tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17329601649185519272024-03-07T22:15:44.410-05:00Little Mary SunshineClear & crisp with a bit of sprizzle and a touch of sweet---only occasionally a little sour.Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-29269964844844972982014-12-22T10:43:00.001-05:002014-12-22T10:44:16.178-05:00A Day Will Come...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In 1988/89, I took a job with a newspaper, the now defunct "Calhoun News-Dispatch." Before it closed down, I finally found a venue for my love of writing. Besides being a reporter, I became a weekly columnist. This is a column I found that I wrote some 25 years ago. My children were 15, 12, 10, and 6. I thought I would share it with you now since it is still rings true today...<br />
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A day will come... <br />
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The cycle of life is continuous...a never ending revolution of trials and errors. For humans, for those who have children, or plan to have children, or are involved with children, this is particularly pertinent. But remember...<br />
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A day will come when two o'clock feedings and constant crying along with continuous fatigue will become a thing of the past.<br />
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A day will come when clotheslines full of shimmering white diapers or boxes of the things, bought at unreasonable prices will be distant memories.<br />
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A day will come when the perfume or aftershave you so carefully applied will not be clouded by the distinct odor of baby spit up.<br />
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A day will come when you won't have to return home to change your clothes and the wee ones because of an accident beyond yours or his control.<br />
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A day will come when "potty training" won't seem as difficult as it really was.<br />
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A day will come when the "terrible twos" won't seem to have lived up to its name.<br />
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A day will come when no one will be hanging on to you for dear life, crying in a most pitiful way as she gives you accusing looks of betrayal.<br />
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A day will come when windows will no longer hold sticky finger prints of peanut butter and God knows what else.<br />
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A day will come when trips to the emergency room at ungodly hours of the night because of an unexplainable fever of alarming magnitude will be only a distant memory.<br />
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A day will come when there will no longer be bald spots in the yard and broken tree limbs because of the constant pounding of little feet and the hanging on of stringy little arms.<br />
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A day will come when pleading eyes and the fateful question, "Can we keep it?" will not be heard again.<br />
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A day will come when the only skinned knees and elbows will be your own because you didn't watch where you were going.<br />
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A day will come when no more half eaten apples, rotten banana peels, broken treasures or torn jackets will be found hidden in some obscure place.<br />
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A day will come when the driveway won't be blocked by forgotten Big wheels, bicycles, toys, and rock forts.<br />
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A day will come when there will be no more practices or rehearsals of any kind, way, shape, or form...and the family taxi service is out of business.<br />
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A day will come when baseball cards, too loud tapes and video games will no longer be scattered and heard throughout the house.<br />
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A day will come when you won't ever again ask the proverbial question, "If Jimmy jumps off a bridge, will you jump, too?"<br />
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A day will come when the extra cash you tucked away for yourself will no longer have to be used for the forgotten club dues or "special" outfit that he or she MUST have.<br />
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A day will come when the grades of C or D brought home with excuses and promises of "I bring it up next time" will not seem so important anymore.<br />
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A day will come when disgusted looks and the slamming of doors will fade into oblivion.<br />
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A day will come when there will be no more late nights of staying up worrying until your wayward youngster has returned to the fold with a suspiciously glazed look to his or her eyes and a slight slur to the speech.<br />
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A day will come when you will no longer say, "You're grounded for two weeks!"<br />
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A day will come when you will no longer hear, "You just don't understand!"<br />
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A day will come when the keys to your car will be in your possession permanently.<br />
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A day will come when you will say, "Be careful" and that squirming little bundle you brought home...was it only yesterday?...will set out on his/her own.<br />
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But wait...a day will come when she/he will return and place a tiny squirming infant into your arms and you will instantly acquire a new name..."Grammy or Granddaddy.<br />
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Thus, the cycle begins...again.<br />
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My children are all grown now. They have their own lives to live. But oh, what a joy and a blessing they were when they were young. I miss them.<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-2649464472002299102014-11-13T12:08:00.001-05:002014-11-13T12:09:18.390-05:00Old Age Is Not For Sissies....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like had things been different or one small occurrence did or didn't happen? This brings me to mind of that Ray Bradbury short story "The Sound of Thunder." It has to do with a place that transports hunters back to the time of dinosaurs. The hunters must stay on a special walk way and follow all the rules with no deviation, the reason being they risk changing the future. One hunter does stray from the path and, well, I won't be a spoiler, but it's a great story.<br />
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I'm heading toward my 68th year. That seems so impossible to me. How did this happen? How did the time sweep me so quickly toward old age? I don't feel 67, but I'm not sure how 67 should feel. People tell me that I don't look 67. I look younger. That's comforting, I think. In truth, I generally don't tell people my age like I used to. Now, when I do, some act differently toward me, like I should be using a cane or wearing old lady clothes instead of my jeans and tee shirts. It makes me feel...well...old and I'm not ready to feel old yet.<br />
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I think back on my childhood and consider myself lucky. Growing up an Air Force brat, my life was just a bit nomadic until I was around 13 or so. Our family never lived in one place over three years. Packing up and moving was not a big deal to me. The thought of going to a different place and meeting new people was always exciting. My mom, sister, and I took a huge ocean liner all the way to Morocco to be with my dad who had traveled there earlier to find us a place to live near his air base. What a great adventure we had on that ship. We even experienced a major hurricane that was churning up in the Atlantic. It rocked that big ol' boat like it was a fishing cork. We were probably in danger, but didn't know it.<br />
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I loved Morocco. We were close to the Mediterranean Sea, and we played on the beach many a day. The one thing I can remember taking away from there even as a young child was that all human beings are alike deep down. They may speak a different language, have different cultures and religions, different skin colors, but they all want safe shelter, food to feed their families, a peaceful existence, and love. I had friends who were Arabic and French, along with the American military kids. We all played together in the little village some 26 miles from the base. We ran around on the unpaved streets, ate bread sold from a guy who brought it in bags on his bicycle. His name was Mohammad (lots of guys were named Mohammad.). We picked fruit from some trees whose limbs hung over a big fenced in place and no one stopped us. We bought fresh vegetables and other foods from open markets and it was wonderful. I loved our maid the Air Force provided for us. Her name was Aisha and she was a young Arab woman whose husband was in the French Foreign Legion.. She taught me French (Arabic was just so difficult) and sang songs to me. Not many American kids go to Morocco. I was a lucky one.<br />
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I've lived in or visited most states in this country. One of my favorite states we lived in when I was a kid was Kansas. I'm not sure why I loved it so much. We lived in Central Kansas with prairie landscapes, flat lands with a few little hills we called knolls. I experienced tornadoes, blizzards, floods, unbelievable cold, and the hottest constant winds in summer. I loved it. I loved climbing up a knoll and looking out at the ripe fields of wheat waving in the wind like a brilliant ocean of gold. I loved going to Lindsborg and hear the people speak in their Scandinavian accents or language. I loved the quaint shops and wonderful pastries. I loved going to Lake Kanopolis, a man-made lake developed over 50 years ago now. I know that Lindsborg still exists, but I wonder if it still has that quaintness about it? Lake Kanopolis is a state park now.<br />
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When my father retired from the Air Force as a Major at 37 (he went on to work for the Post Office), we settled back in his home state of Tennessee. I was miserable. I missed the air bases, kids who I had things in common with, the B-47s and B-52s bombers land or take off from the runways on the bases. The kids I went to school with in Tennessee had grown up together. They knew most of their friends all their lives. For the first time in my life, I felt different. I felt like I was out of place. Oh, people liked me okay, but they mainly wanted to listen to me talk. I had a Midwestern accent which really was no accent at all. Being singled out this way was disconcerting. Being made to feel special because I talked differently and had moved around all over the place was not the way I wanted to feel special. I don't think I ever fit in with the 8th graders at Smithwood Elementary School.<br />
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High school was different. Our family moved to another neighborhood, and it was like starting new again. I made friends and had a successful time at Holston High. I even was one of the senior speakers at graduation. Everyone told me I was the only one they heard that evening. In truth, I have always been a little person with a big huskey voice. It has served me well throughout my life. And since my mother has been hard of hearing all my life, she has helped me hone my speaking skills because I had to speak clearly and distinctly so she could understand me.<br />
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My college years were when I grew up and "found" myself. I went to a small Baptist college and had a ball. I did not much follow the Baptist faith and I was a drama major, so I looked at the world a little differently. One professor told me I walked to the beat of a different drummer. That was a compliment, I do believe. In college, I made life long friendships. I worked on my skills as an actress and loved being in plays from comedies to high drama. Winning the Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress awards were high lights of my college career. Quite frankly, I wasn't a very good student...except in what I really liked such as literature, acting classes, interpretive movement classes, writing, English. My college professor in Short Stories told me I should be a writer. That meant so much...and I am a writer...on a small scale. And I am very active in my local little theater where I live thanks to Papa Welton, my drama professor. He always encouraged me to move forward and do what I loved.<br />
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Someone nominated me for Miss Carson-Newman back in my college days which could have led all the way to Miss America. I guess I was flattered, but I never thought I was ever beauty pageant material. I couldn't sing very well. Playing a musical instrument was not my forte'. I loved to dance, but I was not formally trained. The only talent I had was doing some kind of dramatic reading which seemed really silly to me. Besides, I was and still am 5'2" tall and not anywhere near drop dead gorgeous. How many Miss Americas have been that short...and not drop dead gorgeous. I was skinny, too. So I said, "No thank you" in the nicest way I could. I think it kind of hurt the guys feelings, but I just couldn't. Shoot, now that I think of it, I could have paved the way and been the first short, skinny, NOT drop dead gorgeous Miss America. Never would have happened. No way. <br />
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So here I am. After college graduation, I did not go to New York City or Hollywood like I dreamed of doing. I came to a small Northwest Georgia town to teach 8th grade English...and I don't regret one moment of my decision. Teaching became my career with a side career as a writer. I fell in love with a marvelously wonderful man who has made me laugh and brought me joy. I have become the mother of four beautiful and successful children, the mother in law to a son and daughter, and the grandmother to a grandson and granddaughter...And I am awaiting the arrival of a new family member, a granddaughter in January. I have made deep and lasting friendships here. This is my home. This is the place I love. My feet are firmly planted in this Georgia red clay.<br />
