tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80598788455358531272024-02-19T10:10:59.206-05:00'Midst the Hum...rumors, prose and observations from the back alley and beyondThomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-52261976853458301612023-10-16T15:44:00.000-04:002023-10-16T15:44:05.949-04:00As he ambled home from school, the kid saw that familiar station wagon parked in front of his house and instantly he knew what it meant. At first he considered ducking down under the railroad tressel and waiting it out; but he knew he'd catch hell when he came home late. And he had to go home, he was only 10 years old - there weren't many places he could go. His parents knew how long it took to walk home from the village school and they expected him to make the trek forthwith. In the instances he had lollygagged, and had been a few minutes late, he'd crossed that tressell to find "mama" on the front porch, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun, searching the village landscape for him. But today, there was no mama, but there was a 65 ford station wagon, driven by the Baptist church preacher parked out front - and this ten year old boy knew that car...and he knew the score.<br />
<br />
Being that flight was out of the question, there was only one thing left to do. He'd simply breeze in, give a cheery<i> how do you do</i>, duck into his room, change into his football playing clothes and slip out the back. So, as he approached the little house he rehearsed his lines and hoped for the best. His friends were already in the park waiting on him to join their rough and tumble game . "Hurry up!" You playin'?" He waved back weakly, knowing that escape was improbable. At the top of the front steps he could hear the preacher's booming voice rattling the bungalow's windows. He steeled himself and entered. And there sat the pastor, bigger than life, king james in hand and a big paw extended for the kid to shake. His great plan to escape withered like the autumn tomato vines in the back yard. There'd be no football in the park today; instead, it would be the Roman's road.<br />
<br />
"Son, could I talk to you for a minute"? "Yes sir". His Mama stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room - wringing her hands. In the park across the street one of the local hoodlums yelled savagely , "throw the damn ball you stupid bastard!". The preacher clearly heard it, but pretended not to notice. His mother, scowling, closed the front door. it was on.<br />
<br />
The preacher was a barrel of a man. the sheer volume of his voice moved mountains and sinners quaked at his pronouncements, but at that moment, sensing the boy's apprehension, he appeared sweet and kindly. Even when he caught the kid looking longingly toward the door and the park where his friends were roughhousing, the preacher gently asked the kid, "would you rather go out and play"? Of course the kid would rather be anywhere than in that tiny living room with this serious giant and his emotional .mother, but an affirmative answer would have resulted in a family scandal; and worse than that, no football, no cartoons on TV - and who knows what other calamities. So, it had finally come down to this. The Jesus talk.<br />
<br />
"Do you know that Christ died for your sins"? "Yes sir". "Now, I know your mind is divided by wanting to go out to play, but you do want to please the Lord, right?" "Yes sir". With fingers that resembled tree trunks, he flipped through the pages of his dog-eared KJV until he lighted upon Romans 10. "Read this passage for me son," he said while draping a heavy arm on the kid's narrow shoulders. If you declare with your mouth that "Jesus is Lord", and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved (Romans 10: 9-10). "Son, do you understand what you just read?" Genuinely moved by the moment the boy croaked out with great relief, "yes sir, I do". And the kid wasn't lying, even before he knew Jesus, he knew that there had to be a lot more going on than his meager existance. Jesus just completed the circle.<br />
<br />
By now his mama had tears streaming down her face and the preacher had a look of satisfaction that stole away his deadly, serious veneer and again rendered him likable. "Well young man, God is proud of you, I'm proud of you and your mother is proud of you too". At that, the kid's mama squeaked out an emotional "I am".<br />
<br />
"Baptism'll take place next Sunday evening son", the preacher said, his voice regaining its sober authority. Moments later, he was dismissed to "go on out there with your friends". The kid, still pondering his eternal fate, hopped the ditch across from his house and trotted into the park - when the preacher's last words sunk in: "Baptism next Sunday evening at 6 O'clock!" <br />
<br />Thomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-6429240898263131292023-10-16T14:30:00.000-04:002023-10-16T14:30:14.287-04:00The Brandon File: The Boys of Summers Past...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAPH4zfhf9nbcQ-aDXXmM80ogUXgRXWbTKYc6NTmfk8sCjNaRI5xo-Mw0JB-muJO8Y9T4Q_qdNJURS9ADWt9JUqmJSO5gX3cWCznbH5Oi6h37z0MdAY3U2qXooNFHawDOBKZ4gdtPZCY/s1600-h/brandon_field_today.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328468099875908946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAPH4zfhf9nbcQ-aDXXmM80ogUXgRXWbTKYc6NTmfk8sCjNaRI5xo-Mw0JB-muJO8Y9T4Q_qdNJURS9ADWt9JUqmJSO5gX3cWCznbH5Oi6h37z0MdAY3U2qXooNFHawDOBKZ4gdtPZCY/s320/brandon_field_today.jpg" border="0" /></a> "Hustle Phil! Get on it boy!" bellowed James, "Speedy" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Landreth</span></span> as the base runner touched third and headed for home. "Get the bat out of the way!" "Hit the dirt!" But the bat boy had failed and the bat lay guarding home like a tree. As he had gone into his slide, Phil's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">cleat</span> caught the barrel of the bat which sent him head first into a waiting catcher's mitt. "You're out!, growled the umpire, followed by Phil's groan of pain and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">embarrassment</span>. With his face covered in dirt, the stocky, curly haired base runner glared at the cowering bat boy as he limped to the dugout. His teammates <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">greeted</span> him with merciless laughter and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pantomimes</span> of his clumsy effort. Meanwhile, Speedy continued his lambaste at the chubby bat boy. "Didn't I tell you to get that bat! You need to get your head in the game or I'll get somebody else. Hustle damn it!"<br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I assume they called him "Speedy" owing to his unhurried demeanor; for he never actually "hustled" anywhere himself. Perhaps T. Durham could put up a tell all post that could shed some light on our little league coach and further verify the sleazy side of mill hill life. Lord knows, concerning the hill, I've written about nothing but <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2008/08/brandon-file.html">murderers and drunkards</a>. <br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>Summertime in the Brandon Ballpark: It was broken bats and exuberant parents. It was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">rain outs</span> and base clearing doubles. It was road trips to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Pelzer</span> and late inning rallies. It was the last days of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">teen aged</span> innocence and it was the end of the textile era. Before long the hum of the mill would be silenced and many of the kids would soon go to far away places to take on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">responsibilities</span> of men.</div><br /><div>A couple of years ago I passed through <a href="http://www.scgreatoutdoors.com/park-clevelandpark.html">Cleveland Park</a> and I saw that the City had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">erected</span> a marble wall memorializing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Greenvillians</span></span></span> killed in the wars. There I found the name Paul Charles <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hamby</span></span></span> Jr, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">sp</span></span></span>4/Army. "Buddy" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Hamby</span></span></span> lived across from the Baptist Church. He was killed in a helicopter crash in Vietnam. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">scanned</span> the black marble for another name. Gary Lynn Pace, 1<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">lt</span></span></span>/Army. Gary didn't live in Brandon, but his parents owned the Jewelry store in West <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Greenville</span></span></span>. <span style="color:#330099;"><a href="http://www.parkerhistory.com/">Most Parker</a></span> High students had a school ring from Pace's. Like Buddy, Gary was killed in Vietnam. I then looked down only a row or two in search of his name; and there it was, Phillip Allen Page cpl/Army.</div><br /><div>I remember that day in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">cemetery</span> standing on the hill across from the funeral. I watched as they laid Phil to rest; his grave not a quarter of a mile from the park where he played baseball a few short years before. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">flinched</span> as the seven guns fired their salute; and as the bugler played TAPS, I felt a sadness I had not encountered in my 11 years. The games of youth now in perspective, we walked away leaving <a href="http://thewall-usa.com/info.asp?recid=39190">Phil</a> in youthful repose.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div>Thomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-60851380524853138952019-06-26T11:57:00.002-04:002019-07-15T12:46:34.872-04:00Flatulence and Physical Fitness - Can we survive?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA2pOSlYQ6uNroILzGWmTIyf8Jh8TrNWtFqnDxpTd1JGTWHCwsxRxNSbZaXzKgTO87WQ1YeA5Qlz_Y1RUEdnGkPmZ76I9_HbvLhfN2IrfcP9kD_ZAQi7Vzgj6mdx4w_ZG-AFXxrVGv8M/s1600/smog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA2pOSlYQ6uNroILzGWmTIyf8Jh8TrNWtFqnDxpTd1JGTWHCwsxRxNSbZaXzKgTO87WQ1YeA5Qlz_Y1RUEdnGkPmZ76I9_HbvLhfN2IrfcP9kD_ZAQi7Vzgj6mdx4w_ZG-AFXxrVGv8M/s320/smog.jpg" width="320" /></a>A while back, my spousal unit and I realized that we had gotten out of shape: the clothes were snug, the breath was short and the joints were stiff. There was only one thing left to do; we decided to stop the insanity and to start eating healthily. That we made this momentous decision while scarfing down a pizza is beside the point, but in any event we made it stick. The pounds began to disappear and before long we were exercising - which brings us to this sour moment.<br />
<br />
Our gym is a spacious place that offers a wide variety of fitness programs and classes. One of the said classes is "Power cycle 45", which is 45 minutes of vigorous pedal strokes on stationary bicycles made specifically for that exercise. The class is lead by an instructor, who plays upbeat music and barks out commands and encouragement. But lately a force has arrived that drowns out the instructor's commands and renders her encouragement impotent.<br />
<br />
It is here that I should warn the reader who stumbles upon this missive that the subject matter is not genteel. Some may even think this whole thing to be crude - and it is! So, if you're squeamish, turn back now.<br />
<br />
Let us continue.<br />
<br />
We arrive to the gym at 5:40 and get our bikes ready. We warm up for 5 minutes and then it starts. Typically, within 10 minutes we are breathing hard and sweating profusely. And it is in that gasping, vulnerable state that recently, on several occasions, someone in the room is - how shall I say it?- <i>easing one out!</i> It is not an audible salvo; oh noooo, the presence of the beast, at first, is entirely an affront to the olfactory. So imagine if you will - you've got the beat, you're "adding gears" and "engaging your core", then suddenly there is an enemy. And its not just any old garden variety demon I tell you. It has legs. It's a protein enriched, paint peeling, nose hair singeing assault that advances, retreats and advances again (we think the circular flow of the ceiling fans enhance that effect, but it could be other incoming sorties).<br />
<br />
At first, you think you'll survive by breathing through your mouth only; thereby by-passing the sense of smell. But no. You soon discover that this mutant wave has a corresponding flavor and the thought of this phantom gas finding a home in your lungs is a little too much for even an able bodied soul to endure. So, there we are, defenseless, at the mercy of the killer fog and no avenue of escape, save running from the room. We are perplexed and perturbed...but not defeated.<br />
<br />
<br />
So now, we are looking for suspects - and there are several: The bald guy who always leaves a few minutes early - it did seem that the air was better <i>after </i>he left. But perhaps not. Then there is the big, T-Rex looking older guy with the forehead like a drive in movie screen; he sweats gallons which leads me to think that he'd fog the place out with no problem. But there is no sure fire proof. And let's not let the women off the hook. There's a couple of them in there that have the distinct ability to empty a room - no doubt about it.<br />
<br />
So, my intrepid wife and I are on the case like dogged private investigators slinking around in trench coats, collars up, standing flat against the wall to avoid detection. We intend to get to the bottom of this offense. So far our best ideas are: <br />
<ul>
<li>To shame the perpetrator by audibly gagging out a loud exclamation; such as, "<i>who died</i>?!!". But that's a little too dramatic for reserved patrons such as us, plus, by bringing attention to the sordid matter, we open ourselves up to suspicion. and a retort like "<i>the smeller is the feller!</i> It's a slippery slope.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Engaging our classmates in small talk about breakfast choices - we suspect the offender is a "protein shake" consumer - owing to the hint of digesting soy that rides shotgun on the rancid breeze. Of course, bacon and eggs is no fragrant walk in the park. It's such an unsettled science.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Just giving up exercise indoors all together - What good is physical fitness when you're being bombarded by a force that is clearly life shortening? </li>
</ul>
<br />
