the girl in the group whose birthday was that day.
Bear Dance
For dinner, we went to a place called Butts on the Creek. We all liked the BBQ. Barbara had to try something none of us had ever had – fried corn on the cob. There was a light batter on it that was crispy and good.
Our sibling reunion was lots of fun. Barbara and Thom were on their way to visit her and John’s sister Chris and Steve in SC. John had the idea of our meeting for lunch in Columbia, SC. It worked nicely, with all of us driving part of the way. We were on the late side of the lunch hour, so the staff did not mind that we sat and talked in the empty restaurant. All too soon it was time to leave. We headed toward an empty house, and the other four continued the party in Summerville.
Siblings Barbara, John, and ChrisSiblings with Thom and Steve
The question I asked myself for the umpteenth time was, “Why do you always wash an apple before you feed it to the neighbor’s horse?”
I have laughed at myself any number of times for doing just that – rinsing off an apple before holding it out for DW or Vixen. Well, there are two correct answers to that question. The first is, I do it out of habit. I always wash fruit before serving it, even though half the time the horses drop the apple. I have no compunction in picking it up off the ground and holding it out again. They eat off the ground 99% of the time, anyway! The second correct answer is that my companion, 6-year-old Logan, will likely take a bite out of it before the horses do. That is exactly what happened today. Thank heavens I didn’t deviate from habit!
Today was a big day for Logan. We knew school was starting today, and Bob stopped the car when he met us on the road. Shawn lowered the back window so we could see our cutest neighbor and wish him well. John told the boy to come see us after school and tell us all about it. A bit later Bob sent a photo they had taken at their front door. We always took pictures of our children on their first day back to school, but ours always looked last-minute, not carefully planned.
John was out running errands when there was a loud knock on the door. There was Logan, bursting to tell about his day. We sat down to talk, which was amazing in itself. He said he had breakfast at school, which was normal, and that he had pizza for lunch. I was surprised at that, knowing it was a half day. He chose to sit by Titus, and they played outside ,except not on the grass. I never know when I have heard him correctly, so I didn’t pursue that.
Logan told about the teacher’s rule for raising hands in class, which I think is priceless. He demonstrated that if you need to go to the bathroom, you raise one hand with pointer and middle fingers crossed. If you need a drink of water, you raise both hands and lower them with your fingers waving, like rain falling. Brilliant, don’t you think?
Pure talk didn’t last long. Logan wanted to play checkers, which I did very reluctantly. I am not good at the game and prefer not to play at all. He was the first to have more men than I did, but we ended in a draw. That means he played at a 10-year-old level, and I had the best game of my life. After feeding the horses, Logan announced that he was hungry. Via text Shawn gave me permission to give him Craisins. We were on the porch when John came in. The boy played on the exercise bike and is likely a couple of inches taller than when he last rode it backwards. He has been riding a real bike without training wheels for a couple of years, so I should not have been surprised at his coordination. If you can see the video, note that he wasn’t tall enough to hold both handles at the same time.
The Olympic Games are almost over. Thankfully, grandson David was here when they began and got me hooked. I’m old enough to watch by myself, but it is so much more fun to watch with someone.
I have always been impressed with the technology involved. There must have been lots of chaotic moments, but the presentations were smooth. I enjoyed the quick background information about the athletes, because it made them seem three-dimensional. There are probably many sports fans who could have dispensed with that patter, but I liked it. NBC pushed American teams, which was expected. However, they also featured the outstanding winners from other countries. Usain Bolt of Jamaica was one of those.
Speaking of Usain, I had a nightmare about him. Who would have thought this giant runner with a jaunty air could inspire a nightmare? In my dream, I was watching him up close, as if I were a camera man beside the track. Every time he struck that signature pose of his, I felt a compulsion to swallow. What a struggle it was to swallow when there was nothing in my mouth! I desperately wanted to beg him to just smile and wave and quit tormenting me with that fun pose. Struggling out of sleep, I was almost sucking my teeth loose, trying to swallow.
The commentators never seemed to falter when pronouncing the names of the athletes. Yes, they probably had phonetic spellings, but I’ve heard church lectors mispronounce Elisha on a Sunday morning. Granted, the names may not have sounded quite right to their owners, but the sportscasters said them with authority. That brings to mind my question about “semi”. All my life I’ve heard people talk about semifinals, semiautomatic weapons, and semicircles. It was semmy, not sem-eye. Where on earth did sem-eye come from? All the TV people talked about the upcoming sem-eye for beach volleyball or the results of the sem-eye for the 100-meter race. Can you say sem-eye-circle without twisting your face? Sem-eye might be world-speak now with its constant airing of the past two weeks, but I will never say it willingly myself. Could I interest any of you to join me in a semi-serious protest of sem-eye?