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Has my life turned out the way I had hoped? Yes, I think it has. How many can say they've known love...true life long love? How many can say that they have held four new born babies close to their hearts and felt overwhelming joy. How many can say they watched their grandchildren take their first breaths? How many can say that they made a positive difference in people's lives? How many can say that they earned the right to retire? I have and am busier now than I ever have been.The difference is that I'm doing things I want to do, not have to do.<br />
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I'm looking forward to the next third of my life. I'm cruising into old age with an upbeat attitude. I plan to dance more...read more...sing more...most definitely laugh more...write more...act more...but most of all...I plan to love more than I've ever loved.<br />
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After all, as my late great mother in law...Evelyn Hatcher Brooks Causby used to say..."Old age is not for sissies."<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-12715618005854703962014-10-20T22:41:00.001-04:002014-10-20T22:42:26.919-04:00Chocolate...It Has A Hold of My Whole Being...And I Will Love It Forever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I'm sitting here at the dining room table eating chocolate chips because I wanted something chocolate. Now, the chips are for some future cookies; however, I'm not sure any of this particular bag will make it into cookie batter. We'll just see.<br />
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I've had a love affair with chocolate as far back as I can remember...a serious...I got to have it...love affair. The chocolate doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be the high end made in Europe and shipped over to the states kind of chocolate. Don't get me wrong. I'll not turn down that kind of chocolate if someone were to give it to me, but Hershey's is just fine with me or a Mars bar or Mounds or...never mind. You get the picture.<br />
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When I was a little girl, my favorite ice cream was...you guessed it...chocolate. My mother still laments how I ruined many a pretty dress or shirt by the way I ate my ice cream. My daddy always got my sister and me an ice cream cone every Sunday. He'd stop at whatever ice cream place suited his fancy and come out with big ol' ice cream cones. I was not a neat eater. And I had a habit of biting the bottom out of the cone so I could suck out the ice cream. It never dawned on me that I could suck it out the top. It was more fun to bite out the bottom and do my thing. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I had a lot of sense at that age.<br />
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Of course, the ice cream melted faster than I could slurp it up, so I was a mess. Daddy always laughed as Mama fussed at me. The chocolate melting goo even got on my socks and shoes sometimes and, of course on the car seat and floor. My sister would fuss at me too. An animated kid, I would talk a lot with my hands even at six or seven. Sometimes I'd accidentally swipe a blob of chocolate on my sister's dress or her nose. Then, of course, I'd get tickled and that would make it even worse. I think if she had known any curse words back then, my whole being would have been fried by her language.<br />
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I'm a caramel fan also, but back in my younger days, the caramel bag always had some chocolate caramels in them. They were wrapped in silver or gold...can't remember which...and I'd steal them out of the bag before anyone else could get any. I told you I had a love affair with chocolate. This was another thing that made my sister mad.<br />
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Oh my lord, I remember the first s'more I ever ate. Graham crackers, hot roasted marshmallows, Hershey's chocolate all squished together by the crackers with the chocolate melting as the hot marshmallow sat on top of it. What a glorious combination of flavors and textures. With the first bite, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I am forever grateful to whomever invited this confection. <br />
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When I ate ice cream at home, it was generally in a dish and it was vanilla. Of course, Mom always had Hershey's chocolate syrup to pour all over it. I'd mix the chocolate all in with the vanilla until it resembled the consistency of a thick milkshake. Sometimes, I'd pour a little of the syrup on my hand and fingers and lick it off. That seems really gross to me now.<br />
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I still eat Tootsie Pops and the all chocolate ones are my favorite. Of course, every Tootsie Pop, no matter what flavor has a chocolate Tootie roll center, so if I don't find a chocolate one, I'm still good.<br />
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I prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate for most things except Hershey's Candy Kisses. They must be milk chocolate. I will put the whole piece in my mouth and let it melt until it is nothingness. With M&Ms, I crack the shell off with my teeth and let the chocolate melt on my tongue.<br />
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Have you ever bitten into a cookie thinking it was chocolate chip and it turned out to be oatmeal raisin? I have, and I have even voiced my dismay publically at functions...and this has been as an adult. Don't get me wrong. A good oatmeal raisin cookie is wonderful IF you know this is what you're eating. But when you are ready to savor a fat chocolate chip and it turns out to be a raisin. Well, that just isn't fittin'.<br />
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My favorite cake in all the world is CocaCola cake, warmed with vanilla ice cream on it. I get it sometimes at Cracker Barrel Restaurant. It is all chocolate with this chocolate fudge frosting...oh, so sinfully good. Gracious good golly, it will make my toes curl up. In my younger years, my favorite cake was the chocolate devil's food cake my mama made from scratch with her luscious 7-Minute frosting slathered all over it. She'd sprinkle coconut on top. I haven't had it in years, but it rivaled the CocaCola cake. I can't make that icing. I just can't.<br />
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Now that chocolate has been found to have lots of good healthy qualities, I don't feel so guilty when I finish off a whole can of Betty Crocker's Dark Fudge Chocolate frosting. Of course all the additives probably take away any healthy benefits from it. It's chocolate. I have no control when it comes to chocolate. Additives be damned.<br />
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These chocolate chips that I have been noshing on as I write this are just fine...healthy...dark...yum. No, I haven't finished the bag. I may not. But if I do, I will not feel guilty. Chocolate is just too good to be made to feel guilty. <br />
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So my love affair with chocolate continues. Let's face it, I know that chocolate is good for my soul. I know that it has a hold on my whole being. And I will love it forever and ever.<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-71794995476434638732014-10-11T21:57:00.001-04:002017-05-19T14:14:43.969-04:00This Child is a Full Grown Man...An Epiphany from a Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A friend of mine who is a writer herself encouraged me to begin writing on my blog again. So I decided that since I love to write this may just be the time to get back at it. Oh, I write a "morning missive" every single day on facebook and sometimes it's almost as long as a regular blog, but there are subjects I can write about on "Little Mary Sunshine" that I can't really write about on facebook. I can get a bit meatier on here.<br />
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You want to know what is disconcerting? It's the day that a parent realizes that her children are really grown...that they are adults. This happened to me the other day. It wasn't something amazing that happened. It wasn't newsworthy. It just was. I turned to say something to my oldest son, (he and his wife were visiting from out of town) and the words caught in my throat. Maybe it was a look on his face. Maybe it was the way he was lacing his boots. Maybe it was his whole demeanor. I don't really know what exactly triggered it, but it was at that moment that I realized the little mop topped boy I had nurtured since birth was gone. In his place was this man...full grown...low voiced...authoritarian.<br />
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When he was growing up, he was small, really small. He was pretty much the smallest kid in his class. He liked to put rocks, paper, dead bugs...all kinds of stuff in his pants pockets. Laundering his clothes on any given day was an adventure in the discovery of a cornucopia of surprise thingies...some good, some pretty gross. <br />
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As a kid, he had a sweet nature (he might not appreciate this) and loved to work with his dad on all kinds of things. He'd help his dad spread "manuker" and when his dad was working on a basement for the house, he wanted to help him with the "mortimer." He laughed easily and was a happy kid.<br />
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Well, he was happy most of the time. When his dad was in the hospital for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome for almost a year, he was pretty much devastated. He missed his dad terribly and it affected his school work. In the gifted program at school, it came time for him to be retested during his dad's hospitalization. He didn't do well enough to stay in and had to leave the program. For some odd reason, I didn't catch that, but it could have been because I was so devastated myself. That was a tough time for all of us.<br />
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When he started high school, he was 4'9" tall. His dad is not so tall at 5'6", so I figured he'd be about his size. Something happened, though. In his junior year in high school, he started growing and he didn't stop until he was in law school. That little biddy boy grew to be over 6 feet tall. He somehow morphed into a big man, an imposing man.<br />
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It hit me that morning just a few days ago...hit me hard. My little boy who used to duck his head when he wasn't sure of himself. My little fella with the huge soulful eyes and long dark eyelashes who was so cute, "you could eat him with a spoon" someone said to me once, was not around anymore. He had grown up before I realized it. He had become a man, and I just didn't see it.<br />
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Oh, he met a wonderful girl, a beautiful girl after he graduated from college and was living in North Carolina. He brought her home and I knew he had finally found "the one." They married in a lovely ceremony in the woods on family land we call Evelyn's Eden. It didn't dawn on me then that he was grown. I know. I know. It should have. He was getting married. He was planning on attending law school. He was moving on with his life.<br />
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This child of mine, my first son, was my 30th birthday present. Yes. He was born on my birthday. What a beautiful child he was...all dark curls and big brown eyes...inquisitive eyes. He always has had inquisitive eyes. He always needed to know things. He always asked questions like, "Mom, why is dirt brown?" Heck, I could have gone into stuff about minerals, elements, crushed rock, flora and fauna, but I didn't. He was three. So I took the easy road. I told him God did it. I'm not even all that religious.<br />
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So what triggered this epiphany...this realization that my oldest son was grown? I mean this child, this little boy I loved/love so much is a full blown man. Maybe it's the loving way he treats his wife. Kelly is pregnant with their first child, a girl we will call Evelyn. Maybe it's the way he treats his dad. His dad helps him now with a cabin that has been an ongoing project at Evelyn's Eden.<br />
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I am proud of this son of mine. I am proud of what he stands for in his life. I am still surprised when he takes command of a situation, not with arrogance, but with assurance and knowledge of what is right and wrong. He knows how to treat people with dignity and kindness. He knows when to be assertive and when to back up and let things happen.<br />
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I'm not sure why he is the way he is. Of course, as his mom, I hope he's learned some things from me. <br />
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My husband and I were blessed with four children when, at one time, we thought we would not have any. Our first born is our daughter who is a wife, mother, writer, and photographer. Our second child is featured in this blog. Our third child, a beautiful baby boy is part of the staff of the campaign team for Jason Carter who is running for governor of Georgia. Our fourth child, a boy is a marvelous writer, artist, and performer. I am so proud of each and every one of them.They are all grown now. I know they are grown. It just took my oldest son to help me realize it. </div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-79968367144815420782013-10-28T13:18:00.002-04:002013-10-28T13:18:57.271-04:00A little portable Royal typewriter to a little red Dell Laptop. Both have served this writer well.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello and salutations!! My computer has been sick. I mean really sick. It would lock down. That little blue circle thingie would whirl around for hours if I let it, and it wouldn't let me do anything. I was not happy. I was frustrated and out of sorts. In truth, I felt kind of helpless. My little portable manual Royal typewriter with the zip up carry case that was a part of it, never did anything remotely like my computer did.<br />
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Long gone now to someone and probably decaying in some landfill now, it served me well in college. I typed all my term papers, essays, poems, and short stories on it throughout my college career. Mama and Daddy gave it to me..this used apparatus...knowing that I would need it...and I surely did. I didn't care if it was used. I didn't care if the "o" key stuck every so often. It was a great little typewriter. I remember one cold evening I started an "all nighter" typing a term paper that I should have completed well before the due date. I had the typewriter on a window seal over the heater because it was so cold in the dorm room, the white out stuff was freezing. I got that paper finished, though, and turned in on time.<br />