In any event, I must apologize again for the crude subject matter, and I hope that future missives are more pleasant and uplifting - but, assuming we survive this invader, it's not likely. <br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-90316351242595502392019-06-24T10:59:00.002-04:002019-07-17T12:19:45.447-04:00One Perfect KissBrandon community bowling alley and skating rink - July 1968: He had noticed this new lovely last Saturday night as he pushed the dust mop up and down the lanes. He did this routine task every night, a few minutes before the cigarette smoking, shit talking, hardcore bowlers arrived. Over on the skating rink that adjoined the 8 lane bowling alley, the skaters were there, early as usual; their mindless chatter a cacophony of teenage madness. He had thought about this new, graceful beauty all week and now here she was again. His mind whirled with plans designed to, at the very least, somehow catch her eye. Suddenly, his romantic reverie was shattered by the building manager's piercing reprimand. He looked up to see William Donahue's wonky finger pointing at the waxy hardwoods: "We ain't got all day boy!" "Yes, sir, I'm on it", he croaked back; but despite the admonishment, his gaze immediately drifted directly back to the alluring figure sitting just apart from the gaggle of chewing gum chomping chirpies. To his amazement, she demurely looked his way and smiled at him as she laced up her skates; then abruptly, with one graceful pirouette, she was on the floor. She could skate rings around the other girls...and there was just <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Guy%27s_in_Love_with_You" target="_blank"><i>something</i> about her</a>. So, it had come down to this, Saturday night with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rag_Doll_(The_Four_Seasons_song)" target="_blank">Frankie Valli</a> blaring from the juke box, and his heart beating a little faster...<br />
<br />
Her skating skills were legendary,<br />
a hardwood ballerina.<br />
She had talents more profound<br />
Than skating round in circles<br />
<br />
Shy with <a href="https://images.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?p=female+stars+with+beautiful+eyes+pictures&fr=yhs-pty-pty_forms&hspart=pty&hsimp=yhs-pty_forms&imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.georgianjournal.ge%2Fpictures%2Fimage2%2F635122aecf9259b31769c7e6eb16186a.jpg#id=-1&iurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.georgianjournal.ge%2Fpictures%2Fimage2%2F635122aecf9259b31769c7e6eb16186a.jpg&action=click" target="_blank">eyes most otherworldly</a>,<br />
happily a chance beginning.<br />
Lead to one short, stolen kiss<br />
and a love that's never ending<br />
<br />
One perfect kiss in the dark recess<br />
One perfect kiss as she catches her breath<br />
Before my heart could recover<br />
she's back in the groove<br />
One perfect kiss in shimmering light.<br />
One perfect kiss to last all the night.<br />
One note of her favorite song<br />
And I'm yesterday's news.<br />
<br />
Shy with eyes most otherworldly,<br />
happily a chance beginning.<br />
The skating rink has long been gone,<br />
but the love is never ending.<br />
<br />
One perfect kiss in the dark recess<br />
one perfect kiss in a brief moments rest.<br />
My heart would never recover<br />
from her glide and her spin.<br />
One perfect kiss, her eyes on the rink.<br />
One perfect kiss, then gone in a blink.<br />
I'd wait in the shadows until<br />
she returned once again.<br />
<br />
<br />
Donahue: You're fired!<br />
<br />
Author's take: Too many unnatural rhymes, but, you know, man, the times were desperate.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-63620066174308255992017-03-23T11:41:00.000-04:002017-03-26T10:30:24.948-04:00Jason’s Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since Laura passed I have been begging for some sign from
her to let me know some things.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are you still with me? Are you happy where you are? Can
you<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>see Fiona growing up from your
new home? Do you love me still?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Crazy, I know.</div>
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When we depart this world, those of us who are left behind
can only hold on to beliefs of where we go when we pass, what we can see from
our new home, etc.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Religion teaches us that there is a beautiful place that
awaits us after we pass.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Science teaches us that life is an energy force, and energy
cannot die – it only transforms.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Combining the two, I believe that there is a place where our
life force goes after we leave the earthly realm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Religion says that it’s called heaven, where we get to see
long departed loved ones and the streets are paved with gold, and there’s no
pain or suffering or tears. This would (or will) be a great place to reside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some science says that there is likely a parallel dimension
that we trans-morph into, a world exactly like our own, with some subtle and
some not so subtle differences.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, no one has come from beyond to tell us which is
which and what is real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After daughter Ruth E. passed, the second night of trying to
sleep, I had a most amazing and very real dream. I was awakened in the early
morning hours by Ruth E.’s voice whispering in my ear. I turned over in my bed
and opened my eyes and she was standing over me, big smile on her face, telling
me “I’m home”. It was as if she were coming home from a date later than
expected and was just letting me know that she was home and safe. As she turned
and walked away from the bed I said “Wait – where have you been?”. She looked
over her shoulder at me and said, in a way that only Ruth E. could say it,
“Duh”. Then she laughed and kept on walking down the hall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dream was so real and so vivid that I immediately woke
Laura up and told her about it. We both cried ourselves back to sleep that
morning, and we never spoke of it to each other again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s now early March 2017. I’m still reeling over the death
of my beloved Laura, who left<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just
over three months earlier. I force myself out of bed on a Friday morning, off
work and making plans for the day – laundry, dishes, scrubbing the sink, etc.
My phone rings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little about the caller.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jason Summers is a good friend, a super talented musician, a
great father to his girls and all around great man. We met him through Michael
as they were (and still are) in various bands together. Since meeting Jason, we
started seeing him as another son. He was there through some of the worst times
in our lives, was a pallbearer for Ruth E. and continues to offer love and
support to our family, of which, like it or not, he is a part of.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I answered the phone that Friday morning with the fear that
something may have happened to him or his family as Jason never calls that
early in the morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jason starts by apologizing for calling so early but he had
to tell me about a dream that he had the night before. Seems that the dream was
so real that it woke him at 5am and he couldn’t get it off his mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He dreamed that he was in his old apartment back in his
hometown of Pittsburgh, walking out the front door. He looked across the street
and saw Laura standing there – holding a red balloon. She had that large Laura
smile on her face and he motioned for her to cross the street. She gave him the
‘mom’ look of ‘hell no, you cross the street to me’. Jason added “you know, just like Laura would”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jason crossed the street and she met him with a big hug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you doing here?”, Jason asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Laura answered “Waiting on Larry to pick me up. We meet here
at this time every day” Then, he drops me back off here as I have to go one
way and he has to go another. But we meet here every day, same time”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jason says that in the dream he turns and sees me driving
down the street. I pull over and Laura, red balloon still in hand, gets into
the car. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and turns back to Jason and says
“everything’s going to be alright”. Then we drive away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He woke up. He tells me over the phone that it was so real
that he couldn’t go back to sleep. He wanted to call me and tell me then but
was unsure how I would take hearing about the dream.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He says that it's the most vivid dream that he's ever had and that it was beautiful! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She still loves you Larry”, Jason says through tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jason – you have just changed the entire trajectory of my
day”, I told him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We talked for a minute more and then I started scrubbing the
sink. I cried, and scrubbed for almost an hour. Cleanest that sink has ever
been, I did most of the rinsing with tears. Forget about all the other chores - I spent the rest of my time with her photos, with a grocery list that she had started, with emails that she had sent to me. And I grieved long and hard that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had let me know that she was alright and that she still
loved me. She had communicated this through Jason, a guy that called her his
second mom and that she loved as a son. She had spoken through Jason as Ruth E.
had spoken through me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I choose to believe this. It makes me feel so much better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And while I loved him as a son before that phone call, I’ll
never forget what that man did for me that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He delivered some much-needed answers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that certainly helps me along with this grieving process
and lets me know that there is a place where we all go after we die.</div>
<br />Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-77699952950141573912017-03-02T22:01:00.000-05:002017-03-02T22:01:40.576-05:00Good FriendsLaura had friends, as most people do. She had many-too numerous to mention in a post such as this.<br />
We've had mutual friends throughout the years, the boys from the old school (think croquet), the Crowders from Mebane, the Jaycees in Newberry, etc.<br />
Here, I'd like to touch on just a couple. While this does not discount any of the many people that she called her friends, these two that I speak of are ones that she held near and dear and kept in constant contact with.<br />
<br />
<b>Martha Suber</b><br />
We met Martha in the early 90s while shooting a music video for the DARE program for the Newberry County School District Gifted and Talented Program. Martha had written a song called "I'm Too Cool" which was an anti-drug statement aimed at rural kids. Unlike most 'just say no' messages at the time, this one targeted kids who didn't live on the mean streets of a big city. While drugs weren't a huge problem for our county (thanks to programs like DARE and the excellent law enforcement this county has enjoyed), there was always a threat of drugs infiltrating this peaceful, rural community. A music video that targeted and featured local kids was the right prescription for getting the message out that drugs were not the answer. Martha had brought along a producer/director, Kimberly J Miller, recently from California into the project and soon we were rehearsing kids for the leads, scouting locations and gathering the equipment needed to accomplish our project. After many pre-production meetings, the shoot got underway. We had about 30 actors, singers and dancers rehearsed and ready to roll. While Kim directed and choreographed and I provided lighting and camera, Laura was assigned the ominous task of Line Producer. For those unfamilier with the term, a Line Producer's job consists of, well, everything else. Need a golf cart for a certain location? Ask the line producer. Need a crane for a certain shot? Ask your line producer. Need to ferry actors to and from locations? You get the picture. Laura was absolutely flawless in this position. Her proven sales ability allowed her to wheel and deal almost anything we needed out of local business owners and government leaders. For the crane, she had one day's notice. Next day the crane was parked exactly where we needed it. Awesome woman!<br />
Martha, meanwhile, as the composer and guitarist/harmonica player, was also featured in the video. She had some downtime between takes and would stand with Laura to keep her company. They developed a rapport and soon became friends.<br />
The shoot lasted over 30 days. Locations included the old Newberry Opera House (at the time still in a state of decay, Community Hall, a logging truck bed, basketball court, dairy farm, Wal Mart, an old barn, downtown Prosperity and Whitmire, SC and Martha's front porch. By the end of the shoot and edit, the four of us were exhausted. Kim and I worked on editing, finished the piece and picked a premier date and finally collapsed. It was decided that the four of us, by now fast friends, would take a trip to the beach to renew.<br />
And so we did.<br />
Since then, Martha and Laura became friends and confidants. When Martha moved to Virginia we would often visit her. While Laura and Martha hung out and caught up on life, I would travel the Civil War trails of the area. When Laura and I had some marital difficulties, Martha was her refuge. After Martha moved backed to SC, we often went over for 'graze and float', eating chicken and swimming. When Martha started playing gigs again in SC, Laura tried as often as possible to be there. I'd have to say that Martha was her closest friend since they had known one another so long. And then there's...<br />
<br />
<b>Rachel Moore</b><br />