Neighbor Connie knew John was away and, as a special treat, took me to the Smokey Mountain Coffee Roasters Cafe. We’ve lived in this area twice as long as she and Dave, but they already know the best places to go. I followed her lead and had a frozen mocha, a heavenly iced coffee topped with whipped cream. We settled at a small table in the back and talked to our hearts’ content. A few customers came and went, but I was doing what I liked best, visiting with a good friend. Connie has lots of excellent stories to relate, and one tale led directly into another. I asked how many times they had moved, and the answer was eight, twice as many times as we have. She worked at many different places through the years, something that would not have appealed to me but suited her thirst for variety.
I had no idea what time it was. Both our husbands called us on the phone, one perhaps looking for his lunch. We brushed them off like flies and continued my vacation day. When Connie looked at her watch, I thought she was surprised. I was shocked when she repeated the time. We had been there talking nonstop for six hours when I thought it might have been two or three!!! How could time go by so fast?
I took a souvenir picture, trying to show Connie’s face and the bags of coffee beans waiting to be roasted. The roasting machine is also in the background. It wasn’t a good likeness of her, but it’s the only one I took. We had confined our conversation to good things, but just think if we had gossiped, we might have roasted those beans right in their sacks!
The sad part about this account is that there was no one here to laugh. I would have been glad to pose for a photo if anyone had been here to take it.
The story began when we lived on Long Island, and I bought a balance ball to use as a desk chair. Our grandsons loved it, rolling about the alcove where I had my computer. I thought it was good for me, keeping my knees active for hours. All along I suspected it was a bit too big for me, but it worked, and I was happy.
I lost my computer desk when we moved to North Carolina, because it fit our new office perfectly. One of us was addicted to New York radio stations, so we could not share office space without driving the other crazy. The solution was to buy a bare-bones table which we put in the kitchen near the fireplace. I thought that would work well. I could write while baking or waiting for a pot to boil. The concept was excellent, but the execution nearly killed me. There were two things wrong. This table did not have a keyboard tray that slid out, so I was too far away to type comfortably. Blisters appeared on my big toes, big blisters that hurt! I was putting so much pressure on my feet to stay in front of the keys that it caused blisters. The ball was pushed aside in favor of my dad’s office chair.
After I changed the orientation of my computers, Dad’s heavy chair was not comfortable. The solution was to buy a new balance ball, one that was low enough for me to sit before a TV table. As you might guess, downsizing was trickier than it seemed. John helped me measure the height I needed, and I ordered a new ball from Amazon. It arrived the day our grandsons left.
I perceived no danger. After all, I had a good history of sitting on a balance ball, didn’t I?. The new one looked awfully low, like it was the height of a kindergarten chair. It has been about 41.7 years since I was confident about rising unaided from a kindergarten chair. I placed the ball in front of the computer and should have paid attention to my reservations about its lowness. I didn’t. Ohhhh! My knees were bent less than 90 degrees. I wish Rebecca, my physical therapist after knee replacements, had been there to measure that angle. She would have been so proud of me. Whoops! Watch out! Shifting just a little bit was much more drastic than on the bigger ball. I had about a foot of leeway on the old one and an eighth of an inch on the mini-ball. I would have to learn how to get on it at just the right place.
Accidents happen in a silly millisecond, but it’s amazing how much your brain can process in next to no time. The mini-ball was intent on dislodging me, having the mind of a stubborn bucking bronco. As I began rolling to the right, I grabbed for the flimsy TV table. These are the thoughts that went through my mind, “You’re going to fall. Hold onto the table. The table is wobbling, and the new computer is going to fall on the floor. You don’t want that, do you? Let go of the table. Try not to kick it as you go down. Golly! The mountain out there is at a funny angle! Who knew mountains could go that way?”
Whammmm!
The brain continued racing, although the body was suspiciously still. Brain thought, “No bones are sticking out of flesh. I survived a balance ball crash, didn’t I? Nothing hurts, does it? Why did I try this with no one else in the house? Did I really think I could balance on a marble? Where is someone to laugh with me? I would have chosen daughter Lise, being the most reliable laugher in accidental situations. She could have shrieked uncontrollably for 10 minutes had she witnessed that unbalanced dump. You better see if you can get off the floor before you start laughing at yourself.”
Uooffff! Dad’s sturdy chair was right where I needed it. I was up before the five-minute rule that says nothing is broken if you stand up before time runs out.
I’m not totally dumb and was leery of using the ball again without an audience. However, I am a miser, a really extreme one. I will not send back that glorified beach ball and get a bigger one, because I am going to sit on it if it kills me. You are supposed to get back on a horse if it throws you, aren’t you? OK. I will listen to one bit of advice. I will put Dad’s chair beside me, even if there is very little room to maneuver. What I really need is a cage or four walkers, one on each side. A safety pendant might be a good idea, too. Here is one last question. Where is the wisdom that comes with age? I know the real answer. I’m not as old as I thought I was!
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