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The funny thing is, I'm not really sure what happened to my little Royal. I know I must have brought it with me when I moved to the little Northwest Georgia town after I graduated from college to begin my teaching career. From there, I simply don't remember. Knowing me, I probably gave it away when I realized I didn't need it anymore.<br />
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The first time I used a computer was in 1988 when I became a newspaper columnist and reporter. It was a Mac. I have a Dell and haven't used a Mac since that time. Back then, no one really taught me how to use it. We had a young managing editor who would explain something using "computer speak" and not wanting to seem totally ignorant of this new technology, I nodded my head and proceeded to teach myself about the computer. The only problem with that is that no one told me that I needed to save everything every 5 sentences or so just in case the power went out even for a second.<br />
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I had just completed my fifth article when the power did a little bump for maybe two or three seconds. In that short time, all five of my articles disappeared. Gone. Went. Out. I was so mad...not just angry...mad. I was mad because no one told me about the importance of saving anything. I didn't even know about saving. I was mad at myself because I didn't know about saving or I didn't even know to ask about saving anything. Anyway, this is when I learned that the "f" word had its place in my vocabulary. Yes, I said it...out loud...I shocked people. They started calling me Murphy Brown for the television character. But, holy *&^%$%^. I lost five stories and had to start over again.<br />
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That was over 25 years ago and most times, computers don't let things disappear like they used to. I love my computer. As a writer, I need it. And, although that little Royal typewriter served me well at the time, I enjoy the convenience of the technology surrounding a computer. And, lord have mercy, I can fly on this thing without having to use any whiteout or erase paper, just the "backspace" key. <br />
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So I'm so glad my little red laptop Dell Inspiron seems to be chugging along quite well again. I guess it did need that new battery after all. Who knew??<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-9670710311399424062013-10-16T00:17:00.001-04:002013-10-16T00:17:46.486-04:00My Daddy: A Remarkable Man and Musician with the Emert Brothers, Bird's Creek Boys, and Last, but not Least...The Pine Chapel String Band<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I miss my daddy every day. Yes, I'm a 66 year old woman who continues to refer to my father as "my daddy." He was the first man I ever loved. He made fantastic mayonnaise sandwiches and pan fried potatoes. He did not know how to fix my baby fine cottony hair back when I was a little girl, so when Mom was in the hospital and he was the one who dressed my sister, brother, and me for Easter Sunday, he twirled my wispy hair around his finger and bobbie pinned the little ball on top of my head. I remember that as if it was yesterday.<br />
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I remember as a little girl that he had the biggest hands and I could warm my little hand in his palm. If both my hands were cold, he would nestle them between his palms. Funny how certain memories stay with a person forever. I can remember falling asleep with my head on his knee while we watched Gillette's Friday Night at the Fights on our black and white Philco television set.<br />
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When I think of my daddy, I think of music. He was an accomplished musician and could play any musical instrument, but his instrument of choice was the guitar. From the time I was a little bitty girl, my favorite times were sitting listening to him play that old timey music I loved so much. I love it to this day. When he retired from the Air Force and moved his family to Knoxville, Tennessee, he and his brother, Otha, teamed up to become the Emert Brothers. Uncle Otha was an equally accomplished musician and they had entertained their fellow soldiers back during WWII as they fought for their country in Europe.<br />
<br />
The Emert Brothers grew in popularity regionally and became a fixture at the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, Tennessee. They performed there for 16 years until the death of Uncle Otha. They performed at Wolftrap Festival near Washington D.C. where Daddy jammed with the likes of Doc Watson, and at the Florida State Fair in Tampa and at the World's Fair back in 1982 in Knoxville. They were good...really good.<br />
<br />
After Uncle Otha passed away, Daddy had trouble finding a suitable partner. He was very particular and by then he had almost exclusively become a tenor guitarist. He played with his cousin Ralph and a few others, but it wasn't until George Emert, his nephew by way of his brother Victor came into the picture that Daddy found that spark again. George and his wonderful wife, Billie lived out West in Washington State. So in 2004, my mom and daddy sold their condo and moved out to be closer to George so Daddy could play his music. They formed the band, The Bird's Creek Boys, and before too long, they were playing to sold out venues. Everyone loved their music.<br />
<br />
But The Bird's Creek Boys became no more when my mom and Daddy moved to my little North Georgia town to be closer to me and to my Daddy's beloved Smoky Mountains. I had a feeling back in 2008 when they got off the plane that Daddy wasn't well, but I didn't say much. I'm involved in little theater and had the great privilege to direct my mom and Daddy in the very popular play, "Smoke on the Mountain." Daddy was the lead guitarist and was so at home with the music. My mom played a rebellious church lady who just about stole the show.<br />
<br />
Daddy was diagnosed with kidney cancer and although he had surgery and was cancer free for a time, it came back with a vengeance. I knew he was ill. He did find a new family partner in my oldest son, Heath. They called themselves The Pine Chapel String Band, and Heath has the distinction of performing with his grandfather in Daddy's final public performance at the Delmor Days Festival in Alabama. I cherish that memory and keep it close to my heart.<br />
<br />
The thing is, I didn't realize how far reaching and influential my daddy's music is, especially the many years he and his brother were the Emert Brothers. Not too long ago, a gentleman called me from Illinois. It seems he had been trying to track down someone who had heard of the Emert Brothers to see if he could buy some new copies of their cassette tapes. He found me, and Daddy had kept several copies of the cassettes, so I sent him double copies of each with a CD of the songs The Bird's Creek Boys had recorded. I advised the gentleman to have the tapes converted to cds.<br />
<br />
Today, I received a letter from this fan of my Daddy and his music and I want to share it with you.<br />
<br />
<i>Coleen,</i><br />
<i>All's well that ends well. Immediately after I received these at the end of the driveway, I popped the cd into my car on the way to town with my wife. The second song was "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain." I looked over and my wife is trying to be brave, but was losing the battle not to cry. That is good music that can get an emotional reaction like that.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Hearing these is like seeing an old friend you never thought you would see again. Thank you again. What remarkable boys these Emert Brothers must have been.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Best regards</i><br />
<br />
This made me tear up. Yes, I miss my daddy every day. The music that he loved to play and perform is timeless. Yes, he was a remarkable man and I loved him so much.<i> </i> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-68100472939246801682013-10-10T23:11:00.003-04:002013-10-10T23:11:47.080-04:00Stiletto Heels, Professional Clothes, Panty Hose--Not The Attire for This Woman Anymore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Shoes...I've loved them...heels so high, I almost teetered off of them. This happened all the time when I wore platforms back in the 70s. At 5'2", the only time I felt the least bit statuesque was when I had on my 4 inches stilettos, and yes, I wore them in my classroom on many occasions. <br />
<br />
Boots...I loved them...knee highs, "Go Go" boots back in the day--pure white with a mini skirt, little ankle ones with fringe that my mother-in-law bought me, leather boots, suede boots, high heeled boots. I wore them all.<br />
<br />
Clothes...gobs of clothes. Designer jeans, hot pants, capris, shorts (really short), skirts...short (really short), long midis (truth be told, I felt frumpy in those), guazy shirts of all shapes and sizes, tee shirts with all kinds of sayings, tie dyes, paisley stuff, psychedelic colors and fabrics, jumpers, blouses, and later snappy business suits, and other more dignified wear...gobs of clothes. I loved lots of different things. My closet was always bulging.<br />
<br />
You notice that I wrote all the above verbs in the past tense because this is all a moot point now.<br />
<br />
I don't wear high heels anymore. Why? Because the darn things hurt my feet. Truth be told, they always did after wearing them a while. But I loved them anyway. I didn't care if they hurt my feet. My little pink pair of 4 inch heels were cute and sexy and I felt really good in them. I wouldn't wear those things now if someone paid me. And it wasn't so long ago that I did wear them and thought I'd always wear them.<br />
<br />
The thing is, I have found that I have gotten more practical as I've gotten older. I want to be comfortable just about all the time. For many years in my educational career, I wore dressy professional clothes. I liked suits. I wore panty hose. God help me, I did. And I hated those things. They were/are uncomfortable and sometimes they were too short for my body and the top would roll down under my stomach. Control top, my eye. Now that sounds really unflattering, and it is, but I've had four children and no tummy tucks, so....Anyway, I have not worn panty hose is several years. When I did have to look more professional, I discovered "thigh highs" and low and behold, I only had one hose of one pair scoot down my leg and kiss my ankle. Thank goodness, I had on pants and the top of those suckers only showed a little bit at the top of my shoes. Why the heck did I have on thigh highs with pants anyway?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if I will ever wear thigh highs again, but these are the only hose I will wear. I don't like those ankle hose thingies. They cut off my circulation. And I don't like my feet to go numb as I'm walking. That's just not practical or comfortable.<br />
<br />
I like to wear jeans and tee shirts. It's the truth. I dressed up for so many years, it's just fabulous pulling on a pair of really comfortable jeans and some soft tee shirt. I don't even care if they're pressed. Yes, I ironed my clothes, too. If I was going to dress as a professional, I knew a true professional's attire is not wrinkled. I'm not a professional educator anymore. I am a professional writer and no one cares one iota what I'm wearing as I'm writing. In fact, right now, I'm wearing my Rider jeans and my pink and green tee shirt I got in Ireland with the words "Blarney Castle. I Kissed the Blarney Stone." My shoes are low heeled black boots my sister-in-law gave me. They are majorly comfortable.<br />
<br />
In the final scheme of things, will I ever wear high heels again? Well, I do have these red satin heels that I love and can't bear to part with. They are surprisingly comfortable for three inch heels. And, yes, they are sexy shoes. And it's nice to feel like I look sexy every once in a while even at my age. <br />
<br />
So, I'll keep the satin heels, but the dressy blouses are going along with a couple of suits and some other gawdawfully uncomfortable heels. These things are not going on my feet ever again. But, I'll keep the Spanx,....at least for a while longer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-20094049861021424142013-10-09T17:23:00.002-04:002013-10-09T17:36:47.460-04:00I Don't Do Sick Well, So I'm Better<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What a lovely day it has been. I didn't write on this blog yesterday. I was sick as a dog. I was coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose every minute. It was awful. I'm not sick very often, but when I do get sick, I REALLY get sick. I caught one of the myriads of viruses going around right now because of weather changes and such. Viruses seem to thrive on hot to cold...cold to hot...these suckers love it.<br />
<br />
The thing is, antibiotics don't work on viruses although when people go to their doctor for feeling awful, they want some medication. They don't want their doctor to say, "This is a virus. It's going to have to run its course." They want an antibiotic. And many doctors will comply with the request. I knew I had a virus. I don't go to the doctor very often, maybe every four or five years for being sick. It's like my mom's doctor told her, and let me back peddle here a minute. My mom's doctor is younger than my daughter. It's kind of disconcerting, but she knows her stuff. I like her. She'll tell my mom that Mom knows her body better than she does. I believe that.<br />
<br />
I don't run to the doctor every time I sneeze or feel bad. That's just plain silly to me. And no matter how many commercials advertise products from pharmaceuticals, I won't get dry mouth, dry eye, restless leg syndrome, or any other such conditions that seem to have sprung up in the last few years. It my mouth is dry, I drink something. If my eyes are dry, I put some Visine in them, and if my legs are restless, I'll just let them be. Who are they hurting?<br />
<br />
Here's the whole problem with taking medicines, especially antibiotics for something that the medicines will not cure or even touch. You body may need a good antibiotic sometime. If you take too many antibiotics, your body won't be able to fight the problem and another antibiotic may not be strong enough. I think about these super germs, and I think they come from the misuse of antibiotics.<br />
<br />