So Laura started working at a place called Medi Home Care as a receptionist. She got the job through her friend at a temp agency and the original offer was 25 hours per week while working for the temp agency. After that contract expired, she was to be offered a full time position with full benefits. Those assheads lied to her over and over and never gave her what they promised, which included health coverage...but I digress. There was a lovely young lady working there that Laura took a sudden liking to. She would come home with "Rachel" stories nearly every day, each story crazier than the previous one. Soon, I had to meet this Rachel. She was everything that I had heard and then some. Outrageous, outspoken, out there! Just like Laura. Soon, Laura was coming home with weird coincidence stories. "Did you know that Rachel and Dan lived in a log home? Did you know that Rachel has a sister near Winston Salem like I do? Did you know that her favorite food is..." Almost every day I would hear another strange coincidence that would link these two. They were almost like twins separated at birth. Next thing I know, Laura is calling her after work and chatting for hours. It became a regular thing. Next was "I'm going out for drinks with the girls". I was happy that Laura was doing more than just working and going home to TV. She had her regular Tuesday night trip with Martha to hear her and Freddie play in Union. The rest of the week was, if Fiona wasn't visiting, the girls were going out to dinner or drinks, or both. Laura was finally beginning to enjoy life again in a social way. When Ruth E passed away, Laura withdrew into a social shell. She was happy with family gatherings, and she was excited about her weekly trips and the occasional Saturdays with Martha at the pool. Now, she was getting out again, dining and drinking with new friends, bitching about work and I could see her coming back to life.<br />
Just minutes after Laura passed away, I was standing in the ICU hallway next to the elevator. I was still in a state of shock and disbelief. I hear the elevator door open and Rachel walks out, tears streaming down her face. "I'm too late aren't I", she says. I nodded. She grabbed me in a tight hug and we cried together.<br />
Since then, we have talked and cried on the phone several times, and will continue to for the foreseeable future. Rachel and her husband Dan have found a place in my heart, thanks to the lovely Laura Reid.<br />
<br />
<br />Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-81288291391041463372017-02-19T21:00:00.000-05:002017-02-19T21:05:29.063-05:00Like Comets ComeThe storms of life like comets come,<br />
They bring with them the blues<br />
They sting you with their mysteries<br />
the scars they leave are clues<br />
<br />
But when a whirlwind took my love<br />
I could not turn the page.<br />
My brittle heart had been laid bare,<br />
to heaven fisted rage<br />
<br />
Proverbial seasons - I'm aware, I'm aware.<br />
But death is a season of despair, deep despair.<br />
<br />
With the comet came the rains<br />
The storm intensified.<br />
With the rain came memories<br />
brought tears to my tired eyes.<br />
<br />
When that angel took my love,<br />
I begged him for relief.<br />
He said that I must travel first<br />
to places dark and deep.<br />
<br />
Grief has its stages - yes I know, yes I know<br />
But death just enrages and it grows, and it grows.<br />
<br />
The sky will once again be free<br />
The signs will fade from view.<br />
But I'll look to the heavens<br />
In hopes that I'll see you.<br />
Yes I'll look to the heavens<br />
In hopes that I see you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Thomas Lawrencehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16715804034327241877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-57890619959958860912017-02-19T14:13:00.000-05:002017-02-19T15:05:25.338-05:00Thirteen Weeks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJruO4zhj1KQk0PDZNQkMkwLr1g7bfsxY0M2iIhH5XiI8J30Tz9ebDaS8lMmxXmhWm8cM2qNm1YG8DY__-DvThXtXWRTpnxH39SDwOwSX39XmFxGrZStp4q7ybqHW3VijkNyiQPM2ni6o/s1600/Mala+and+Fiona.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJruO4zhj1KQk0PDZNQkMkwLr1g7bfsxY0M2iIhH5XiI8J30Tz9ebDaS8lMmxXmhWm8cM2qNm1YG8DY__-DvThXtXWRTpnxH39SDwOwSX39XmFxGrZStp4q7ybqHW3VijkNyiQPM2ni6o/s320/Mala+and+Fiona.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Since Laura passed November 30, 2016, roughly thirteen weeks have gone by.<br />
There have been many changes.<br />
I am on a new anti-depressant regimen that keeps me from having anxiety and panic attacks. This is good since it was such a panic attack that brought on a near-fatal heart attack for me. Don't need to add another one of those into the mix.<br />
I have sought counsel from my doctor, who I've known for over 20 years and whose advice I trust. My last appointment, when asked the reason for my visit, I replied "I just want to sit and talk for a bit". My doctor is very good at listening and helping me with the stressers that one goes through at a time like this.<br />
I have been working diligently on my home. Painting, moving things into storage, selling a few things, etc. But still not touching Laura's things. Those decisions will not be faced until at least June. I'm sticking by my promise to not make any decisions on her possessions for at least six months.<br />
I cry a bit less now, not only because of the drugs, or the time that has passed. I'm getting to a point of remembering the good things that have happened for us over our forty years together. I'm remembering things that are near and dear to me, events that we shared, concerts that we've attended, family reunions, even some of the bullshit that we dealt with - together. The one phrase that constantly runs through my mind is when she would always say to me "we're a team - we'll make it through this together". It comforts me. I've known people who were married as long, if not longer than we were who never seemed to reach this place.<br />
I still hear her voice. When I'm doing laundry, or trying to cook, I hear her guiding me (although she still has yet to reveal that secret ingredient that she used to put into her green beans). When I make a decision to move furniture in the living room I can hear her telling me to move it back a few more inches, or to the left a bit.<br />
Some things that haven't changed - her stuff is pretty much where she left it. It was put there for a reason and I don't need to move it.<br />
I still miss her very, very much. I'm still in a kind of shock that she was here and suddenly gone so quickly and unexpectedly. I still tell her daily that I miss her and that I'm sorry that I didn't know to get her to the hospital sooner. And I still let her have the last word when she told me "I love you more" as they were taking her into ICU that night. She did and I know it!<br />
You can't just let go of forty plus years of a voice and a presence. And she was most definitely a presence!<br />
I'm telling stories about Laura to some of my co workers and friends, some who had the pleasure of meeting her and some who didn't. She left many great stories for me to share; from her long-standing suffering as a Carolina Panthers fan and the obscenity usually screamed during the games to her legendary attacks on anyone who disrespected either one of her children (especially obnoxious high school coaches).<br />
It's good that I can laugh when I share these stories. I also firmly believe that every time I think of her or utter her name that she is still alive, simply because she lives inside me.<br />
<br />
There will never, ever be another like Laura Welborn Reid - and you can take that to the bank!Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-26880325725495537792017-01-29T13:20:00.000-05:002017-01-31T18:23:35.249-05:00The Invisible CatPom Pom. What a name!<br />
It all began when I was considering a new roommate. Laura's passing left such a black void in my world, a dark and cold hole that only the spirit of another living, breathing being could begin to patch.<br />
We have had cats before - or cats have owned us, I should say. In our eleven years in the cabin only two have resided with us. Gomez-the original and Gomez two. The original Gomez was a black and white kitty who was the last born of a litter. I <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2010/04/gomez.html" target="_blank">wrote about Gomez </a>before and won't go into detail her<a href="http://e./">e.</a><br />
Gomez Two was found in a hollow log by two great friends who had come by the cabin for a visit. While we were not in the market for a new cat, this little abandoned fellow sorely needed a place to stay. After placing the kitty on Laura's chest, and the kitten's paws wrapped around her neck like a hug, Laura said yes and a kitten had a home. We charged Fiona with naming the new kitty. "Gomez two"<br />
Gomez Two was insane - not the 'I'm a cat' type of insane. He took it to a whole new level. Scratching paint from the walls; jumping from the balcony to the floor below. Then, he escaped to the outside one day and suddenly he was an indoor/outdoor cat. Bad for us because, no matter how many flea collars and treatments that we applied, he brought the fleas in the house and they attacked with a vengeance. After that, he was an outside cat. Bad for him and Gomez the Original as our area has coyotes, hawks and other cat-unfriendly predators. We last saw Gomez Two one morning before going to work. We placed his food and water in the bowls, gave him a pat on the head and we were off. Gomez Two was not to be seen again.<br />
Laura said "No more cats!" <br />
I was in agreement with her. You get them, they become a part of the family and then you lose them. Not a good location for a small, outside animal.<br />
So I decided, after Laura passed, that a live female presence was needed in the home. While trying to decide what kind of fish or hamster I would acquire, granddaughter Fiona told me that I needed a kitten.<br />
So - a kitten it would be!<br />
The lovely Peggy heard about this and took it upon herself to arrange it. She called me up and asked me to meet her at a place called Pawmetto Lifeline. - an animal rescue facility. I heard from the adoption specialist there that most of the kittens are rescued form 'Death Row', and my kitten was no exception.<br />
I met Peggy, daughter in law Catherine and Fiona there and we started shopping kitties. Peggy had observed Pom Pom when she first arrived, a playful Calico mix with the softest fur that I had ever had the pleasure of stroking. After picking out three kittens to interact with, they brought Pom Pom to the room first. I think Fiona had already made up her mind that Pom Pom was to be the one. She even told the specialist that we didn't need to see the other kittens. I asked Fiona what we should name the cat. "She already has a name. She's Pom Pom". So we packed 6 month old Pom Pom in the carrier and drove the 40 miles back to the cabin. As soon as we opened the carrier, Pom Pom skedaddled! She found a hiding place under the sofa and there she would stay. Later in the day, we were able to pull her from under the sofa and we took her to the bedroom. There, Fiona placed her under the covers and crawled in with her, petting her and talking to her. Pom Pom seemed to like being under there...for a little while. As soon as Fiona lifted the covers, the kitten made a run for it and was gone. This time, under the china cabinet. Earlier, before we took her to the bed, I had shown her where food, water and litter box were located. As the days progressed, Pom Pom was an invisible cat. I could see the effects of little Pom - cat bowls almost empty, litter box used, etc. But no sighting. This went on for weeks. Every day I fed and watered her and kept an eye on the litter box. Every day I looked high and low for her. She was not to be found. No noise, no bumps in the night, no purring, no meows. After three weeks, Fiona visited again and we went on an adventure - find Pom Pom. We moved furniture, looked behind clothes hanging in the walk in closet, upstairs in the bathroom, underneath everything that we could think of - no Pom Pom. "She'll eventually come out granddaddy" I knew that Fiona was right. I was, however, getting a bit tired of feeding and cleaning up after what appeared to be an invisible cat.<br />
"Maybe she has powers like no other kitten" I told Fiona.<br />
"What powers?" she asked.<br />
"Like Wonder Woman, maybe she has invisibility powers. She may be sitting right there in front of us but we can't see her".<br />
"Maybe so, granddaddy. Maybe so".<br />
And another two weeks went by.<br />
One night as I came in from work, I saw through the window a golden blur which crossed the visible area between the walls of the foyer and disappeared just past my line of sight. Wow! I have a visible cat!<br />
Two nights later, as I turned over in my bed to go to sleep, I felt a slight thump on the bed. Turning back over, I looked up to see a kitten standing on my bed. She slowly made her way up to my face and purred. I petted her, talked to her and she reacted by pressing her nose to mine. She stayed on my bed, jumping, playing and chasing my hand which was under the covers. When I would move to get out from the covers, she would run. So, for the next few nights she was a night time visitor. When I would awaken, she would become invisible again. That is until...this weekend. Fiona came to stay the night. While lounging in bed, eating pizza and watching a movie the little cat that could jumped on the bed from an unknown hiding place and started playing with Fiona. This time, however, she didn't take off when Fiona moved the covers and started playing with her. She stayed and played.<br />
Next evening my family came down for a visit. "Look up there. A cat is hanging out of that rolled up carpet on the balcony", my sister observed. My brother went upstairs and started interacting with Pom and, next thing I know, I have a visible cat! This morning she was waiting for my brother when he woke up.<br />
I'm not sure what this poor cat went through before being rescued from death row, but I think that I've finally passed the audition with her. Welcome to Fort Reid little Pom Pom!Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-45688196368430547682017-01-22T12:19:00.002-05:002017-01-23T23:33:10.953-05:00Five Stages<br />
