We have decided to open our blog on Saturdays to writers who have something they would like to say. It can be an interesting story, a bit of whimsy, advice or poetry, it can even be a rant. For the moment it will be called Speak Up Saturday. If you would like to speak up you can tweet me @onisha, @silly girl or comment on the blog. This Saturday will be a life long friend of DiVoran’s Patricia Franklin. Stop by in the morning and see what she has to say.
For the first time in my life I am living in the country. Well, not living, spending the summer in the “hills.” I began growing fresh herbs last year and this year will have a full-fledged garden. I don’t even mind weeding, which I NEVER did in town. I am loving every minute of this new country life.
There are however, a couple of things I miss. Have you driven through the country and wondered why some people have so much junk in their yards? No trash pick-up.I had heard commercials plugging their product by offering free removal of your old appliance and thought they were pretty lame. Here in the hills if it can’t disguised in a contractor bag as household trash you have to haul it to the landfill, have them weigh your vehicle, then pay on the way out after they weigh you again. Who knew?
The other thing I miss is curb shopping. It is such a simple yet mutually beneficial process. I put a useable item to the curb hoping someone will be able to use it. Most of the time it disappears before I get back in the house but occasionally a shopper will knock on the door to verify the item is free. I’ve found my own treasures too. Just a couple of years ago I did some dumpster shopping from the house next door and got some mighty fine T.V. tables, barely needed washing.
I guess living in the country has taught me to appreciate the town advantages I took for granted. Oh, I forgot to mention shipping boxes, don’t get me started on that.
My Take
DiVoran Lites
A mother and her two daughters moved in next door with the grandmother who had been there for several years. I met the youngest child at the back fence one day. She was a tall two-and-a-half years old and wore nothing but a diaper. She had long, fine, dark hair. I discovered later that her skin is sensitive to some fabrics and that was why she was dressed, or undressed in the way she was.
We sort of communicated for a while and then she signaled for me to wait. When she returned she had been turned into a princess in pink tulle with a diamond tiara and a big ball.
A few months later Janie’s mother and I stood in her driveway talking. The Princess was there too, and this time she wore a blue net skirt. When I told her how pretty it was she and went got the rest of the costume and her mother helped her into gossamer wings and a feathery headband. With a small blue scepter, the outfit was complete.
“She loves her princess clothes,” said her mom. “She wears them out. I have to start taping them together. We bought this one for her to wear to Disney World to meet Ariel, Jasmine, and the rest of the princesses in fantasy land.
I know exactly how the little girl feels. I read, The Princess and the Pea when I was about eight and the minute the queen acknowledged the girl in the story was a real princess, I knew I was one, too. It was the pea, you see. It had to be the kind of pea they use for split pea soup because she could feel it way down under a bunch of mattresses. She was sensitive, and so am I and so is Janie.
There was one contender for my role. It was my beautiful little granddaughter, I let her be a princess, I had no choice and I didn’t want it to come to a vote. But as soon as she went away to college I took back the title. Do all girls want to be princesses? Judging by the number of outfits available, I’d say we do.
I got proof of that this morning on the way home from church when a hot-pink, compact car came around the corner with big curled eyelashes over it’s headlights. The front plate said, “Da Princess.” I think whoever owns that car wins. What do you think? But anyhow, just for fun, here’s our neighborhood princesses.
Illustration in a collection of Anderson's Fairy tales. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
An elderly neighbor has a good size garden. Each spring two or three lawn chairs are set in the shade on their vacant property heralding the beginning of planting season. Someone tills the land and stakes appear for the tomatoes. The plants always flourish; the garden is a model of tidiness and weed free. At harvest time the vegetables are picked and then the garden begins its winter rest. Seldom do I see who does the work although I often see men resting underneath the shade.
I am thinking this is similar to creating a book, painting or raising a family. We see the fruit but don’t always see the actual work and like the farmer it’s nice to have someone to rest with in the shade.
Here is a picture of my attempt at a winter garden. It was so warm in Florida I started a potato bag. Unfortunately the vines didn’t like the transition to a western North Carolina spring and all but one died. Can’t wait to plant again.
My Take
DiVoran Lites
Cinderella had never worn high-heels before the night of the ball when she met Prince Charming. When she ran from him at the stroke of midnight she stumbled, almost fell, and left her beautiful glass slipper behind on the steps to the palace.
After he proposed Prince Charming asked Cinderella to stop wearing high-heels immediately. He said they were unreliable, unstable, unrealistic, and dangerous and he didn’t want his wife, the mother of future princes and princesses deforming her feet and breaking down her body by wearing them.
It was a Chinese cousin of his, with the help of little missionary, Gladys Alward (See movie, “The Inn of the Sixth Happiness”) who put a stop to the binding of feet only years before and the family had launched a crusade to keep all women, in every kingdom safe, comfortable, and as happy as possible.
“A woman is too valuable to be corseted, pierced, botoxed, cut on or plucked in the name of beauty,” decreed the Prince.
Prince Charming’s father eventually passed on and the Prince became King Charming. I hear of a secret society, in his honor, where women kick off their shoes in warm weather and wear fuzzy boots in cold, wear silk dresses, or jeans, and flowers in their hair, and are considered beautiful without any artifice at all. I told you it was a fairy-tale didn’t I?
First Samuel 16:7
As I mentioned in a previous post, we ran free in our childhood and we did it barefoot or in flip-flops. I remember my mother and I walking down the sidewalk to visit a friend, our flip-flops taping a rhythm flip,slap,flop, slap on the sidewalk. I lived in flip flops all the years when they weren’t cool like they are today. Then disaster struck. I developed plantar fasciitis. The muscle of my foot became inflamed and wearing any open backed shoe was painful. I put away my flip-flops for years.