I do a lot of reading and the magazines are full of advertisements with promises to cure all kinds of medical conditions, but I'm not buying all that. I've just about quit reading all that stuff because it's just so negative. I mean, is everyone going to get sick and die of so horrific disease IF....and I do mean a big IF you eat mashed potatoes and gravy, real butter, chocolate cupcakes, and...gasp...red meat more than once a week? Are all people's arteries clogged beyond repair unless they take this or that? I've never in my life seen so many medications for so many things. I mean people come into their doctors' offices with Walmart plastic bags full of medicine bottles.<br />
<br />
Someone told me that his very elderly grandmother got tired of taking all the pills she was supposed to take. She went to her doctor for her sixth month check-up and flat out told him she wasn't taking anymore of it. She's well in her 90s. That was a couple of years ago. She's still alive and kicking. Makes you wonder. <br />
<br />
I think that a lot of medical problems are propagated through propaganda and subtle threats sprinkled with fear factors. I had an uncle who put a pat of butter on every bite of corn from his corn on the cob. He lived to be almost 90. He was a farmer and was up on his tractor well into his 80s. He lived a good long life and never once worried about good and bad cholesterol, high sugar, whatever. I firmly believe that worrying all the time can make you sicker than eating butter.<br />
<br />
That being said, I believe people need to know themselves. I know people get sick and need medical attention. Hey, I rode to the hospital in an ambulance when I thought I was having a stroke. It turned out to be vertigo, but I was scared and I needed someone in the medical field to tell me I was fine.<br />
<br />
I do believe in being aware of your body and any changes, but I'm going to realize this on my own. I mean, have you heard the commercials about the medication for some of these conditions? They may cause a certain form of cancer. They may cause bleeding, dry skin, sudden death. Yeah, I really want to take that stuff.<br />
<br />
So I feel better. I feel better all by myself. I never even thought about going to a doctor. I was sick with a cold virus. I'm getting better and I didn't take one antibiotic. I did take some Tylenol and I was a bit leery of taking it. It's not too good for the liver.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll just go back to what my grandmother used to give for coughs and colds...honey, lemon juice, and moonshine. You'll sleep like a baby. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-19919634003443832592013-10-07T22:40:00.003-04:002013-10-08T06:40:00.610-04:00"Bones"...The Ickness Factor is...Well, Icky <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I'm sitting here on my big ol' couch eating a 100 calorie Brown Cow with another 100 calorie Brown Cow waiting to be devoured next. We had a great rehearsal for "Arsenic and Old Lace" and now I'm kicking back starting to watch "Bones." Now I love this show. The cast plays well off each other and there is definite chemistry between Bones and Booth. The thing is, sometimes the bodies that are found are just really really graphically sickening. Gishy, grisly partial skeletons with some skin still attached, oozing whatever half decaying bodies ooze is not a pretty sight. This is a show that isn't for the squeamish. I'm generally not too squeamish, but sometimes the ickness factor kicks in and I have to look away.<br />
<br />
Now I know this skeletal thing is not a real person. I know some great creator of special effects and dead humans in various stages of decay has made this latest "person" as convincing as possible. Tonight, it was pretty convincing. I didn't enjoy my Brown Cows near as much as I would have had I been viewing "International House Hunters" on HGTV. But they were eaten just the same.<br />
<br />
The good thing "Bones" does is give a certain amount of dignity to even the most horrifically looking remains of a "human being." The characters never let the viewers forget that the sometimes "almost piece of meat" looking creation was a life with people who cared about him/her. I know. I know. None of this is real, but it makes it seem that way no matter how awful it looks.<br />
<br />
This is why I watch "Bones." Let me rephrase that. This is why I watch most of "Bones" while sometimes I'm covering my eyes and trying really hard not to gag. I keep on telling myself, "This is not real. This is not real." But I still can't look. Because it looks real and that's what makes it so...so.......icky.</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-15939155381639165402013-10-06T16:18:00.002-04:002013-10-06T16:18:27.517-04:00This is the Life: An Unfinished House, the "Hartwell Syndrome", a Room Bed, and Boredom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been busy today, busy doing what I want to do. I've mowed some and cleaned up around the yard and the building site. We had all the old insulation pulled out from the old part of our house. For those who aren't quite sure what I mean, when my husband and I married, we moved out to the country and had a little tenant house remodeled. We added a porch and a bathroom/laundry room, and it was the cutest little place. It seemed that everyone congregated at our little house in the country. In the summer, we went tubing down the river which is close to our place, and then everyone would come and gather. We'd sit on the porch, laughing and carrying on. It was fun.<br />
<br />
When our children started arriving, a lot of that stopped. Our priorities went another direction, and those friends who didn't have children started to drift away. That happens. As it was, our little four room house, yes, four rooms...living room, kitchen, and 2 small bedrooms, plus the added on bathroom became just a tad too small. So my husband went about building another house onto our house when our fourth child was about to be born. Yes, fourth child. Yes, we lived in a four room house with three children. Hey, people do it all the time in China and Indonesia and other places. As it is, the house is kind of eclectic and well, has never really been totally finished...in over 30 years. But that's another story.<br />
<br />
Our children grew up perfectly fine successful people, all college graduates, all extremely creative and talented...and they never lived in a fancy all color coordinated house with really great matching furniture. One son had what he called a "room bed." and that's pretty much what it was. We still speaks fondly of that "room bed." I'm writing a book about their growing up years and having a crazy Vietnam veteran as their daddy. It's title is "I Married a Crazy Vietnam Veteran". He's a loveable crazy Vietnam veteran, though.<br />
<br />
With the children all grown and moved away and me retired (my husband retired years ago, but that's another story), I noticed that the house was beginning to show age...lots of age, like some old abandoned houses only it wasn't anywhere near abandoned. Then there was my mama. Daddy had died two years before and she insisted on staying in her condo. That was okay for a while, but she has been alone a lot. I knew she was lonely, but she wouldn't admit it. She's a little stubborn red-headed 90 year old Irish woman. Soon, I started making overtures of her possibly moving in with us. At first, she wouldn't even discuss it. You have to know that nursing homes and assisted living places are not where my mama is going to live...not while I have a breath in my body.<br />
<br />
When her doctor suggested that she didn't need to live alone anymore, Mom said she'd move out with us if she could build a little apartment onto our place. That was fine with us. Then the wheels started turning in my head. We needed to fix our place up. We could do it, but with someone else doing it for us. My husband is 70 now. He's not going to be doing any hammering or building any more. Besides, he has the "Hartwell Syndrome." That's a family affliction that causes members of the family (generally male member) to start projects with the good intentions of finishing them, but somehow something gets in the way and these project never get totally finished. I think it's boredom. The idea was great, but finishing it was not so much. I didn't want to be living in an unfinished new house project.<br />
<br />
So it's moving along. We're still living in the living room, but we're getting used to it...sort of. Someone told me that most people having such a major renovation move out and live in a motel or whatever. Well, we're not some people. I like home, even if it is a bit cluttered now with dressers, boxes, and such in the living room. My washer and dryer are still in place. We have clean clothes. Both our bathrooms are fine. In fact two of our sons totally renovated the downstairs one before any of this other renovation took place. I was fearful that the "Hartwell Syndrome" might kick in and it did a bit, but it is now totally finished and beautiful.<br />
<br />
I just thought of something. I hope the "Hartwell Syndrome" isn't catching. Our builder is really good. I'd hate for him to get bored. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-43882993111581140712013-10-05T20:49:00.001-04:002013-10-05T20:49:58.664-04:00Yes, I Bleed Red and Black and Yell "Go DAWGS". It's Fall and the SEC is Alive and Well.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm exhausted...I mean really mentally and physically exhausted. Did I do a lot of physical stuff today? No, not really. My hubby and I fed some goats and I gathered one egg from my sister-in-law's hen house. Oh, and I fed a sweet kitty cat. I walked my big white dog, Carlee a few times today and brought my mom out to our house so she can see progress being made on her soon to be new abode. I read a little of a Kindle Fire download, but I can assure you it was nothing intellectually taxing, nor was anything physically exhausting.<br />
<br />
At 3:30 this afternoon, I began watching a football game. It was my Georgia Bulldogs against the Tennessee Volunteers. I was in SEC heaven with total confidence that Georgia would win big time. Here's the thing. No one should ever get over confident, especially when it comes to SEC football games. Everyone seems to be rivals, but Tennessee is really a rival. They haven't done very well the last few years. Their team is full of freshmen. But Tennessee came to play. Georgia did, too, but one of their great offense players, Marshall I believe, got hurt. Georgia already has several (three I think) of their best players out with injuries now.<br />
<br />
They have a great quarterback with Aaron Murray, but when his regular players aren't in the game, it can throw off even the best of the best. And did I mention that Tennessee came to play...and win? I love to watch Georgia play. I have ever since this young phenomenal football player name Hershel Walker, a Georgia Bulldog, became the king of the game back beginning in 1980. This is when my loyalty to the Tennessee Volunteers began to wane. You see, I moved from Tennessee to Georgia. I loved (still do) the Tennessee Vols, but I came to realize that I was a true resident of Georgia. I had lived in the state at that time over 10 years. I had a home here with my husband and three children. The fourth wouldn't make an appearance until 1983. My feet were firmly planted in the Georgia red clay. So, I became a Georgia Bulldog fan.<br />
<br />
In the 90s, three of our four children attended the University of Georgia and graduated from that great college. Our 4th chose Georgia State. That's okay. They didn't have a football team when he attended. They do now and lost today to Alabama 45 - 3. Why is Alabama, the National Champion playing a newly formed team like Georgia State? Oh well, that's another story.<br />
<br />
The game today was a back and forth scoring duel. It went into overtime. Tennessee thought they had a winning touchdown, but I knew it wasn't. The young player didn't have control of the ball. Georgia took over, moved it down the field and won with a field goal. I couldn't watch the last minute, but I did anyway. This is why I'm exhausted and need a shot of tequila.<br />
<br />
For those of you who aren't sports fans, especially college football fans, you can not possibly understand how exhausting watching your team, which has had a winning season so far, almost be beaten by a much less talented team. Tennessee played with a lot of heart today. They took advantage of Georgia's lack of key players. But quarterback, Aaron Murray pulled it off. He rose to the occasion and did what he had to do. This is why I bleed red and black in the fall. This is why my Saturdays are planned around the Georgia Bulldog football games.<br />
<br />
This is why I have the irresistible urge to yell GO DAWGS!!!!!! a lot on any given fall Saturday here in the South.</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-66143961878121953442013-10-04T22:27:00.000-04:002013-10-04T22:27:02.154-04:00Wheaties, Fawlty Towers, and a Goat Kind of Thing.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I had Wheaties with sliced bananas, skim organic milk, and a sprinkling of sugar for supper. Yes, real live white processed sugar. And it was good. So there. We are made to feel so guilty about just about everything we eat, that I honestly felt like a teenager being rebellious as I sprinkled that spoonful of sugar on my cereal. I wasn't even taking any kind of medicine so Mary Poppins didn't need to sing that spoonful of sugar song. I just wanted my cereal sweeter. It was good and so worth it.<br />
<br />
It's a funny thing. Ever since I retired in June, I have lost weight. I haven't consciously tried to lose weight. It has just happened. When I worked, I always meant to bring a healthy lunch...well, at least only a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a piece of fruit. I did it sometimes, but most times I wound up going somewhere to buy lunch...and yes, it was usually some kind of fast food. I tried to justify it by whatever means I could, but, let's face it. Eating a lot of fast food is not conducive to maintaining a healthy weight. So I recommend retirement. I eat a healthy breakfast and sometimes I just forget to eat lunch. We've been in the throws of renovation, so cooking is just so tiresome. I may make some chipped beef on toast for supper tomorrow night. I know. I have to cook it, but my husband and I love it. It's something that harkens us back to our childhood when our mamas fixed it. I think it came from WWII or the depression or something. Anyway, it's good. Wait...that's usually my Sunday night supper. We may just have Cherrios tomorrow night...with fresh blueberries.<br />
<br />