<span class="_Tgc">The five <b>stages of grief-</b> denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc"><b>Denial</b> - did that one in the moments before and after she passed. No way! Laura could not die, not on my watch! I still have those moments, although they are fewer and farther between. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="_Tgc"><b>Anger</b> - okay...at whom? God? Myself? Laura? The world??</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">Sure, I get pissed at the hospital and the doctor that allowed this to happen. Fact is - they tried their best to prevent it, or so I'm told. Laura had been much sicker than she even suspected. The thing that killed her moved slowly through her body, causing her blood sugar to rise at the same time. With a highly elevated blood sugar level, you become delusional and your brain does not process any situation correctly. Whenever I would ask her if she needed to see a doctor her reply was always the same-"no, I think I'm finally getting over this. Just let me rest a while longer and I'll be better". She didn't have a fever until way too late.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">I get pissed at myself for not making her go to the doctor. I would ask, she would say no and that was it. Should I have insisted? Maybe. In hindsight my answer is "hell yeah - take her now"! But that didn't happen. And I am so truly sorry for that.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">Pissed at God? What good would that do? I'm told that he has a plan. Not long ago on the Facebook thing, someone posted one of those memes which had a picture of a park bench with the caption 'if you could spend one hour here talking with anyone who would it be?" I answered "God". I have quite a few questions for the almighty.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">Pissed at Laura? Not really - if she had been aware, she would have been the first to tell me to seek treatment for her. I did find myself, early on, screaming inside of an empty home "Why did you leave?"</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">Out of our hands and a moot point now. Acceptance of that, at least.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">The world? Why bother. The world has enough problems, and like my friend James said about the year 2016, it didn't give a shit about how I felt. So that's wasted time.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">So there is anger, but it's directionless - without a rudder. It's more harmful than good, so let's try and squelch the anger for now.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"><b>Bargaining </b>- never really understood this one. All the bargaining in the world won't bring her back. So let's drop that chip and move along.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"><b>Depression</b> - that's where I'm currently residing. Anti-depressants take you so far - but the "I don't really give a crap about much" attitude is strong. And this is where I get into trouble. At work, I tend to speak my mind before thinking about what I need to be saying. This may cost me this job - but right now, I don't give a flying rat's ass. </span><br />
<span class="_Tgc">I do appreciate the love and concern of my family and friends, who constantly check in on me. I was able to go to the coast yesterday and spend a few rainy, windy hours with my buddy James. It was good to get out of the house and go somewhere like the coast. The ocean always reminds me of the timelessness of life here on earth, and how we are but a grain of sand on the shores of life (this statement is so fucking lame, but true).</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"><b>Acceptance - </b>Hell, I don't know. I've accepted as best I can, but don't like it one little bit. I miss her, I miss her every single day, and I know that her memory will, for a long time, be at the forefront of my thoughts. I cannot move something from one place to another in the house without thinking of how she might have felt about it. When I do a project at home, it's usually one that she had asked me to do last year. I remember her instructions very well and carry them out. After all, it is her house-she just allows me to live there.</span><br />
<span class="_Tgc"><br />That's enough for today.</span>Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-8408586878652534092017-01-16T16:06:00.002-05:002017-01-16T16:06:37.575-05:0047 Days47 Days.<br />
I've noticed that each day without Laura is an anniversary, of sorts. Not a good, celebratory type, but another lonely day and night wondering just what the hell happened.<br />
My doctor prescribed an antidepressant - it does help me to sleep but I'm afraid that it doesn't allow me to really touch the pain and grief. I learned the lesson from losing our daughter RuthE that to cope with the pain, you need to touch it. It's okay to put a bandage on it for time, but you really need to peel it off every once and awhile and check on it. Soon, I'll wean myself off this medication so I can check on things.<br />
<br />
I'm still working on the house, trying to make it ready to convert some of it to an Air BNB. It's a perfect situation - out of the way, in the woods, log cabin. I'm hoping to attract interest since there's not another AirBNB in Newberry, SC. The view from the upstairs bedroom is wonderful! Pond, woods, stone chimney just outside the double windows. The area is relatively quiet, except when my neighbor's hunting dogs go on a tear. But that doesn't happen very often. For a weary traveler, it's a great place to get a good night's rest.<br />
<br />
My friends keep checking in on me. They knew Laura and are totally in tune with the love that Laura and I shared for 40 plus years. They have been totally supportive and helpful. My family has been trying to make sure that I stay busy. We have a couple of projects under our belts and a couple more lined up. This is always a good thing.<br />
<br />
My nephew is studying in England and has kept me occupied with his and his brother's web page, checking out photos of their travels. Over the holidays, they rented a car and drove through a good portion of Europe - stopping in Paris long enough to light two candles in Notre Dame Cathedral - one for Laura and one for Ruth E. That was very, very thoughtful of them.<br />
<br />
Every day. Every single day I tell Laura I love her and I miss her. I imagine that I'll continue to do this for the rest of my life.<br />
My God, how I miss that girl!<br />
<br />Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-28078339254562974112017-01-11T22:13:00.002-05:002017-01-11T22:13:21.539-05:00It's Just StuffBoxes, bags and bins.<br />
Full of stuff.<br />
Projects to be revisited. Memories stored away.<br />
Old newspapers herald national disasters and national triumphs.<br />
Old magazines proclaim "The Year That Was".<br />
Craft projects that were interrupted by life, awaiting the maker's completion.<br />Holiday decorations for each season, all packed neatly away, waiting for it's season to shine.<br />
Half a room full of stuff waiting on a decision from it's owner as to it's final destination.<br />
Stuff.<br />
<br />
George Carlin said it best - a house is just a place to put your stuff.<br />
And man - did we ever accumulate stuff over 40 years!<br />
I once thought that it was mostly Laura's stuff. I was wrong.<br />
I have so many tools spread around that it looks as if I ended up with two of everything. (Should have opted for the garage instead of the free doors and windows when we bought the home package).<br />
Video production gear-OMG-out the wazoo!<br />Books - hell, you'd think that we were starting a library!<br />All this stuff. And now I'm touching it, sorting it, going through it and trying to make decisions.<br />
But I can only make decisions on my things. Laura's is strictly off limits. Too raw right now.<br /><br />After the financial crash of 2000whenever, Laura and I began going through this stuff. She wanted to keep all the craft magazines, the craft materials - anything craft. Her goal was to knit and crochet in her golden years, making place mats and coasters and what-nots to give to unsuspecting relatives.<br />She was a fantastic cross stitcher. We have a cross stitch of the Biltmore House on the wall, which took her a year to complete.<br />
I have a painting that she did on multiple layers of glass that, when stacked together, is a grouping of roses. Beautiful!<br />Most of our place mats for the table were lovingly crafted by her hands - a set for each season.<br />
She also collected cookbooks, recipe books, recipes, etc. Shelves full of cookbooks. I must admit, they are coming in handy for a novice chef such as myself. After bff Pamela taught me a few culinary skills, and nudged me to a healthier diet, I have found recipes in these books which challenge me. My friend Stuart is constantly posting pics on FB of the gorgeous meals that he prepares for himself. I aspire to obtain some of his skills.<br />The only plus about the financial meltdown and the subsequent loss of employment that was dealt to us was that we couldn't accumulate any more stuff. We started selling some stuff. Not enough - but a few things.<br />
<br />
Now I'm going through the remainder of this stuff. And as I touch, feel and admire the beauty of it I try and make those permanent decisions of it's fate. Now that Laura is gone, it's easier now than it used to be.<br />Most of my projects were for her anyway. I can now make decisions on my stuff. Hers - not so much right now.<br />
<br />
But, it's like Laura always told me - it's just stuff.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-89608405306868154532017-01-08T14:32:00.001-05:002017-03-28T11:54:42.479-04:00Laura and Gary<b>Beginnings </b><br />
This is the story of my beloved wife and my younger brother Gary.<br />
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<br />
When Laura and I married in September of 1976, my younger brother Gary was just days away from turning 17. Laura liked Gary from the first day that they met and always saw him as a little brother-not a brother in law.<br />
Back then, I was working at the Parker Plant, a JP Stevens affiliate, and my job required me to work 12 hours a day for 5 or 6 days a week. I had the 8pm to 8am shift, which had me leaving for work at 7:30 pm and returning home at 8:30 am. Because we had two small children at home (this was in the fall of 1977), Ruth E. was 2 and a half and Michael was only 3 months old, my brother didn't like the idea of Laura being home alone with those two children - especially in the neighborhood where we lived.<br />
We had rented a small 2 bedroom home on West Hillcrest Dr, just off North Main St in Greenville. When you make the left off Main onto West Hillcrest Dr, your first thought would be "wow-nice neighborhood!". After meandering down the street where we lived, the neighborhood became, shall we say, less desirable. Growing up in Greenville, I didn't have an issue with the hood. Hell-it's where I grew up, sort of. In the mid to late seventies, home invasion and crimes like these were very few and far between in our area. And, as a young, brash 19 year old kid, I never really gave it much thought. That is until one evening Laura, the kids and I were returning home from a visit with her parents. As I was walking in the front door, some dude was walking out the back door with our guitars. I gave chase and yelled at the guy. He dropped the guitars and ran like hell. While nothing else was taken and he had dropped the guitars, the police didn't even want to take my report. After that, brother Gary was a constant presence in the home.<br />
I would call Laura on my lunch break from the pay phone in the break room at work. "What ya doing?", I would ask. "Just trying to watch TV with Gary", she would answer. Or she would say it was Gary and Dwayne, or Gary, Dwayne and Larry D. My house was party central back then - a safe place to drink (or whatever) and not drive. It was always, always after the kids went to bed. Then the games would begin. Rummy, poker, blackjack - all played at the dining room table. We even took a Game of Life, used the play money that was included with the game and would place bets on the spinning wheel (almost like roulette).<br />
The TV that we owned was an antique-a gift from an uncle. A black and white tv which would work for 5 to 7 minutes before you had to shut it off for 5 to 7 minutes - then turn it back on. One night that I called, Gary and Laura were trying to watch the movie King Kong, the old 1930s version. Laura let it be known to me that the TV situation would soon have to change. She couldn't deal with the constant on and off thing! I would eventually buy her a new color console, but that was a year away.<br />
Gary and Laura also teamed up to give me grief about almost everything. From the TV to the car that we were driving, from the fact that I didn't own a mower and my grass in the yard was ass-high to constantly running out of heating oil during the winter - Laura and Gary gave me crap! I was working 60 to 72 hours a week then and didn't take the time to do some of the household duties to which I had been assigned. Gary, although he was still only 17 years old, would make sure that the wife and kids had heat. Laura would call the oil man and buy 25 to 50 gallons (whatever we could afford that week) and Gary would crawl under the house and light the furnace. I couldn't tell you how many times my brother did things like this for my family.<br />
After giving my job 60 to 72 hours per week and believing that I had job security with them, the layoffs began. Seems that they lost the contract that was assuring us the great hours and, since I was one of the last to be hired in that department, I was the first to be layed off. This was mid 1978.<br />
<br />
<b>The Greenwood Move</b><br />
1978 was a tough year for a young married guy with two kids to find employment. I searched the newspaper, went to employment services and asked everyone that I knew for leads. No one was hiring. Most were laying off workers-some long term workers were even being let go. It was a scary time.<br />
I took a temp job with a guy that my brother knew who was a handyman for a doctor who had a farm above River Falls. Our job was to run a barbed wire fence for almost 5 miles around the property. Hardest job that I have ever had! After digging the post holes (thank goodness for a tractor with an auger), we had to throw the posts from the back of a moving pickup truck to where they were to be placed, then go back and set them in the holes and make them secure and plumb. After that, we would start pulling the barbed wire and staple it in place on the posts. We averaged about a half mile per day. After this, we had to load the pickup truck with hay and throw it into the pasture for the cattle. By then the sun had set and I would almost fall asleep on the ride back home. When I arrived home, Gary was usually there, either trying to watch 5 minutes of tv with Laura or the gang was there playing spin the wheel roulette.<br />
Wasn't long before my temp job ended and I was again faced with finding employment. Laura, meanwhile, had gone to Greenwood to visit her parents. She decided to stay with them until I could find meaningful work. One day after a fruitless day of searching for a job, Laura's mom came to visit me. This was a shocker since she had never visited alone. We sat on my front screened porch and she convinced me that I would be able to find a job if I would only move to Greenwood. A week later, Laura and I were loading a UHaul truck with all of our belongings for the move to Greenwood. It was the last time that Gary and the gang would have to keep Laura company while I was at work.<br />
<br />
<b>Gary Gets Married</b><br />
Just a few months after our dad passed away in 1981, Gary and Susan were married in a big church wedding.<br />
Laura and I attended-I as an usher.<br />
We would only see Gary every once in awhile when his business would bring him to the Greenwood area or at family gatherings. It didn't matter the length of time between visits. Laura and Gary still managed to give me crap about something whenever we were together.<br />
<b><br />And The Years Roll By</b><br />
It was March, 2002.<br />
By now, Laura and I had been married for over 25 years.<br />
