Chocolate...It Has A Hold of My Whole Being...And I Will Love It Forever

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

This Child is a Full Grown Man...An Epiphany from a Mother

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.    

A little portable Royal typewriter to a little red Dell Laptop. Both have served this writer well.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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??

My Daddy: A Remarkable Man and Musician with the Emert Brothers, Bird's Creek Boys, and Last, but not Least...The Pine Chapel String Band

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Today, I received a letter from this fan of my Daddy and his music and I want to share it with you.

Coleen,
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.

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.

Best regards

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. 

Stiletto Heels, Professional Clothes, Panty Hose--Not The Attire for This Woman Anymore

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.

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.

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.

You notice that I wrote all the above verbs in the past tense because this is all a moot point now.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

I Don't Do Sick Well, So I'm Better

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Bones"...The Ickness Factor is...Well, Icky

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.

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.

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.

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.