Right now, we are watching "Fawlty Towers" on Netflix. This is a British comedy with John Cleese that was made in the 80s or 90s. It was on PBS and my husband and I used to watch it religiously. It is still an absolute hoot. I love British comedies anyway and this tops them all. This episode is about the whole staff trying to hide a dead body. So funny. They put this poor guy in a basket and someone asked what the guy is doing in the basket. Basil, played by John Cleese says in this dry British tone, "Well, not much." I love that kind of humor.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it's been that kind of day. A "not much" kind of day. I sometimes like days like this. In fact, I need these kinds of days. Tomorrow, my husband and I will feed my sister-in-law and brother-in-law's goats while they're out of town. That will make it a more eventful morning and evening, I bet. One is an ill-tempered billy goat. The rest are really quite precious animals. The thing is, goats smell bad. I think someone told me that male goats urinate on their beards to attract the opposite sex. Do you think that's how the Duck Dynasty guys got such attractive wives? Probably not. I think that act is just a goat kind of thing.<br />
<br />
Good night all.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-8458403279457288912013-10-03T22:30:00.000-04:002013-10-03T22:30:03.224-04:00I Could Have Been a Contender...I Could Have Been Somebody...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm in a play. I like, I mean I really like being in plays. It's <i>Arsenic and Old Lace</i> and I play one of the murderous sisters. I'm Martha and I mix up the poison. We put lonely old men out of their misery and our nephew Teddy, who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt, buries them in the basement...only he thinks he's burying yellow fever victims from the Panama Canal. It's a zany kind of dark comedy produced back in the 40s. It's funny, really funny...and I love being in comedies.<br />
<br />
I've been in plays since I was a kid. I majored in Drama/English in college, but put a lot of emphasis on the drama part. I learned how to be a better actress by my drama professor, John Lee Weldon. I still use some of his methods to this day. At one time, I wanted to be a professional actress. Yep, I really did. I wanted to be a star on Broadway or be in a sitcom or be in one of those detective shows way back in the early 60s. Connie Stevens from "77 Sunset Strip" was my idol back then. She replaced Annette Funicello when I had dreams of becoming a Mouseketeer.<br />
<br />
I didn't become a famous actress. I didn't have the drive or determination to reach for the stars. In truth, I kind of wanted everything to fall in my lap. My professor told me I was talented and that meant the world to me. But there are thousands of talented people who have been willing to live in walk ups with no hot water, eat mac and cheese every day, sleep with the director/producer/lead actor...wait tables...But I wasn't willing to do any of those things in order to become a star.<br />
<br />
So I became a teacher in a small town in the South. I fell in love with the town and a dark headed dark eyed really cute guy and stayed when I really planned to stay only a year. I became a mother of four beautiful children, now grown. It's been 44 years since I drove into town. Forty-four years since I started my career as an educator. The thing is, I think a really good teacher has to have stage presence because, let's face it, teachers have a captive audience. If they're really good at what they do, the audience doesn't feel captive.<br />
<br />
In the process of teaching, I did find another creative process. I became a writer, first at a newspaper when I left teaching for a bit, then as a columnist at another local paper, then as a feature writer at a magazine. I even won an award back in 2006 from the Georgia Press Association's better newspaper competition. I got 1st place in the state for a column that was about my family reunion and a special aunt who attended. Being thrilled was an understatement. I don't win awards or get accolades all that much nor do I really go after them. So being rewarded for something I wrote was just so wonderful. It's nice to be recognized for a talent especially when it's not expected. My editor nominated me. People called me to congratulate me. I thought it was about something I had taught, but it seems my name was on the front page of the paper I wrote for. I had no idea.<br />
<br />
I'm retired now from my teaching career, but not from my writing career. I actually tell people I'm a writer now because I am. Recently, a writer friend's book was picked up by a publisher. It's a collection of true stories that people wrote telling about why they kept something they call a keepsake. One of my stories is in the book. I'm thrilled for her and, let's face it, I'm thrilled for me.<br />
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No, I haven't made it to Broadway. I haven't even written the great American novel, but there still may be time for both. Let's face it. I chose to be a teacher. I did it all on my own. I didn't have to compromise my values or my integrity. And, in truth, there's something pretty satisfying about that.</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-10955378077070291622013-10-02T22:36:00.001-04:002013-10-02T22:36:24.189-04:00It's Been An Emergency Room Kind of Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I gotta tell ya. It is absolutely no fun spending hours at an emergency room. But in the final scheme of things, I'm thankful we have such places. My husband was sick early this morning and he didn't get any better as the morning went on. We even cancelled a "well" doctor's appointment because he was too sick to go. I knew that it could be serious when he told me he thought he ought to go to the emergency room. Ever since he had a heart attack back in 1994 and other medical happening throughout the years, I do not take lightly my husband of 43 years request to head to the hospital.<br />
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He was most uncomfortable. He was in pain. He was nauseated. He felt weak. It was scary. So there I was...all by myself worried sick about the love of my life. I didn't want to bother the children They don't live in their hometown anymore. They have lives of their own. They have families, jobs, responsibilities that don't include their parents. And I wished they were all close by at that very minute of the day. I wished they could be in that room with me. Then, I felt cowardly. I felt selfish. I felt alone. So I put on my big girl panties and...texted one of our sons who lives in Atlanta. Our youngest, who lives in Chattanooga was sick himself, so I didn't want to worry him. He has an important job interview tomorrow.<br />
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Our daughter lives in middle Georgia and has a husband and children. Our oldest son lives in northern Alabama and has a wife and a job that takes much of his time. I didn't want to worry them. Our middle son has helped us a lot lately as we build on an addition for my mother to move into and we completely renovate our home. He has a job that is important also and it comes with a lot of responsibilities. I hated to bother him, but I thought I should let our children know about their dad via him since he was the closest. So I texted him. I told him not to come. I told him I would be in touch the minute I knew something. I felt relief when he appeared outside his dad's emergency room door.<br />
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The thing is, all our children would have come...every one. Although my husband and I aren't old old, we are older. When one of us is ill with something unknown, it becomes scary. This is when I miss my children the most, but let me emphasize that I don't expect them to drop everything if one of us is ill. That's just silly.<br />
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Everything turned out okay when it was all said and done. No heart attack. No appendicitis. No stroke or anything so dire. It seems a gawdawful virus is running rampant throughout our area. More than likely this was the culprit along with my sweet man not taking his meds properly that caused his illness. He takes quite a bit of medication and because of an arthritic hip procedure yesterday involving a needle and numbing medication, he forgot to take his meds. That's not a good thing.<br />
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Be that as it may, he ate some chicken noodle soup, jello, and drank some Gatorade and is feeling lots better. This means that I'm feeling lots better, too. That's the way it is when two people have been together as long as we have. I could ring his neck sometimes, but in truth, I'd much rather hug it.<br />
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And this makes my second blog for NaBloWriMo Blogger Month, and I still can't get it to come up on facebook. I am so technically challenged. </div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-69304630076757686222013-10-01T20:22:00.001-04:002013-10-03T09:10:01.488-04:00I Will Love This Renovation If It Doesn't Kill Me First<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's "NaBloWriMo" month again and I will participate in doing my darndest to write a blog every day of October. For the past month or so, we have been in the throws of renovation...major renovation on our home. My 90 year old mom has been living on her own since her husband (my daddy) of 67 years passed away on December 2, 2010. She was determined no to "impose" on any of her children although I really wanted her to come and live with us shortly after Daddy died and a nursing home or assisted living place is out of the question. This was not going to happen. She dug her little Irish heels in and flatly refused to budge out of her condo. But as time moved forward, she had problems with her eyesight in one eye, so this prevented her from driving anymore. She realized although it was unspoken that she had become frailer and less likely to eat right. Her doctor suggested that she not live alone anymore. The decision was made to add a small apartment onto our home. My husband and I decided that the time had come to spiff up our home. It had been neglected for a number of years while we helped our four children get through college. When I recently retired, it dawned on me that if we didn't do some major upgrades, our home may just fall apart around us. We needed new sheetrock, a larger master bedroom, new windows, and most of all, we needed a new roof...I mean...we REALLY needed a new roof. I have always wanted a barn red tin roof. After 43 years of marriage, and yes to the same man, I now have my red roof. Yay for me!!! I am also getting a larger bedroom. The downstairs bathroom has already been renovated by our two oldest sons. It looks great with modern tile and a lovely shower. I'm not a bath person. The thought of sitting in tepid dirty water does not appeal to me or my husband, so we nixed a bathtub. My daughter even made the statement a couple of months ago when the bathroom was finally completed that our house needed to be modernized to match the bathroom.<br />
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So here we are, well into renovation. And I will be sooooooooo glad when this project is completed. At the moment, our bed is set up in the middle of the livingroom. The contents of our bedroom and closet and the contents of the bedroom and closet which will be my mother's are all in our living room, dining room and...well places. It is stacked in boxes half way to the ceiling. I have no idea where one of my deck shoes is. Finding one shoe just doesn't work. Some of my clothes are in boxes. Jeans and teeshirts are my wardrobe of choice. I retired on June 30 of this year. So far, it is great to be retired because as God is my witness, I could never get ready for work in this disarray.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. Our builder is doing great. He is already designing my new kitchen. He is almost certain everything will be completed by Thanksgiving. I really really hope he is right.<br />
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Periodically, I''ll keep you all posted on the progress. And it is progressing. Mom's windows and her front door to her area are in. That's a good thing. Sheetrock is finished in the two bedrooms. That's a good thing. Now, if I will just stop tracking sanded sheetrock mud throughout the small walkable area of my living room, I will be a happy person.<br />
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Happy blogging to those who participate in NaBloWriMo. It's fun and will get your creative writing juices going!!</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-57407136468982560082013-08-24T21:41:00.000-04:002013-08-24T21:54:35.389-04:00Peanut Butter is My Friend for Life...Best Sandwich...Peanut Butter, Mayonnaise, and Banana. YUM!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If someone asked me what my favorite food is, I might say broccoli, but even though I do love this wonderfully healthy vegetable, I must say that my favorite food of all time has to be peanut butter. If there is nothing else in the house to eat but peanut butter and bread, I'm fine with it. If bread is not available, crackers will do. If crackers are not available, a big ol' spoonful of the stuff will do. Peanut butter is my comfort food. Peanut butter is my friend for life.<br />
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I'm not sure when I first tasted this wonderfully delicious spread, but I'll bet my daddy gave me a taste of it when I was a baby. He loved peanut butter just about as much as I do. Back in my day, Sunbeam or Wonder Bread were the choices of those who were bread connoisseurs. These breads were white, soft, and fluffy and what I called "gushy." Unlike the sliced white bread of today, it seemed to have some taste, and never ever had a "purchase by this date" stamped on it. Bread was delivered to the stores fresh from the bakery and once they were a day old, they were sent to the day old store. Now breads have purchase dates of up to two or three weeks from the actual purchase. God knows what they have added to these loaves to keep them fresh. Probably some unpronounceable chemical. <br />
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Anyway, Mom or Dad would make me a peanut butter sandwich slathered on that white bread, and I would squish it almost flat before I ate it. Of course, if it had some of Daddy's homemade blackberry jelly, I didn't mess with the sandwich. I just ate it with relish, more than likely finishing with peanut butter and jelly on my face almost up to my cheeks. I was not a neat eater. In fact my mom could always guess what I had for my school lunches just about every day. "Oh, I see you had chili today," as she looked at me with that all knowing smile. One time I told her, "No, I had soup." But she knew better. "No, no, young lady. You most certainly did not. That's definitely chili with a bit of peanut butter sandwich smeared on that shirt." I never could fool her.<br />