Ruth Elizabeth passed away and Laura and I were distraught. <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/03/ruth-elizabeth.html" target="_blank">I have written about this time and the importance of our family during it</a>. <br />
I have also written about <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-house-that-love-built.html" target="_blank">the house and our building project, which Gary spearheaded</a>.<br />
I won't go into all the detail here. This is about the close relationship between Gary and Laura.<br />
If he called needing or wanting anything, Laura was the first to say yes. If we were all together, Laura and Gary would constantly team up against me (in a playful way, of course). We would all go camping, Gary and Laura would give me grief about my lack of fire-building skills, or over my contracting skills, which I was attempting to put to use during the home build. <br />
When Laura and I were having marital difficulties, I would talk with brother Gary about Laura and my issues...he would always reply with "I don't have anything bad to say about Laura - she's always had my back". He was right. She always did.<br />
<b></b>When Laura passed away, my entire family was in shock. It was so sudden, so unexpected. Most were unaware that she was even sick. It came about on Thanksgiving day and she was gone the following Wednesday.<br />
Gary told me later that he had lost a sister and a close friend. I'm not sure if he's even thought about this, but he's also lost an ally - in the ongoing battle of giving Larry hell.<br />
Don't worry Gary - she still does give me hell. After being married for over 40 years, I know exactly what she would say in a given situation. And I'm sure that, when you give me hell about the way I build a fire, she's standing over your shoulder, putting her voice in my head, in total agreement with you. And she's wearing that little smile that I loved so well.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-89200422147934263782017-01-04T22:04:00.001-05:002017-01-09T10:57:59.399-05:00MaLa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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When granddaughter Fiona was born in August 2009, you should have seen the look of pride and joy on my Laura's face! Although she had never once mentioned to me that she hoped to have a grandchild after Michael and Catherine were married, it was an unspoken desire.<br />
There are pictures of her holding little baby Fiona at the hospital with Laura beaming with a Cheshire Cat grin and a look of pure, unadulterated contentment. She was an even better steward of Fiona since Laura had long since raised her two to adulthood, and the experience level she had achieved was superior.<br />
As Fiona grew into a toddler, MaLa (Grand<i>ma La</i>ura) was always anxious to keep her, helping her to navigate some of her first steps at Fort Reid. She played all the baby games like patty cake, hide and reveal, funny faces, etc. She ooohed and awwwed whenever Fiona would discover something new and show it to MaLa. She played in the floor, on the bed, on the coffee table - wherever Fiona would wander to, always with MaLa in tow. She would turn on the music channel on TV and they would dance and laugh and laugh and dance for awhile, and then rest for a while. Fiona would turn her attention to me and I would then ride her piggyback on my shoulders and then she would ride horsey on granddaddy's back. Then I would rest for a while, handing her back off to Laura. Then, Fiona started talking.<br />
First words she said to me were "want dat" - pointing to one of her small toys. MaLa lost it when she heard these words. "Did you hear that?" she asked. "Yes babe. I did. She's talking now".<br />
Time seemed to fly after that. We would get Fiona about every third weekend for awhile, alternating between her "Gan and Dadoo" Peggy and Roger and home, with the occasional stay at Uncle "Ry Ry and Aunt Chachi's" house. This was one, happy and well-rounded child!<br />
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Each summer Laura would take Fiona swimming every chance that she got. Whenever possible, Laura and Fiona would jump in the truck and take the ride to the Y, or to Peggy and Roger's pool, or to the country club, or to Martha's "Cow Palace" with their bathing suits and towels, noodles and goggles and a picnic lunch. I have pictures of the numerous times that they went swimming together, Fiona always in the pool up front and MaLa right behind her. Fiona learned to swim at the Y, but I like to believe that MaLa played a very large role in teaching that girl to swim like a fish and to not fear the water. Our friend Sue Summer saw them at the pool one day and recently wrote me a line about it. "<span style="color: #333333;">. Laura and Fiona were a joy to watch
together. When she was teaching her to swim, I was in the pool with my
folks--and Laura's love and patience were evident in every word.". </span>I love looking at these pictures now. Before, I would look at Fiona and smile. Now that I look closer, I can see the care and tenderness in Laura's eyes when she's looking at her granddaughter. She adored that child!<br />
After Laura passed, Fiona was at the house and we had to go to town. I decided to take Laura's truck. Fiona got in the backseat, as usual, and asked "Granddaddy - what will you do with MaLa's truck?" "I don't know", I answered. "Guess I'll sell it". "You cannot sell MaLa's truck! How will I go swimming?"<br />
On second thought, I'm keeping the truck.<br />
<br />
<br />
In 2015, son Michael had an opportunity to move to Houston, TX for work. Fiona and Catherine stayed in SC a few more months, giving us the opportunity to spend more time with Fiona.<br />
On her last day in SC, I picked her up and we visited Fort Reid for awhile, then went for a frosty at Wendy's. I then took her to Laura's workplace. Laura hugged her very tightly and reminded Fiona to write as many letters from Texas as possible. When I dropped Fiona off with her mom that day, I went home and cried like a baby. After Laura got home from work, her exact words to me were "when you and Fiona left, I went outside and cried like a baby". I wasn't a bit surprised.<br />
Fast forward one year. Michael receives a better opportunity back in good old SC and takes advantage of it. Laura and I were ecstatic! Our son and his family were coming home - to stay! Michael flew me out to Houston to help with the move. After picking me up at the airport and showing me around Houston and Galveston, we left for their apartment in Kingwood. As soon as I walked in the door, Fiona was hiding under the covers on a chair. I walked to her room, calling her name. Then I walked around the apartment calling her name. She jumped out from under the cover to scare me, but then jumped into my arms and held me tight! Later that evening, I called Laura and told her what had happened when I arrived at the apartment. "Get my children home soon and safe!" was her reply.<br />
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After settling in to their new home in Columbia, Fiona continued to visit us and we would visit with her. I had not seen Laura so happy as when Fiona was back home and visiting with us. Time and again she would thank me for "bringing her kids home safe".<br />
My memories of Laura and Fiona mostly revolve around cooking. Each and every time that Fiona would visit, Laura would take her to the kitchen, pull up Fiona's step stool and proceed with the baking of cakes, cupcakes, fudge and other delicious desserts. Usually, a birthday cake was made because Fiona loves birthdays! I can't tell you how many birthdays that her two bears (Mr Bear and Buddy Bear) have celebrated with party hats, balloons, decorations and a birthday cakes! My birthday would only come around once a year, but those bears had one almost every other month. I guess stuffed bears age differently.<br />
Since she was two years old, Laura would help her hold the hand mixer to mix up the batter and then let her lick the spoon and the bowl. Happy times! I was so glad that I took video of some of these shared baking times that Laura had with the apple of her eye. Fiona will see these one day and, hopefully, those memories will come flooding back.<br />
There's so much more that I could write about the love that Laura had for that child. I'll have to leave that for another time. Or maybe I'll sit down with Fiona one day, holding her children on my lap and tell them about MaLa. We can look at photos and watch video and remember just what a very, very special grandmother Fiona was so fortunate to have...if only for awhile.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-1340315365107390802016-12-29T21:12:00.001-05:002017-01-09T10:58:10.841-05:00New Normal? What??<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AspjX23U_4V82jCkZm51WGEZNJxvFeW914i1vlHmpGqZ7BUTzb40mobRqo2yYM8mqvyWPQWFwiECyLYDATPv7VdYRviVjx2qkMtUwbjFGKw6H3Jo1lP-UPDQ4Uvy_A6CHDmk8qv-9Qg/s1600/me+an+laura+40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AspjX23U_4V82jCkZm51WGEZNJxvFeW914i1vlHmpGqZ7BUTzb40mobRqo2yYM8mqvyWPQWFwiECyLYDATPv7VdYRviVjx2qkMtUwbjFGKw6H3Jo1lP-UPDQ4Uvy_A6CHDmk8qv-9Qg/s320/me+an+laura+40.jpg" width="240" /></a>It dawned on me that I had mentioned here, and to several family members that Laura's passing presented me with a 'new normal'.<br />
There's nothing normal about this.<br />
Tomorrow marks thirty days without her and I still try to come to terms with the fact that she'll not be coming home from work at 4:27 PM; or, after waking up in the morning, come to the living room door from our bedroom and say "may I have some coffee?".<br />
She won't be chasing Fiona around the house, screaming at the top of her lungs "Now I'll get you!" while Fiona zips and darts every which way to keep from being captured. And she certainly won't look over at me and smile and say "I love you more".<br />
I so miss these things. Things that you kind of take for granted. These everyday things.<br />
Why, as humans, do we only seem to consider what we don't have anymore? What is no longer visible to us? I had all these things each day and feel as if I took them all for granted.<br />
To hear her voice, or smell that perfume that she wore, or to see her coming in the front door again - what I wouldn't give for this!<br />
Maybe I did appreciate all this. I know that we stayed together for 40 + years for a reason. Maybe we really did appreciate one another<br />
I never expected Laura to go before me. After all, I was the one who had the heart issues. I was the one who had to take 'maintenance meds' daily. I was the reckless one who drove too fast on a motorcycle; or jumped from an airplane more than twice.<br />
Or, if I were to say what my outspoken bride would really say - "Larry was the stupid one!"<br />
I would have to nod my head and agree with her. <br />
No, she was supposed to far out live me, reaching the ripe old age of 100, sitting with the great grands on her knee and relating stories of how 'granddaddy Larry' used to do such foolish things. I depended on her for this.<br />
<br />
I have had several people tell me that "it was her time" or "God needed another angel".<br />
Oh hell no! I can't buy that. It wasn't her time. She was screwed out of what should have been the best years we would have together. She was loving her role as a grandmother and had plans. She was making plans for our future. She was so proud of the fact that she'd dropped a few pounds and could get into her older clothes.<br />
No...it wasn't her time.<br />
Yet, she's gone. And I see this. And, while I don't want to accept this fact, the fact is - I will have to.<br />
But it certainly is NOT normal.<br />
That's probably enough for today.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-86729483627475272462016-12-25T14:46:00.000-05:002017-01-04T23:59:28.221-05:00Sold!1994 Jaycee of the Year;<br />
Parisian Sales Consultant;<br />
Belk Top Producer award;<br />
Jaycee Volunteer of the Year;<br />
Mention in a national trade magazine for best customer service in the US...<br />
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<br />
<br />
Accolades.<br />
While going through a box of what I thought were old Christmas decorations, I ran across these plaques and service awards, along with many more, with Laura's name on every one. While I knew that she was awfully damned good at her chosen profession, I had forgotten about all the awards.<br />
Laura had a theory about sales - if you weren't looking to purchase something, then why are you in this store? She also said that "if they step foot in my area, they will not leave empty handed". And they, more often than not, didn't. <br />
Our first real meeting - she was a 19 year old hottie working at the McDonald's near where I attended Tech school. I dropped by for lunch, with limited funds. She was in the lobby selling Ronald McDonald Coloring Calendars for 50 cents each. On the bottom of each page was a tear off coupon good for discounts on food.<br />
I was an 18 year old kid who knew a hottie when I saw one, standing in line, awaiting my turn to order. The hottie approaches me and says "you need to buy a calendar". Before I could explain that, as a grown man I did not color anymore, she started preaching the virtues of said calendar. "Look at the money you'll save in discounted meals alone! And, you can then give the calendar to some poor kid who may not have anything to color with. I mean, you do like kids, don't you?"<br />
Before I could come up with an intelligent answer, I blurted out "yes" (meaning yes I like kids). She took the yes as 'yes, I'll buy a calendar'. "Good, you'll need two" and proceeded to take the entire dollar out of my hand. Before I could even react, she had moved along to the next sucker in line.<br />
Years later, while relating the incident to her, I asked how she was able to swindle me out of the dollar and hand me two of those crappy calendars. "I made you say yes", was her reply. "But I was saying yes to the question about liking kids". "I know", she said and then winked at me.<br />
Damn-she was good!<br />
While looking at some of the comments on her memorial page, I came across this one:<br />
<br />
<span class="HubItem__quotationMark___3AUq9"></span><i><span class="HubItem__content___3Mxpc">Your
bright light will shine forever in the hearts of those of us who had
the privilege of working with you at Parisian, Laura! I can just hear
your beautiful voice belting out your favorite songs in Heaven...I
suspect, knowing your sales ability, you will talk God into letting you
be his lead singer ...RIP my friend.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Donna Nunamaker</span>December 02, 2016 | Columbia, S</i>C<br />
<br />
Laura was known as the 'singing lady' at work. She was constantly singing and humming while working, a trait that endeared her to many and pissed off a few. She didn't care that she had pissed off a few. Neither did I. I loved her singing thing mainly because, whenever I was at her job trying to locate her, I would not look - but listen. I always found her by this method.<br />
<br />