Eventually I was able to move into sandals and I discovered Kinos. Kino is a brand of fabulous leather sandals made in Key West. Some people go to the Keys for fishing, swimming, or history, me I go for the sandals. I dash off the cruise ship and head for the Kino store, they have odd hours and I don’t want to miss them. Alas, I haven’t cruised to Key West in a couple of years and my Kinos are worn out. I searched the stores for a replacement for my beloved shoes and met sticker shock. My last leather Kinos cost eleven dollars per pair. No way was I paying the asking price for the poorly made shoes in the stores.
So that is how I ended up back in flip-flops. It wasn’t easy finding a pair I liked that didn’t cost a ridiculous amount of money but I did finally find the perfect pair at Old Navy. I love them and I love the sound they make. In my mind, I am once again walking down the sidewalk with my mom and running through the old neighborhood streets.
Interstate highways changed the face of American small towns. Main Street America languished and many towns failed completely. I am very pleased to share with you thoughts from a dear friend on one of America’s most famous highways, Route 66.
Get Your Kicks On Route 66
By Bill Lites
When my wife and I were first married, we lived in San Diego, California, and then Los Angeles while our parents lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico where we met. We tried to visit our parents as often as we could. In the mid 50s and 60s, the only route from the southern coast of California to Albuquerque was the famous two-lane Route 66. We spent many hot, boring days traveling back and forth across that desert stretch.
Today with the Interstate highway system criss-crossing our country many of the older highways have been all but forgotten. Not so for many of the small towns that thrived from that East-West traffic flow. My most recent visit to an Aviation Air Museum took me to the historic Williams, Arizona (pop. 3475) where it was the last city on Route 66 to be by-passed by I-40. This has not reduced the flavor or memories of those who live there. They have kept their city alive as a historic Arizona landmark. As I sat eating dinner at Rob’s steakhouse, I was amazed to remember that back then Williams was just one of many small towns along Route 66 that we had to slow down for, causing our trip to be longer than I thought it needed to be. Today I relaxed and enjoyed what was left of the historic downtown Williams, Arizona. What a difference the years can make in our attitude toward a time or a place.
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My Take
DiVoran Lites
April 17, 2012
Crustaceans
It’s April in Florida and, I invited my daughter to go in the pool where she lives. She would have invited me if she’d known I wanted to go. The water in the pool was shivery cold, so her dear husband turned on the hot/whirlpool for us, the bubbler too. We all sank up to our chins and soaked. The bubbles came up all around and over our shoulders, and beat on the bottoms of our little and big feet. It was heavenly warm; in fact, we got so warm we began to wonder if we should turn the heat down. But it was so relaxing and it made us all laugh and feel good.
That was when I first thought about the crabs and the lobsters and all such crustaceans (by the way you spell that as if you are spelling crust and ocean with an a. It was hard to find on my spell checker, but I eventually got close enough that it could correct me.) Anyhow, we’re talking about crust-aceans. They are so delicious at seafood restaurants. Lots of people eat them. Suddenly I realized they must be glad to get into the hot pot after being in the cold acean for so long. Ocean.
Fortunately, the man among us had the good sense to turn it off and get us out and into our towels, but that didn’t happen before I realized why those shellfish taste so sweet. They die happy. If it seems macabre to say so, well, consider the source.
Oh the freedom and joy of being a child in the 50’s. We had our chores but then we were free. We rode our bikes without helmets, the wind flowing across our faces and through our hair. We rode with no hands and crashed. There were no government regulations to protect us. We learned that crashing hurts don’t do it.
We didn’t just play on our street, the neighborhood was our kingdom and we were free to roam from a pick up baseball game to hopscotch or just sit on a street corner and talk until dark. My husband and his brothers would cross the railroad tracks in the morning and roam the woods until hunger drew them home. They swung from vines and built tree houses and forts. They even used machetes without supervision. Did they get a cut or two? Of course, but they learned to be careful.
Our parents didn’t worry. The neighbors kept an eye out and we each knew our mother’s bellowing yell and were smart enough to reply “COMING”, when she called. My parents didn’t worry about us being kidnapped; we weren’t rich so why would anyone want us? My mother would say, ‘don’t worry, if anyone took you they would bring you back in an hour.” I was kind of offended. Surely they would keep me two.
My parents grew up on farms. Even when they were small, everyday except Sunday was a workday. Neither went past the eighth grade. They were too valuable on the farm to waste time in school. When my siblings and I came along, we had a very different childhood. We had a freedom I don’t think any generation has ever enjoyed or will enjoy in the future.
Growing up in Orlando, Lake Eola Park was where families spent Sunday afternoons. It was hard to get the three of us to sit still for very long.
My Take
DiVoran Lites
Sparrows
I’m sitting in the car waiting for the clinic to open. What will the doctor say? I press the button and the window rolls down. It’s springtime and the air is cool and dry. The sound of sparrows in the eaves reaches my consciousness. I lay my head on the headrest and close my eyes. The sparrows’ perky song reminds me:
“Are not two little sparrows sold for a penny? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father’s leave and notice. But even all the hairs of your very head are numbered. Fear not, then; you are of more value than many sparrows.” (Matthew 10:29-31,*). “Cheep, cheep” I take a deep breath. No wonder I feel so peaceful. The sound of sparrows reminds me that, because I matter to Him, God is overseeing everything that happens to me with great love and concern.
*The Message
Sparrow (Photo credit: barryskeates)
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Old Things R New 