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My after school snack was usually something with peanut butter. I never tired of it. In fact, I have never, to this day, tired of it. As I got a bit older, I began to experiment with what went well with peanut butter in a sandwich. Of course, jelly was a favorite, but then I also loved crisp crunchy lettuce on the sandwich and still eat a peanut butter and lettuce sandwich on occasion. Do you think this is odd? Well, people eat peanut butter on celery. I see very little difference.<br />
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I also liked to put potato chips with peanut butter, but later just ate a plain ol' potato chip sandwich. I still sneak that every so often, and I feel really guilty about eating something that bad for me. But I do eat it on Honey Wheat bread with no high fructose corn syrup. That should count for something. I also liked a peanut butter and butter sandwich. Boy, I was a really skinny kid. You'd think with all the peanut butter and my concoctions I had as a steady diet, I would have been pudgier. Never was. <br />
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My favorite sandwich of all time is peanut butter, mayonnaise, and banana. My late great sister-in-law, Mollie, and I used to eat those things all the time. They were luscious. Still are, for that matter. Yes, I do eat one every so often. I don't fry it in butter like Elvis did, but I understand why he liked the combination. Just recently, Mollie's grandson announced that his son loved peanut butter, mayonnaise, and banana sandwiches. Mollie would be so happy about that. She probably knows anyway.<br />
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On facebook, a good friend of mine had a picture of a box of the newly introduced cereal...Peanut Butter Toast Crunch. My daughter wrote on the post..."Don't show this to my mother!" But it was too late. I'd already seen it and my mouth was already watering. My daughter beseechingly wrote..."STEP AWAY, MOM. STEP AWAY.<br />
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It's too late. My keys are in my hand. I'm headed out to the grocery store.<br />
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Oh wait. I need to go back and get my snack...peanut butter and crackers. Is there anything else?</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-84824461479457706642013-08-18T23:46:00.002-04:002013-08-18T23:46:56.485-04:00Harvard Classics, Jr. Classics, School Annuals--A Journey Through My Wonder Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today, my plans were to clear off a bookshelf upstairs that was full of old books. As I set about my task, a dusty one that reaffirmed that I have never been a domestic goddess, I carefully took down my "Harvard Classics." This was a set of books that my parents bought us kids years ago so that we would be up on English and American classic literature, poetry, Shakespeare, you name it.<br />
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I have to say, and I do this in a non bragging way, that I have read just about everything in those books back in my childhood and teen years. It was and still is good stuff....interesting literature written by the Masters. Beowulf is one of my favorite stories. It's supposedly the oldest epic poem, but it's like all the types of stories I like to read. It's about good versus evil, and it has a big bad monster in it. I love most Shakespeare. Truth be told, I love to read. It was instilled in us (my sister, brother, and me) from the time we were very young. Being an Air Force family, we traveled a lot. In every place we traveled, my mother found the library and took us there. I loved the library in New York City. It had that distinct smell of books along with wood and oil soap. If I close my eyes, I can smell it now.<br />
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But I digress. I took the books off the shelf, dusted them one at a time and put them in a box. We didn't need those old books. I took the Jr. Classics off the shelf, dusted them and put them in the box with the Harvard Classics. No one had opened any of those books in years. My children are all grown. They read them back in the day, but then technology came along and much more complex research could be found on the internet After I boxed those books, I went toward some larger books and discovered school annuals, my annuals. Much to my delight, I found an annual from Waller Elementary School in Bossier City, Louisiana. It was from 1956 and I was in the 3rd grade. I had forgotten I even owned that book.<br />
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Without so much as a thought to continuing the task of cleaning that shelf, I gathered up all my annuals and carried them downstairs to go through them. The next hour and a half brought giggle inducing reminiscences of a childhood now long gone. I smiled when I saw the faces of Carol and Nancy Wilson, twins who were my best friends at Waller. I saw Denise Caruzzi and thought about how much I wanted cute little sandals like hers, but I had to wear corrective high top ugly brown shoes because I was pigeon toed.<br />
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I opened the pages of an annual dated 1960, and, at first, had no idea what school it was. Lo and behold, it was from Salina Jr. High School in Salina, Kansas. My family was stationed at Schilling Air Force Base, and I loved it there. My best friend was Marga Lee and we had just the most fun times together. This annual was from my 7th grade and there I was smiling at the end of row two in my black corduroy jumper with a white blouse and a black velvet ribbon tied at my throat. I can remember that outfit like it was yesterday. I also had a gray full skirt with a pink poodle on it. Boy, did I love that skirt. <br />
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I remember my math teacher was Mrs. Morrison, and almost every Friday, she and I would have a multiplication speed contest at the board. Now, I have to admit to being able to multiply really quickly. I beat her a few times when we had these really long problems on the board. The kids in the room would just go nuts. Thinking back, I wonder if she let me win. She was that kind of teacher..all knowing and just great.<br />
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I didn't have anything from the 8th grade at Smithwood Elementary in Knoxville, Tennessee. My daddy had retired from the Air Force at 37 years old for some reason. I think it had something to do with his girls and Airmen and the Vietnam War. Anyway, I went from a junior high to an elementary school, and it was a culture shock for me. Just about all the kids grew up together and no one had been out of the United States...a lot not even out of the state. I was pretty miserable that year, not because the kids weren't nice. They were. I just missed talking with kids who had traveled like me. I survived with the help of books. I immersed myself in Trixie Belden books. The Bobbsey Twin sagas were too young for me by then. Funny thing is, I never got into Nancy Drew books, but I liked "The Hardy Boys" anything.<br />
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I went through my Holston High School annuals one by one. The first day I met three girls who would become my friends all through high school...Hilda, Gwen, and Marlene. I scoured those annuals for pictures of us and noticed what a gawdawful picture my junior year was. When I was 15, I read "Gone With the Wind" in three days straight. I don't think I slept much. Mama fretted about me staying up, but she mostly left me alone. It was a glorious experience. I also read "1984" by George Orwell and it changed my way of thinking. I read the book in 1962 so 1984 was still pretty far away, but I thought about it.<br />
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I went on to my college annuals from Carson-Newman College in Jefferson City, Tennessee. It was a Baptist college and had some pretty strict rules when I first got there, rules I wasn't used to. I thought many of them were silly like not letting women wear pants except hidden under a raincoat or not allowing women to be out later than guys and that sort of thing. I was a women's libber way before there were women's libbers, but I had a ball at that college. I didn't let rules define me. I was a drama person, so I was going to hell in a hand basket anyway. I loved my drama teacher, John Lee Weldon, and I still follow his guidance to this day when I'm in the local productions at our little theater. The rules changed by my junior year anyway. <br />
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It brought back so many memories to see some of my best friends in college. My roommate, Cheryl Bostic, and I were two of a kind. We were best buddies and still keep in touch. I also keep in touch with Jo Glover Donahoo. The summer I graduated Jo, Sandy French, Bryn Weirman and I were members of the Glover Girls. We didn't do much of anything, but our theme song was "Sweet Caroline" for some reason.<br />
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It was at Carson-Newman that my short story professor, Dr. Pettigrew, told me that I would be a writer some day. To a college junior who loved to write more than anything, those were sweet words I have never forgotten. He asked me to read my short story to the class for my final. I had balled it up in my pocket thinking it was not worthy, but on hand just in case. I remember as I struggled to read the wadded up paper that he had a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. What a dear man he was.<br />
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It was a journey for me...going through those annuals. Those books told a lot about my life...who my friends were, what I did, what people thought of me with their autographs and paragraphs within the pages. I evidently was a "sweet girl with a great personality." I had to snicker when some guy said something about my Irish temper and flashing Irish eyes. Lordy, that was a long time ago in a different world.<br />
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I didn't get the rest of the book shelf cleaned off. I decided to dust that shelf and replace the books I put in a box. Those books are old and worn, but no longer dusty. I think I had great parents to get us books that meant something...that were/are timeless. I may just have to start with the first Harvard classic and read the whole set again. Or I may just take comfort in the fact that those old books, books from my growing up years, my wonder years, are still with me, settled on a comfortable shelf upstairs...to stay.<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-7969720422369209762013-08-17T10:31:00.000-04:002013-08-17T10:31:04.655-04:00Honey Boo Boo, Duck Dynasty, and the CEE Ment Pond <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I live in the South. I love it here despite the fact some of the population comes across as dimwitted ignoramuses, a favorite word of my late great mother-in-law, Evelyn Hatcher Brooks Causby born and raised in lower Alabama. I don't watch Honey Boo Boo, but, in truth, I don't much care if people do or not. It's entertainment....just not entertaining to me. That doesn't mean that anyone who watches...shouldn't. I just can't imagine why someone would think that a little girl whose behavior is questionable and her mama's behavior is...well, just not right...is worth watching. I think people like to see people acting dysfunctional so that they can justify their behavior...which is better than Honey Boo Boo's mama....oh, and daddy. Truthfully, I know they love their little girl, and let's face it, they are making money acting a fool (as we say in the South).<br />
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Then, there is <i>Duck Dynasty.</i> This is about a family that has made gazillions off duck hunting and such paraphernalia. I have to admit that I've watched this and have laughed myself silly. The thing is, this is a savvy family of intelligent, some college educated people who know how to work the public. They have perfect comedic timing, know when to have a stoney expression, and generally look like they're having fun in the process. I'm sure this show is adding to their coffers, and as long as Uncle Si does his thing, people will watch. I don't watch it all the time because I just can't take such a steady dose of unkempt looking men and some of the family religiosity, but it's okay to laugh at these people every so often. <br />
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I have always had a real problem with TV and movies that depict southerners in a negative or unintelligent light. Truth be told, many people believe that everyone, and I do mean everyone, who lives in the South is like Honey Boo Boo's mama and daddy. I remember when <i>The Beverly Hillbillies</i> hit the air waves. All the Clampetts on that show was depicted as unintelligent, uniformed people who didn't even know what a swimming pool was. It was called a <b>cee ment</b> pond. As a teen-ager, I couldn't stand the show. Strangely enough, my daddy, who was born in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains, loved it. It was his favorite show. I just couldn't understand this. It made folks from the mountains appear to be backward doofusses and my daddy was neither backward or a doofus. But the Pa Clampett and granny did give out some sage advice sometimes.<br />
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It's kind of like how some folks believe that all Native Americans, as shown in old westerns, smoke peace pipes, live in teepees, hunt wild game on horseback, kill people traveling in covered wagons (?) and greet everyone with their right palm up while saying, "How." People tend to like to classify other people who are unlike them and don't live in their area.<br />
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When I was visiting out West one time, our family stopped at a Denny's to eat breakfast as we made our way to Vancouver, Canada. Now, I love grits. I always have; however, grits is not part of the Northwestern diet, so imagine my delight when I saw that grits was on the menu. I immediately ordered them along with my eggs and toast. Eagerly scooping my spoon into the bowl, I knew almost instantly that what I was about to put in my mouth wasn't grits. Sure enough, it was cream of wheat. Now, I like cream of wheat...with butter and sugar, a little cream, maybe some cinnamon. BUT, grits is made from corn and corn only. A purist puts butter and salt on it, maybe a little pepper. Silly restaurant. It tried to pull a number on me, but it didn't. So if you're a southerner traveling west of the Mississippi River, watch out for restaurants trying to foist cream of wheat on unknowing customers who have ordered grits. And by the way, grits is singular.<br />