Laura was the consummate salesperson. I know. Believe me, I know!</div>
</header>Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-45571601952463850892016-12-20T22:54:00.000-05:002016-12-22T22:00:10.379-05:00Navigating the 'New Normal'Twenty days.<br />
Twenty gut wrenching, painful days since Laura passed.<br />
She wasn't supposed to die. I tell, sometimes yelling this to her in the middle of the night.<br />
We were together since we were only teens and were allowed 40 years together. <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/03/ruth-elizabeth.html" target="_blank">We have buried a child togethe</a>r, buried all of our grandparents together. We laid her mother and my father to rest.<br />
We have witnessed the birth and growth of our two beautiful children, one until she was 27 <a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/06/balls.html" target="_blank">and the other into a strong family man.</a><br />
<a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2014/12/granddaughters.html" target="_blank">We were there for the birth of our one and only grandchild, who was the absolute apple of Laura's eye</a>. <br />
We have been through so many fights that we lost count.<br />
Our bond was especially strong in the last few years. <br />
We have shared in the joy of traveling together on many occasions. We traveled so well together.<br />
Laura and I launched a business with her mom back in the 90's that grew until we had reached the goals that we had set for the business.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_421027181"></span></a><a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-house-that-love-built.html" target="_blank">We built her dream house together, along with family and friends<span id="goog_421027182"></span></a><a href="http://./">.</a> <br />
My love and I have enjoyed financial prosperity and weathered financial storms, always with her reminding me that we were a team-that we could get through anything together.<br />
So how to weather this?<br />
She was my rock and my solitude.<br />
Now she is gone and I am damn near going mad.<br />
<br />
Many friends and family members have given me support and advice.<br />
But sometimes, the pain hits again and I lose it.<br />
I'm told that the pain will eventually subside, but I cannot see that now.<br />
I can only see an empty chair. An unfilled coffee cup. An empty bed.<br />
The birds, usually plentiful on our deck this time of year, have all but deserted the place.<br />
It is cold and it is so, so very lonely.<br />
<br />
I know that I will survive this.<br />
I'll keep getting up, making the coffee, paying the bills and goung to work each day.<br />
I'll pick up my granddaughter and hold her tight. I'll hug my son like I never have before.<br />
And I'll keep writing.<br />
It helps a little.<br />
<br />
<br />I'll leave it at that for now.<br />
<br />Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-32317654913926671042016-12-11T10:54:00.001-05:002016-12-27T11:27:10.043-05:00A Great Loss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguscG_ECct3c2-IIMoyLaKbPqhPIbe3u0NJuyQI7aCN7nNobToVIVJ9boCo1GmBw4mt-isKgP14n5kgG_SPsBB_-cAqK7YZvMPg6P5nZqN5T4GubMnc6_YDr9RtNhZGk-5jlSfLIAZF4w/s1600/1928747_1097460477975_5990_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguscG_ECct3c2-IIMoyLaKbPqhPIbe3u0NJuyQI7aCN7nNobToVIVJ9boCo1GmBw4mt-isKgP14n5kgG_SPsBB_-cAqK7YZvMPg6P5nZqN5T4GubMnc6_YDr9RtNhZGk-5jlSfLIAZF4w/s320/1928747_1097460477975_5990_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I am so confused now. I am in shock. I am so very sad and numb.<br />
Laura, my wife, my all and the love of my life for over 40 years left this earth.<br />
Where do I go now?<br />
She was my rock, my partner, my teammate and my very reason for existence.<br />
Now she is gone.<br />
We had a celebration of her life on the first Saturday in December. She wanted that. No mournful funeral for her. No way! She always left those affairs with sadness and did not want anyone walking away with sad thoughts of her. She was life! She loved smiles and happy thoughts.<br />
Her celebration was attended by over a hundred friends and family members who came from near and far to share stories of Laura. Most were stories that I had never heard before.<br />
It was a joyous celebration.<br />
After our daughter Ruth Elizabeth passed in 2002, we did the whole mortuary/service thing. It was a very sad affair. Afterwards her family and friends gathered at my mom's house for food and, while gathered around the big fire that my brother had built outside, the stories that were shared about Ruth E. started flowing like the wine which was being served. There was laughing and a celebration of her life. When we got home, Laura said "that's how I want to be remembered. No 'bad organ music', no trying to save souls, just a fond remembrance of how I lived-not how I died". We tried to respect her wishes. I think we honored that wish. Everyone said that it was the most beautiful way to honor someone's life. After every shared story a toast was made in Laura's honor.<br />
<br />
I went back to work today.<br />
My co-workers have been very supportive and kind. They've even offered to help me sort through Laura's clothes and determine which to sell (Laura was in retail for years and has so many things that still have the tags on them) and which to donate. They are a very sweet bunch! <br />
Our friends.<br />
What can I say? The outpouring of love and support has been overwhelming. It's no secret why we are friends. The love that they had for my wife was almost equal to the love that I carried for her for years and years. They displayed this love in deeds and in kind, loving words as I walked around in a state of shock.<br />
Our family.<br />
Our dad, Charles Pete Reid, demanded that we always love our brothers and sister. He would have it no other way. The issues that he had as a child with his family gave rise to his attitude that we would always have each other, no matter what. And we have remained true to his ideal. Only once was this tested and our taking on a building project together helped to mend that small rip.<br />
My son, who has now lost a sister and a mom, has been strong, and makes of me a very proud father. He stepped up and proved that he was the man that we always thought him to be.<br />
His wife and her mom. Angels here on earth best describes them.<br />
My beautiful grand daughter Fiona. My heart and now, my very reason for hanging around on this earth as long as possible. Laura made me promise that I would dance with her on her wedding day. I will try my very hardest to fulfill that request.<br />
<br />
Where to go from here?<br />
I really don't know. I was only 18 when Laura and I first began dating and 19 when we married. I am now 59.<br />
I only know that I will drag myself out of bed each morning and go through the motions. I will eat, shower, go to work and come back home to the most empty home that I have ever been inside of.<br />
I will learn to do laundry, to cook and to tend to Fiona's childhood cuts and scrapes<br />
I will attempt to set up a tent alone, learn how to make campfire biscuits and tell campfire stories with the same flourish that Laura had.<br />
I will.<br />
I will because she would have wanted it this way.<br />
I will honor her and remember 40 years of love, hardship, joy and pain.<br />
I will focus on the good and allow the bad times to fall from my memory.<br />
Each time that I see a bird I will think of her. She loved birds and kept food out on the deck for them as much as possible.<br />
Each time that I hear her best friend Martha play a tune on her guitar, I will see her smiling.<br />
I will share stories of her, especially with Fiona. She needs to remember just what a wonderful, loving MaLa that she had.<br />
I will.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-35416830337892927392016-11-09T15:14:00.002-05:002016-11-09T15:14:52.169-05:00DST Baby!Daylight Freakin' Savings Time. Another bi-annual tradition that just boggles the mind, interrupts the cicadian rhythm and, after the fall back, depresses the senses.<br />
I do remember when DST was brought back in the 1970s due to the energy crisis. I was totally elated, as a kid, to be outside playing until almost 9PM in the sun, albeit a setting sun. Never could understand why the parents were calling us home at that time...after all, the sun was just setting!<br />
I have wavered on the issue through the years, sometimes appreciating the extra daylight, sometimes cursing it (losing an hour's sleep comes to mind). Does it help farmers? According to a survey, farmers generally oppose daylight saving time. In Indiana, where part
of the state observes DST and part does not, farmers have opposed a
move to DST. Farmers, who must wake with the sun no matter what time
their clock says, are greatly inconvenienced by having to change their
schedule in order to sell their crops to people who observe daylight
saving time.<br />
Now-let's get the government involved. <br />
Congress appears to have felt we were not having enough of a difficult
time so in 2007 they passed a law starting Daylight Savings time 3
weeks earlier and ending it one week later. This cost US companies
billions to reset automated equipment, put us further out of sync with
Asia and Africa time-wise, inconvenienced most of the country, all in
the name of unproven studies that claim we save energy. Does it save energy? The jury is still out on that. But it does screw up my sleep patterns.<br />
According to Dr. Samuel Friedlander, assistant clinical professor of Sleep
Medicine and Allergy Immunology at UH Cleveland Medical Center while it is great to have the extra hour of sleep, a few days later that can lead to worse sleep. as it can lead to insomnia or sleepiness<br />
While I can't claim insomnia (my old ass can pretty much get to sleep with a melatonin or two), I do notice that my normal sleep patterns change after the fall back change.<br />
Could this just be older age?<br />
Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-66871576376228585512016-11-06T19:27:00.001-05:002016-12-27T11:24:21.150-05:00Tree Swing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7Fffk9LDRLUhW0gIQDaChWlaHcW7TPX3hiJG4g-lEhHxIEGP9WroMpp_oRwbkvF1mweghrlq9KV0_W_fu1t560rU2OdQ-xw1dEBVsXrO0LHcp8iRCEc5oUD4Q6WH851cRsHzkzqI3e4/s1600/FI+Tree+swing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7Fffk9LDRLUhW0gIQDaChWlaHcW7TPX3hiJG4g-lEhHxIEGP9WroMpp_oRwbkvF1mweghrlq9KV0_W_fu1t560rU2OdQ-xw1dEBVsXrO0LHcp8iRCEc5oUD4Q6WH851cRsHzkzqI3e4/s320/FI+Tree+swing.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>"And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon.</i><br />
<i>Little Boy Blue and The Man in the Moon.</i><br />
<i>When you coming home dad I don't know when;</i><br />
<i>but we'll get together then son...we're gonna have a good time then".</i><br />
<br />
These iconic, haunting words by the late great Harry Chapin come to mind often when I spend time with my granddaughter Fiona.<br />
As my kids were growing up, I was, like most my age a busy, often absent father. Due to business and other concerns, I left the formation of my children's early growth processes to others. For example, when Michael needed to build a car for his cub scout group he was turned over to his granddad. When Ruth Elizabeth needed to be corrected for something that she had done wrong, mom and dad were out of town on business and it was left to the relative in charge. Now don't get me wrong. I was not a totally absent father. I spent as much time as possible with both of them and loved the time that I did get to spend. Vacations, holidays, family gatherings, I tried to be as much a part of all these events as I could. And I loved just spending time with them. We had great kids! Well mannered, intelligent and talented as all get out! It was never an issue asking someone to watch them as they were such a pleasure to be around. My point is - as parents, especially young parents, we often overlook the seemingly small things which shape our kids.<br />
Until Ruth E passed away, when I looked at this bright, beautiful young lady hitting her mid-twenties, I thought just how much she took after he mother. She was becoming Laura 2.0. Proud, loud, sometimes brash and not afraid to state her needs. She would often complain to me about her mom's mannerisms and how much some of them annoyed her. I always laughed inside as I knew that if she really looked hard in the mirror, she would see that she was speaking about herself. And as Michael approaches age 40, I see various traits that I had as a younger man in him. The fact that they turned out so well tells me that our, and everyone else that had a part in their upbringing, did a pretty damn good job. Or-they may have turned out so well in spite of their experiences. Whatever it was, I am proud to be the dad of a couple of good ones!<br />
All that being said, I think that I finally understand what is so great about being a grandparent:<br />
Second chances.<br />
This weekend we built a tree swing for Fiona. Now this is something that I would have done for Ruth E or Michael when they were this age. After all, I did put the Barbie Dream House together for Christmas for Ruth E and erected the sliding board/swing set for Michael when they were younger. No-it's not about that. It was my attitude while building the tree swing. It had to be perfect...it had to have the appearance of being a bit dangerous while at the same time being safer than a store-bought swing, and I had to spend time with her for each and every swing! None of the "build it and let her go and play on it while I do something else". No! I would push her, she would push me, and this went on most of the day. Sure the football game was on in the house but I didn't care. There would be another game next week, next month, next year. But my granddaughter would never be this age at this moment in time ever again. And with a new, "dangerous" swing that we had to break in, I would not miss this opportunity for anything in the world.<br />
My friend Casey said it best: "Fiona will remember this day for the rest of her life!" And I am honored to be a part of that memory!<i><br />"When you coming home son I don't know when.</i><br />
<i>But we'll get together then dad.</i><br />
<i>You know we'll have a good time then".</i><br />
<br />Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-11311004799831291122016-03-03T14:39:00.001-05:002016-03-12T20:04:35.449-05:00Old Cars, Old Friends and the Haunted Manor<img alt="63chev61148-4" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-258" data-mce-src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/63chev61148-4.jpg" height="305" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/63chev61148-4.jpg" width="500" /><br />
I started my driving career in a rust bucket.<br />
My uncle had a
1963 Chevrolet Impala, complete with rust all along the undercarriage
and a dull, gold paint job that screamed “uncool”. When my dad asked if I
would be interested in buying the vehicle, there was no hesitation.