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I have traveled all over this country first because I was the daughter of an Air Force officer and later as a person married to a person who likes to take road trips.Truth be told, other than accents, I have found that most people are pretty much a like. They are friendly (mostly) and most love where they live. So, we folks from the South might talk a little slower and move through life a little more laid back, but we are not ignoramuses<b>,</b> and not all our children are like Honey Boo Boo. Some like to swim in a <b>cee ment</b> pond and say "Yee doggies!"<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-57012017678419746912013-08-12T08:31:00.002-04:002013-08-12T08:31:37.776-04:00Retirement...A new Beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It has been a really long time since I've posted anything on this blog. It's like I get all enthusiastic, and then I just lose steam or creative juices or something. Anyway, I'm really going to try and post my writings a lot more. I do write a short blog of sorts on facebook every morning. It's my "good morning" musings to give folks a kind of uplifting beginning to their day. This blog could have some things in it that aren't all that uplifting all the time. It could have something controversial or not to your political liking, but more than likely, it will be general musings and such.<br />
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Since my last blog on this site, I have retired. I put in over 40 years, give or take a few to educating people from preschool to adults. Most wanted to be educated, especially the little ones. Little kids love to learn; then somewhere around the 3rd grade, some lose that quest for knowledge. I've often wondered why. Some of my middle school and high schoolers really wanted to learn; some did not. This was the way it was with my adults also. Those that wrapped their arms around learning generally went on to bigger and better things. Those that didn't, but wanted the easy way out every time, are still floundering around. This has been especially true in Adult Education, the form of education that I have been involved with over 20 years. I have seen so many triumphs with the adults who have pulled themselves up by the bootstraps, dug their heels in, and overcame many obstacles to reach their personal goals. These are the adults that never gave an excuse for anything. They just did it. The heartache in my job was that there were (and still are) those adults who so desperately want to achieve, but simply can't get over some hurdle. These are the ones who haunt me almost every day.<br />
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Some people think that retiring is coping out. Really?? I have worked at a paying job since I was 15. I'm 66 now. That's 51 years. That's enough for me except when it comes to my writing. I still am a feature writer for "Calhoun Magazine", and since 2008, I've looked at it as my second job. Now, it is my first job. Plus, I want to write more. I want to get a book together. I want some publisher to really like it because self publishing is just not in my budget. I also am savvy enough to know that it is really really difficult these days to publish anything for mass market.<br />
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I am enjoying retirement. It's nice, no, it's great not to set an alarm every night. It's wonderful to wake up at my usual 5 AM and realize that I don't have to get up if I don't want to...and sometimes, I don't. One morning, I slept past 7:30 after waking at 5, and saying to myself, "Nope, I'm going back to sleep." I think that was a mistake. I felt like my whole morning was off. I felt drugged. So now I get up pretty quickly after I wake up. It's getting closer to 6 AM now, though, and I'm okay with this.<br />
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So, I've begun a new beginning in my life. I have no regrets. Except, I still haven't fulfilled my dream of being a star on Broadway or of being a best selling author. I think there's still time. I'm an optimist.<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-88263930919222689062012-11-27T20:54:00.002-05:002012-11-27T20:57:08.608-05:00Hoarders?? No! We Are Keepers of Really Important Stuff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Thanksgiving is over. And yes, I still have some leftovers in the fridge which will be disposed of before the month is out, maybe. Sometimes I like to think of the refrigerator as a science experiment gone awry, but it's my fault, really, since my husband has this problem about throwing stuff away, even refrigerator stuff. It's a guilt thing...throwing out food when folks are starving all over the world. Our mamas drummed it into us just as their mamas drummed it into them. It's what mamas do.<br />
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Our daughter kept calling us hoarders at Thanksgiving. Granted, we have accumulated a lot of stuff in the past 42 years, but I don't look at us as hoarders. It's just that we both think that maybe we'll use that old frying pan someday. Of course, all the non stick surface has been scratched and scrapped away, but we could start seedlings in it for spring planting.....well, we could. Okay, Maybe that pan does need to go.<br />
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I have a huge black garbage bag full of discarded clothes to go to our charitable thrift store here in town. It's been in my car for a month. Things have been periodically added to it. That gawdawful yellow sweater (and yellow is my favorite color) I put on this morning to wear to work is going to be added to the bag. Why I bought that thing is beyond me. The material is a thin sweater knit. The color is pale and it is about the most unflattering thing I've put on in a long time. It showed way too much flesh through the material, lumpy, not svelte flesh.. I still picture myself (quit dreaming Brooks!) as a slender young woman of 25. That young woman disappeared a long time ago. And that yellow sweater is going to disappear, too.<br />
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I have so many pairs of flip flops that I could just about start my own beach footwear store, only these things are ugly, faded, and probably some are 20 years old. I haven't worn many of them in about that many years. And, let's face it, I also have flip flops with no partner. I wonder if there is a reality show for this. And the moldy old Birkenstocks are hideous. Why do I still have these?<br />
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I have so many plastic storage containers that I do believe they are being fruitful and multiplying. The burning question is...how come I have so many lids, but not near as many containers to fit them on? If I open a door, they sometimes come tumbling out. What do I do? I quickly shove them back on the shelf and dare them to fall out again. It's a losing battle. Those plastic thingies have brains. And some are pockmarked from being put in the microwave when they shouldn't have. Some are stained reddish pink from spaghetti sauce. I think I can safely say that they should be tossed. Maybe I'll do just that this weekend.<br />
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We used to have a collection of socks, single socks, socks without partners much like the flip flops. I mean, I had a whole big bag of those things...black, white, brown, green and blue, yellow, purple, pink...all sizes...cotton, nylon, stretchy wool...with all manner of wear and tear. Why on earth did I have those socks? Did I think that all their partners would miraculously find their way back to the fold? So....one day, just because I was sick of moving that bag of socks everywhere, I boldly took the whole sack out to the garbage can and chucked it in. I know. I know. I could have recycled them, used them as dust rags and such. I did, in fact use a few, but new ones would inexplicably appear. When I walked away from that garbage can, I felt free, yes, free. I get goosebumps just thinking about it.<br />
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Hoarders? No, we aren't hoarders. We are savers of stuff. We are keepers of things we think we'll use. We are...nevermind. <br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-48404801641355666102012-11-09T18:19:00.000-05:002012-11-09T18:19:12.534-05:00Thank God for Yubawazi...It's Over<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes, most definitely...thank God for Yubawazi. In truth, I don't know where I got these words. Looking in a search engine did no good. So, I don't know from whence it came, but I've been saying it a while. Maybe my husband said it sometime in the past. According to my daughter, he might have gotten it from "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." He comes up with goofy stuff that makes me laugh a lot. This could be the reason we have been together for so long.<br />
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Anyway, I write these words because I am more than thankful that the election is over. In fact, I am ecstatic, not because my candidate of choice was victorious...(yes, I voted for President Obama, and I make no apologies. Why would I. No one could fix the mess he inherited in four years. Even Mitt Romney attested to that...),but because I am sick of the almost nefarious actions taken by some of the folks when I disagreed with their political leanings. <br />
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I mean, come ooooonnnn people, if a woman is raped and a pregnancy occurs as a result of the rape, this is God's plan? Really?? Really. I'm still trying to absorb that thought into my idiotic (yes, I have been called an idiot for voting for Obama) brain. This guy, Richard Mourdock from Indiana, was actually running for the senate, and thank goodness he lost!! I can't imagine anyone, especially a woman, voting for this creep. And I don't know where his "god" comes from, but he surely isn't any deity I'd want to worship.<br />
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I grew up in a military home. My daddy was a career Air Force officer and WWII veteran. He always taught us (my brother, sister, and me) to show respect to the President of the United States and to the office he held. He said that the president was the Commander and Chief of the military forces and that any president, whether we voted for him or not must always be treated with respect. There was no exception. This rule has been with me all my life, and believe me, on occasion, it has been difficult, but I have always followed my father's advice. He was a most honorable man and would have been appalled by all the goings on and disrespect shown President Obama.<br />
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So, it's over. My president is still my president. I will continue to support him. I really hope that the folks who incessantly questioned President Obama's citizenship, birth place, and so much other stuff , will just get on with their lives. I hope they will stop beating their breasts and crying out that the apocalypse is upon us. Really?? Can I get another REALLY?? This country is just a little blip on this planet. Billions of human souls exist. Did it ever occur to anyone that we might, just might not be that important? I know that's hard to swallow, but think about it.<br />
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The people who have such fear and loathing of our president need to get over it. Where did all this come from anyway? People just seemed to follow some fearmongers and others blindly. They believed any negative thing written or said about President Obama from whispers of him being a Muslim (he isn't, but so what if he was) to he enrolled in school as a foreign student (false documents). Again, so what? And that silly Trump guy with that ridiculous hairdo starts calling for a revolution. Really?? Again, REALLY?? <br />
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I truly believe that President Obama is a good man, a good husband, a good father, and a good president. Fearful people need to get a grip and lighten up. Let the president get on with his job. And I hope the House of Representatives will put aside all this petty discord because so many are Republicans. They are supposed to be for ALL the people. If they spent so much money getting elected to represent the people, they need to start supporting their leader, also. They need to get off their power trip and do what they were elected to do...represent all the people and not just Republicans. Mitt Romney, in his concession speech, actually said this. I think he's right.<br />
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Yes. Thank God for Yubawazi, it is over. No more nasty political rhetoric. No more name calling. No more loss of friendships. It's over. The fat lady has sung and the bows have been taken. I feel like tip toeing through the tulips and singing in the sunshine.<br />
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Now, let's get on with the really important stuff and focus more on who will win "Dancing with the Stars." Plus, "American Idol" is back in January. That's a good thing. <br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-6826688444768477162012-10-28T21:49:00.000-04:002012-10-28T21:49:25.797-04:00A Monster is Coming and Its Name is Sandy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It has been a blustery day today here in this southeastern region of the United States. Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin along with their friends would certainly attest to this. My sister, who has been visiting here, and I went for a walk out on the farm this afternoon and felt cold as the wind whipped around us.<br />
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This wind, almost howling up in the trees is a direct result of a major hurricane churning up the eastern seaboard. "I can taste salt on my lips," my sister announced. And she was right. I could, too. The wind and clouds carried air from the sea although the taste was faint.<br />
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This hurricane...Sandy is its name...is scary. It's like nothing anyone in my lifetime has seen. And, strange as it seems, there is something exciting about it. Hurricanes are exciting. Tornadoes don't hold the same excitement . They come out of the clouds, destroy everything in their paths and are gone as quickly as they came.<br />
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Hurricanes are different. Some form as innocent batches of clouds, and if the conditions are just right, begin to grow and feed on whatever it is that causes them to start a slow spinning dance. Sandy is a gargantuan storm that started as innocently as any other hurricane. But it is different. It is late in the season. It doesn't necessarily have excessively high winds. It's what is known as a Category I storm, winds only...yes, only 75 mph. But it is huge, over 900 miles across. <br />
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The problem with this storm is that it is heading into a highly populated area, a highly congested area. It has been predicted that as many as 50 million people will be affected by this monster storm with a rather sweet innocent name. I've been following it ever since it began forming in the Caribbean over a week ago. At that time, it wasn't promising to turn into what possibly could become the Storm of the Century and beyond.<br />
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One of the biggest problems with hurricanes is the storm surge, the ocean waters that move ashore and inland. This surge floods and wreaks havoc as it moves upon the land. The surge from Sandy could flood subways in New York City. It could send water into the Battery. Hurricanes aren't picky at what they destroy. Katrina is an example of that.<br />
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Yes, hurricanes are exciting, but it is an uneasy excitement. In reality, I hope the storm, for some inexplicable reason does not turn inland to New Jersey and New York City. I have loved ones up that way. I feel for the people who live in that area, who go to jobs each day, who won't be able to tomorrow because a monster is coming.<br />
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We have had so many natural disasters in the past seven years. Doomsday predictors come out of the woodwork when these natural occurrences happen. I don't believe in any of that "End of the world" predictions. These kinds of natural disasters have been going on for millions of years.<br />
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It's just that all the areas that will be and are already being affected by this storm were, at one time, not nearly so populated with human life. At one time Manhattan was simply an island with trees and wild life. The Jersey Shore was just that. Atlantic City wasn't there for the boardwalk to be destroyed as it looks to be now. Underground trains were unheard of. Human beings lived simply. They did not live along the shore where the ocean could come in and sweep them away. The did not build high buildings that could topple. They used fire and oil for light.<br />
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I hope the people in the path of Sandy heed the warnings. They are dire. I hope they don't try to "ride it out" and have hurricane parties. I think Sandy just might not appreciate it.<br />
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Take care everyone. It might be a good idea to say a few prayers. It can't hurt.</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-28368305685113694722012-10-27T20:20:00.001-04:002012-10-27T20:20:41.266-04:00Winning the 50 Yard Dash, Little League World Series, and the UGA DAWGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I really like sports. I mean a lot, but I was never a good athlete. As a kid, I was a little bitty splindly-legged tow-headed girl who was always the last or close to the last kid picked to be on a team. I was too short for basketball and not really strong enough to hit a ball far enough to be good enough. But I could catch a ball with the best of them. People who knew that chose me.<br />
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I could run really fast, though. One of my finest moments was in the sixth grade during Field Day when I beat the fastest girl runner in the school for the 50 yard dash. I still smile thinking about it. Track and field was never part of my school participating activities, though.<br />
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Swimming was something I was good at also. I could do it despite having a bad knee. Swimming is still something I love to do. But I never was on any swim team. My favorite thing to do is swim mindless laps and write articles in my head. <br />
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My dad and I coached my brother's Little League baseball team one summer in between my sophomore and junior year in college. The boys were around 11 or 12. Most were small for their age. In fact, I think my brother was one of the tallest kids, but he was pretty skinny. The boys lost their first 3 games, and folks made fun of them. But my dad was so good with them. He compelled each boy to play his best, not through yelling and belittling them, but by encouragement, respect, and kind words. <br />
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Those boys started winning. The won the rest of their games and went on to win in the city league. That put them in contention for World Series competition. I was so proud of all of them. They played their hearts out, not necessarily to win for themselves, but they wanted to win for my dad. I can remember that every year, every little boy wanted to play on my dad's team. He was a great coach and set a great example. He believed in good sportsmanship and wouldn't tolerate anything less. He also wouldn't tolerate unruly and rude parents and spectators. That summer in 1967 (I believe) is way up there among my fondest memories. I loved those little boys.<br />
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Now, I follow the University of Georgia Bulldogs or DAWGS. It was great fun to see them beat Florida today. Florida is usually our nemesis. When Spurrier was the coach, his arrogance just made me want to stomp him which wouldn't have gone over as a good display of sportsmanship on my part at all. It has always pleased me to beat the Florida Gators. Sorry, Gator fans. I will always feel this way. Now, Spurrier is with South Carolina. That team beat us soundly a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to stomp Spurrier again, but he doesn't seem quite as arrogant. He did almost throw his visor, though.<br />
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I follow the Atlanta Braves and the Atlanta Falcons professional teams and I love to watch Payton Manning play. He is such a good quarterback, like Joe Montana only I think Manning is better.<br />
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See, I told you I loved sports. I think I'm the biggest jock in the family except for maybe my middle son. He "runs" every sports category on Jeopardy, every time. It's amazing. And to me, he was the greatest soccer player on his high school team. I may be a bit prejudice on that.<br />
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Anyway, it's been a good day for sports. I wish the Tennessee Vols had won against South Carolina, but they almost did. It was a good game.<br />
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It's been a good day for UGA sports fans. That's for sure. GO DAWGS!!<br />
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And I make no apologies.<br />
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Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-91573805374823548602012-10-25T20:47:00.000-04:002012-10-25T20:47:11.206-04:00October, the Mountains, and Spectacular Colors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
October is a splendid month and it's almost over. Today, my husband, mom, sister, and I ventured out and up to the mountains of Northeast Georgia with the destination being Amicalola Falls near Dawsonville. The weather was glorious and the scenery was spectacular. The leaf colors are at their peak and just simply brilliant. You know, some years, the fall colors are just "so so." This year is definitely not one of them.<br />
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The falls were lovely. This was a perfect day for my mom. She needed it because her beloved doggie she adopted not too long after her husband of 67 years and my sweet daddy passed away. Roxi is a hefty Heinz 57 with some Rottweiler in her. She is a sweet tempered gentle dog that stole my mom's heart when Roxi licked her hand through her cage. She was slated to die that very day. Roxi became very ill a couple of days ago and had we not taken her to the vet, she probably would have died.<br />
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She has been diagnosed with diabetes which has caused some other complications. Mom absolutely loves this dog. She is getting excellent care and we are hopeful Roxi will get better soon. So...Mom needed a day to enjoy the outdoors and forget her concerns for a little while. Mom is this wonderful redheaded Irish (mainly with a little British and German) woman who is nearing 90, but acts and looks much much younger. She walked on the trails pretty as you please on her way to see the base of the falls. She laughed a lot and thoroughly enjoyed herself. I'm just so thankful the leaves and the weather were so breath-taking.<br />
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My sister, who lives in the Northwest, equally enjoyed herself. She's a picture buff and probably owns one of the last workable film cameras. She swears by her camera and believes film is much better than digital. I'm not going to argue with her. I like my little Canon and she likes her big Canon. It's all good as long as the pictures turn out well. We'll share them. She loved the area and all the brilliant colors.<br />
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We hoped to find a nice little restaurant in which to dine somewhere around Jasper, Georgia. What has happened to all the little "mom and pop" places or the local eateries in the smaller towns? I guess economics has taken its toll on these places. Most small towns had a downtown cafe or two that the locals frequented, but we could find nothing.<br />
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We wound up eating at a Cracker Barrel at home. That was okay. We all like this country comfort food place. You know it has to be good because it always, and I mean <u>a l w a y s</u> is crowded. I love their "fried apples." The coffee is great and so is the frosted mug lemonade.<br />
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Anyway, this was a really wonderful day. I got to spend it with people I love and who love me. What more could I ask?</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1732960164918551927.post-5106259619862276592012-10-23T21:19:00.001-04:002012-10-23T21:19:17.746-04:00A Tribute to My Father on His 90th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was a daddy's girl growing up. My daddy was the biggest, strongest, handsomest man who ever lived. He made the best mayonnaise sandwiches in the world on soft white Sunbeam bread. He'd glob it on until it squished out the sides when I bit into it. My mouth sometimes waters when I think about those sandwiches, sandwiches I don't eat anymore.<br />
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I remember watching Gillette's Friday Night Fights (I think that was its name) with my dad until I got sleepy and fell asleep with my head on his knee. Sometimes, when I was really small, I would use his legs as a slide. I'd ride on his shoulders and get the best view of everything. When I think back on it, I know I felt like the Queen of the World to borrow from that famous "Titanic" line.<br />
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As a teen-ager, I remember my dad leaning on a car window, shirtless because he had been working in the garden, introducing himself to the mother of a boy who was taking me to the 8th grade dance. That time I was mortified. Today, I smile and think how truly guileless my dad was.<br />
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When I was 15, I had to have surgery to correct a birth defect that caused my knee cap to go out of place and travel around the back of my leg. Yes, it was as horrible as it sounds and didn't show up until I was around 12. The surgery went well, but a staph infection set in. I was very very ill. I almost lost my leg, really my life. One night, I awoke to find my daddy sitting very close to my hospital bed. His head was resting on the bed and he appeared to be asleep. As I put my hand on his hair, I told him that I loved him. He said in his deep East Tennessee drawl, "I love you too, daughter. I love you, too." It was a most precious moment.<br />
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My dad had been an Air Force career man, retiring as as Major. He was always so handsome in his uniform. When he retired at the young age of 37, he went on to work for the Post Office for another 20 years. I think he always regretted leaving the military. I learned later that he did it for his children so that they would have a more stable life. That was quite a sacrifice, leaving something that he loved doing. He loved his children more. Secretly, I missed the Air Force as much as him<br />
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When I was in college, I'd sometimes ride a bus to Knoxville where we had settled after the Air Force and Dad would meet me at the bus stop. We had a ritual of going to the Krispy Kreme doughnut place and getting a dozen chocolate covered doughnuts warm, coming off the conveyor belt. We'd drive all over Knoxville, talking and munching on that box of doughnuts. Sometimes we'd take a doughnut each home to my mom and brother. They weren't as appreciative as we thought they should have been.<br />
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Daddy was an extraordinary guitarist and musician. He could play all kinds of musical instruments, but his favorite was the tenor guitar. He had a specially made Martin that he treated as a work of art. After retiring from the Air Force and moving to Knoxville, he teamed once again with his brother, my Uncle Otha and they became the Emert Brothers. They performed the music of their heritage and youth, mountain music, bluesy and sweet...sad songs of lost love or lively tunes that was foot stomping inspiring. I so loved to listen and watch him and his brother perform and later with his nephew George after Uncle Otha passed away. My dad's last performance was with his grandson, Heath, my oldest son at the Delmar Days Festival in Alabama. I was so proud of my son as he honored his grandfather by playing with him. It was a joy to watch them and listen.<br />
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On December 2, 2010 I lost this wonderful man I loved so much. Kidney cancer took him away from all of us who loved him. I remember sitting by his bed on the night before he died telling him it was okay for him to let go, to be at peace. He fought so to live. He suffered so much. He was the dearest man I've ever known, the bravest. My life was made all the better because he was my father.<br />
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So here's to Major Stanley George Emert, Sr. on what would have been his 90th birthday His legacy will live on through his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and beyond. I know he's playing beautiful music among the stars.</div>
Coleen Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11495700730946478305noreply@blogger.com8