Although I had never seen the car or had no idea how much he wanted for
it, I was all over it. After all, the only motorized vehicle that I had
up until then was a Rupp 3.5 HP mini bike. At 15 years of age, my own
car represented freedom. And I would buy my freedom with my own cash!
Working at the <a data-mce-href="https://midstthehum.wordpress.com/2015/10/26/drive-in-theaters-are-alive-and-well/" href="https://midstthehum.wordpress.com/2015/10/26/drive-in-theaters-are-alive-and-well/">White Horse Drive In</a>,
along with a paper route, had helped me to earn and save enough money
to afford the car and the small insurance premium. My dad went to Uncle
Charles house and brought the car home for me and I immediately jumped
behind the wheel to take her for a spin. “Not so fast” dad commanded.
“First, I’ll need $100 for your uncle; second – do you know how to check
the oil? the water in the radiator? Tire pressure? You can’t just check
the gas gauge and take off, son!” I must admit that, although checking
the tire pressure was a no-brainer, the oil and water thing was foreign
to me. The mini bike was air-cooled and the oil was something that I had
never given much thought to. Dad took his time explaining how to do the
basic maintenance procedures, pointing out how important it was for a
thirsty car to be quenched. The year was 1973, so I had in my possession
a 10-year-old car, rusted by constant exposure to the salt and sand of
the South Carolina low country. It was a road boat!<br />
After giving
dad the C-note, insuring that my oil and water were topped off and that
there was an ample supply of fuel, I took off to show my friends my new
ride. Watching my dad in my rear view mirror as I drove away, I could
see a worried smile cross his face. He had already bid bon voyage to two
older siblings as they tooled away in their new rides so I’m sure the
smile reflected more pride than concern. I went by lifelong friend (and
co-author of this blog) Larry Durham’s place and found Larry and several
friends playing basketball in the yard. “Hop in boys, we’re taking her
for a spin”. “Your new ride?” “Yep, bought and paid for! Let’s see what
she’ll do!” We went all over the neighborhood, me and the younger
brother in the front, Larry and John Chandler in the back. We decided to
leave the confines of the neighborhood and explore downtown Greenville,
SC. Unbeknownst to me, the radiator had also been a victim of the
seaside rust and had sprung a pinhole leak.<br />
We continued through
downtown and then decided to go through the ‘haunted house’. It was
actually an old brick home with a long driveway that wound its way to
the home through an urban forest, of sorts. The driveway led up to the
home and then proceeded through to another road on the back side of the
home. Why this home was purported to be haunted, I’ll never know. It was
one of those landmarks that my older brother would point out whenever
we went by the property as kids. As we turned into the driveway, hearts
pounding with excitement, a curious series of events unfolded. First,
the front passenger side seat broke through the floor and dropped to the
ground. My brother was holding on, sparks flying from the bottom of the
seat as the metal scraped along the road. Stopping the car (and
foolishly leaving the engine running), we got out to examine the damage.
The entire floorboard under the seat had given way, rusted out. Opening
the trunk, I saw a 3ft 2x4 lying there. I was not sure of its original
purpose, but it would now find a new home wedged under the front as a
support for the bench seat. Problem solved! Well…not quite. By the time
we all climbed back in the car and were heading further into the woods
surrounding the house, steam started boiling out from under the hood.
Hoping to make it past the house before the worst happened, I floored
it! No such luck. The car sputtered a couple of times and then died a
grisly death right there in front of ghost manor. We all looked at one
another, speechless. The hissing of the radiator gave an eerie undertone
to the rhythm of 5 beating hearts, the only two sounds that I recall
hearing at that moment. I certainly didn’t hear the footsteps of the
approaching gardener, who appeared at my window like a ghost. He was
holding a pair of hedge trimmers. “What are you boys doing on this
property?” Scared shitless, I mumbled something to the effect of “sorry
sir, but our car overheated and we were hoping to get some water”. “Get
out and follow me” said the gardener. We all poured out of the Chevy and
followed the gardener like a bunch of schoolboys heading to the
principal’s office. The old man led us to the house, past the garage and
around the back of the house. I thought that we were being led to
slaughter. No one else knew where we were – the perfect setup for
teenage murder. The old man found a large watering can and filled it
from the faucet at the back of the house. Handing me the container of
water, he said “be sure that you wait until the car cools down before
you open that radiator cap. Don’t want you to get hurt”. The way he said
it almost made my skin crawl. He then picked up his trimmers and walked
around the opposite side of the manor house. We quickly made our way to
the car, opened the hood and waited impatiently for the cool down. As
soon as it was safe to open the cap, I poured all the water into the
bone-dry radiator and secured the cap. We all piled back into the car
and remembered our childhood prayer for “Lord, please let this car
start”. It did and we were off!<br />
The 1963 Gold, rusted Chevy Impala
only lasted another year with me. I upgrade to a 1967 Chevy Impala,
white in color and no rust. And we never made the mistake of visiting
that haunted house, ever again.Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-54769467396399931912015-10-22T17:45:00.004-04:002016-03-03T14:52:07.534-05:00An Innocent Abroad Part 4 – Paris<br />
<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title">
An Innocent Abroad Part 4 – Paris</h1>
</header>
<br />
<div class="entry-content">
Paris. City of Lights. City of Love.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/gare-du-nord.jpg"><img alt="Gare du Nord" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-143" height="200" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/gare-du-nord.jpg?w=300&h=200" width="300" /></a><br />
Our Eurostar train pulled into the Gare du Nord ahead of time. We
gathered our luggage and exited the train, emerging into a cavernous,
Victorian era building, bustling with people and awash in shops with
anything and everything imaginable for sale. After clearing the platform
Kim and I headed outside to find the nearest Metro Station. I turned
back to look at the massive train station and my jaw dropped – nothing
like what I had seen back in South Carolina. Even the train stations in
Paris were works of art!<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/gare-du-nord-ext.jpg"><img alt="gare-du-nord ext" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-145" height="200" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/gare-du-nord-ext.jpg?w=300&h=200" width="300" /></a><br />
After a short 5 minute walk, we arrived at the Metro station. We
bellied up to the kiosk and purchased a metro pass, allowing us travel
on the metro for the duration of our time in Paris. We made our way to
our hotel, the Appart’City Paris La Villette, just a steps away from the
<span class="_N1d r-its2NfvAuTRg">Ourcq metro statio</span>n. Pleasant
greetings from the hotel manager, and a lovely room set the pace for the
next three days. After a few minute’s rest we made our way back to the
metro station and headed out for the heart of Paris.<br />
The Louvre is a must see while in Paris. Unfortunately, I
underestimated the sheer size of the place and was only able to take in
about a quarter of the available art and statues. It would literally
take days to see everything in the museum, a luxury of time that I
didn’t have. I made sure that I saw the Mona Lisa, albeit from a short
distance as the crowds around the small painting were always very large.
I was struck by some of the large paintings that lined the walls
leading up to DaVinci’s masterpiece.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/mona_lisa_crowd.jpg"><img alt="Mona_lisa_crowd" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-150" height="199" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/mona_lisa_crowd.jpg?w=300&h=199" width="300" /></a><br />
Rembrandt’s <i>The Supper at Emmaus, </i>Jacques-Louis David’s<i> <i>The Coronation of Napoleon </i></i>and <i>Water Lilies</i>
by Claude Monet are but three of the hundreds of paintings that I
admired, but stand as the most memorable for me. Ancient Greek, Roman
and Egyptian statuary, Italian Renaissance sculpture, Dutch Baroque
paintings, my God! The list goes on and on. Depending on the section of
the building, the floor and the hallway you go down will determine what
you will be fortunate to see. After more than half a day of being up to
my eyes in high art and culture, I found Kim and we headed out to the
Eiffel Tower.<br />
Finding a grassy spot in a park adjacent to the famed tower Kim and I
sat and took in the beautiful spring-like day that we’d been blessed
with and gazed up at the wrought-iron wonder. I then decided to call my
friends back at work in the states and share my location and experience.
After quality time at the Eiffel Tower it was time to hit the Metro for
the trip back to the hotel and a good french dinner.<i><br />
</i><br />
Next morning, I stumbled out of bed and began the search for coffee. I
found the small coffee maker and brewed the two cups that it would
provide. I then decided that I wanted to pick up some breakfast for Kim
and I and find some real french coffee. Around the corner from the hotel
stood a quaint bakery with a beautiful young lass minding the store.
“Bonjour monsieur! Comment puis-je vous aider?” “Good morning. May I
please have two bagels and two cups of coffee?” She didn’t understand
what I was saying so I pointed to the bagels in the case and held up two
fingers. I then pointed to the carafe of coffee behind the counter and
again held up two fingers. She smiled and acknowledged my order and
gathered it for me. When she steps up to the cash register she said
something to the effect of ” quarte euros”. I reached into my pocket and
pulled out a handful of euro coins and held them up to her. She took
the coins that she needed and placed them in the register. I had to
trust her as I was still really new at this euro thing, which I
understood far better that this french language thing. She smiled a
sweet smile and said “au revoir”. I would have my breakfast there for
the next two days.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/musee_d_orsay_002.jpg"><img alt="musee_d_orsay_002" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-156" height="200" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/musee_d_orsay_002.jpg?w=300&h=200" width="300" /></a><br />
The next day found us at the Musée d’Orsay, a former train station
built at the turn of the last century located on the left bank. The
Musée d’Orsay holds mainly French art dating from 1848 to 1915,
including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography. It houses
the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist
masterpieces in the world, by painters including Monet, Manet, Degas,
Renoir, Cézanne, Seurat, Sisley, Gauguin and Van Gogh. Kim was adamant
that we visit and I’m glad that she insisted. I was finally able to see,
up close and personal, my favorite painting – the famed Starry Starry
Night by Vincent Van Gogh.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/1024px-starry_night_over_the_rhone.jpg"><img alt="1024px-Starry_Night_Over_the_Rhone" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-155" height="200" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/1024px-starry_night_over_the_rhone.jpg?w=300&h=200" width="300" /></a><br />
I was also able to view a work that I’d heard mentioned since I was a
child – Whistler’s Mother, which was known by the original title of
Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/whistlers_mother_high_res.jpg"><img alt="Whistlers_Mother_high_res" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-158" height="267" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/whistlers_mother_high_res.jpg?w=300&h=267" width="300" /></a><br />
After a day filled with art and culture, Kim and I set our sights on the Cathedral of Notre Dame.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/notre-dame.jpg"><img alt="Notre Dame" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-157" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/notre-dame.jpg?w=676" /></a><br />
The rain worsened as we ascended the stairway from the metro to
street level. This did not, however, deter the crowds that were moving
along the sidewalk toward the grand cathedral. Crossing the Seine it
comes into view. From the front of the structure, it’s imposing. You
can’t help but be reminded of that iconic 1920’s era movie “The
Hunchback of Notre Dame” with Lon Chaney as Quasimodo, ducking in and
around the massive bells that fill the towers. A larger than life-sized
statue of Charlemagne stands outside the grand chapel, reminding me of
the great historical heritage of this parcel of land. Taking our place
in the line to enter the church, Kim pointed to the elaborate artwork
that decorated the building. After entering, we made our way around the
line and ended up in a small area away from the main chapel to look at
some of the clothing worn by priests of long ago. While there, a young
lady approached us and, in perfect English, stated that she was a
personal tour guide for the church and that her small group had failed
to show. She asked if we would be interested in a private tour of the
church. After agreeing, she took us to places that the regular tourists
weren’t allowed to enter, all the while giving us various descriptions
of events that had taken place in said areas. As we slipped behind the
velvet ropes which blocked access to some of the areas, the others would
look at us as if we were visiting royalty. We were extremely fortunate
to be given access to these areas, with a knowledgeable tour guide to
boot!<br />
After our personal tour, Kim and I wandered back to the metro and
caught a lift to the Place de la Bastille, a monument which stands to
mark the spot of the infamous prison that was the ignition point for
the French revolution. In my head, I was singing the RUSH tune from
1974 <i>(and they’re marching to Bastille Day. The guillotine will claim her bloody prize.)</i>
After a quick dinner at a lovely French restaurant near the hotel we called it a
day. Tomorrow-more bread from the sweet mademoiselle at the corner
bakery.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/place-de-la-bastille-crowd.jpg"><img alt="Place-de-la-Bastille-Crowd" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-163" height="209" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/place-de-la-bastille-crowd.jpg?w=300&h=209" width="300" /></a><br />
Our third day in Paris was a walk about day. I had stayed up most of
the night walking the streets of our hotel neighborhood. Ducking into an
all night convenience store for a pack of smokes, the owner asked if I
was a tourist. “Yes”, I replied. “Why are you walking in this
neighborhood at this time of morning? Very dangerous!” Thanks-I’ll just
head back to the hotel.<br />
My short morning ritual was observed while at the corner bakery. Same
pretty girl, same order, same trust that she would only take the
correct amount of euros from my outstretched palm. She did. Awww…love
this life!<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/parc_buttes_chaumont.jpg"><img alt="Parc_Buttes_Chaumont" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-167" height="225" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/parc_buttes_chaumont.jpg?w=300&h=225" width="300" /></a><br />
Then it was time to catch the Metro and walk some of the gardens of
Paris. Everywhere you look there are beautiful gardens and parks. We sat
on a bench in one of these parks next to a pond and watched the birds
do their mating dances. Wow! Does this city also have an effect on
wildlife?<br />
A stroll next to the Seine to look at the houseboats completed our
wandering. Time to catch the metro, head back to the hotel and collect
our belongings. Next stop: Gare du Nord for the trip back to London.
Then back home to the good old US of A.<br />
While I enjoyed every single moment of our trip to Europe, and I want
to revisit both cities, there’s no place like home. The cabin beckons!</div>
Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-24557001864719214502015-10-07T19:10:00.002-04:002017-01-04T15:17:47.833-05:00An Innocent Abroad part 3 – On to Paris<div class="entry-content">
We’re sitting on a plush, comfortable seat, arranged two to a row.
Two seats face us, but they are unoccupied. We’re traveling at close to
186 mph and suddenly we feel the train slow down. It slows to 100 mph
and suddenly everything goes dark. We are now in the Chunnel.<br />
After seeing the major sites in London, which included Buckingham
Palace, the National Museum, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London and
Hampton Court Palace, former home of Henry VIII, we are now heading to
Paris on Eurostar.<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/train.jpg"><img alt="train" class="alignnone wp-image-123 size-medium" height="169" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/train.jpg?w=300&h=169" width="300" /></a><br />
The train glides through the English countryside, offering
spectacular views of small towns, medieval villages, cows, hardware
stores, big box stores and country lanes. Anything close to the train
goes by with a blur, but looking out into the distance you get a sense
of this part of the country. I walked to the bar buffet and
nabbed two Diet Cokes and a couple bags of ‘crisps’, known as potato
chips in the US. Kim and I talked of our previous few days in London and
some of the sights that I should see if I ever return and have a bit of
time to explore the country. We did get to meet up with some of Kim’s
old friends who lived in Greenwich, not far from the Greenwich
Observatory and the International time line (where we get GMT). It was
special having a meal with the couple and enjoying their home, which was
crammed with books and beautiful knickknacks. We then went down to the
Thames and walked along the river, which I enjoyed almost as much as the
historical sites that surrounded us. Then off to another pub to enjoy
the locals and be immersed in the culture of soccer-British style. And,
as a special treat, Kim took me to Rules, a restaurant which has been
around since Jesus. Then it was off to the Globe Theater to catch “A
Midsummer Night’s Dream.” But I digress…on to Paris.<br />
Emerging from the Chunnel, I realized that I was now in France for
the first time. Thoughts of my maternal grandfather filled my mind – he
had been an American Dough boy in the First World War and his unit, the
Old Hickory 30<sup>th</sup> Division had served in France in 1917 and
1918. I wondered, as I looked across the open fields covered in flowers,
if my grandfather had looked at this scene upon arriving here nearly a
century before. Although the mix of modern autos and convenience stores
would not have muddled his view, would he have seen that huge oak in the
distance when it was a mere sapling?<br />
<a href="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/frenchcntryside.jpg"><img alt="frenchcntryside" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-120" height="169" src="https://midstthehum.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/frenchcntryside.jpg?w=300&h=169" width="300" /></a><br />
The open fields gave way to small towns as we made our way across the
French countryside at 186 mph. The small towns and villages that we
passed were a mix of new buildings that surrounded an old church or
castle that looked as if it had always been there. In the distance we
could see Paris approaching and we knew that soon we would be walking in
the “city of lights”. My excitement at this prospect, however, was
grounded by my realization that I didn’t speak French. How would I
navigate my way around the city? How would I order breakfast? Ask for
directions? This would certainly be an interesting trip!</div>
Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-6523861782472484012015-09-06T21:43:00.000-04:002017-03-28T11:58:11.756-04:00The House that Love Built<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAR2-s4mulffBmA4QHkM228xepgINP8FugtMwbkUHz7511ctDbP5GqykKGOmBpu9pmWbqhBetaXGG1ej262mBKGRvKdoJ9eaEpMGOftL0hebWkXnOz8Ra8OVVEPG2-xTL33LWeQlWwocY/s1600/Log1Model.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAR2-s4mulffBmA4QHkM228xepgINP8FugtMwbkUHz7511ctDbP5GqykKGOmBpu9pmWbqhBetaXGG1ej262mBKGRvKdoJ9eaEpMGOftL0hebWkXnOz8Ra8OVVEPG2-xTL33LWeQlWwocY/s320/Log1Model.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
2005 - late winter/early spring.<br />
The chainsaws are buzzing and trees are falling. "TIMBERRRRRR"<br />
We are clearing an acre of land for a new home, a home that we would build...with our own sweat and muscle. We would hire a sub-contractor to build the foundation, the roof, the fireplace and a couple of other details. The rest is all on us. This is our story.<br />
<a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/03/ruth-elizabeth.html" target="_blank">In a previous post, I spoke of our daughter Ruth E. and the tragic events surrounding March 200</a><a href="http://midstthehum.blogspot.com/2015/03/ruth-elizabeth.html" target="_blank">2</a>. After losing her, Laura and I fell into a funk of unprecedented proportions. Getting out of bed was a chore, facing the drive to work was a chore, facing people was a burden. It had indeed been a struggle to continue to exist. Our friends and co-workers were doing all they could to help revive our spirits. We were literally going through the motions. Our families were also weighing in with encouraging words and actions. They were there for the unthinkable and continued to be there to help pick up the pieces. Our co-workers continued to be supportive and understanding. Our managers cut us slack on those days when we couldn't manage the 42 mile drive into work, allowing us to use personal time, even when there was none available. Everyone who surrounded us was the rock to our jello.<br />
At the time, Laura and I were living in the town of Prosperity, SC (formerly called 'Frog Level'). We had bought an old home, built in 1918, and were planning on remodeling and bringing the home up to date. This is the point where I learned my limitations on carpentry and the skills associated. Building something new, from scratch, was much, much easier than tearing out the old and replacing it with the new (for me, anyway).<br />
<br />
<b>The Land</b><br />
Laura and I had looked for a plot of land a wee bit closer to Columbia and our kids and our jobs. Our whole world was based in Columbia, so why not try to get closer. We looked in Chapin, in Irmo, in Little Mountain, in Blythewood...we looked everywhere to find the perfect few acres. Nothing caught our eye...<br />
Meanwhile, back at Molly's Rock, SC.<br />
My mom had moved to Newberry back in the late eighties. She had located a few acres of prime land on the edge of the Sumter National Forest, right next to an old tombstone factory. She had setup a nice home there among the deer and rabbits, as well as a few neighbors. As she was not getting any younger and was aware of our search for a lot to build upon, she suggested we build next to her. While this was contrary to our plan to move closer to Columbia, we said that we'd consider it. At a party at mom's place one day, a co-worker of mine looked out from mom's deck at a wooded area behind mom's house, which overlooked the pond. "Somebody could put a nice home right there", she said. "Somebody ought to build a house there". Laura and I looked at one another and wondered how our co-worker had even known that we'd even considered it. After a couple of weeks talking about the possibility, we had a conversation with mom. She agreed to give us an acre of land and proceeded to have the paperwork drawn up.<br />
<br />
<b>The House</b><br />
Let's go back to the year 1979, shall we?<br />
Laura, the kids and I are in Gatlinburg, Tennessee for a vacation. As we're driving along, Laura sees a log home dealership and they're having an open house. "Pull over", she says. We pull into the parking lot and proceed to go through the model home. "I love these log homes! One day, I want one", says Laura.<br />
I was born and raised in the city and I was sure that I wasn't Abe Lincoln. Log homes just didn't have the same charm for me as they did for Laura. Being the good husband though, my reply to her request for the home was "sure baby...someday". That off the cuff reply would one day come back to haunt me.<br />
Fast forward to late 2004. It's a little over two years since we lost Ruth E and, as I stated, we are downright depressed. Only the excitement of a possible new home would move our thoughts away from the awful and give us some hope for our future. Daily, on our drive into work to Columbia, we passed by a place on the interstate called Southland Log Homes. I never paid much attention to it. Laura, however, noticed it every day. One day, after making the decision to build on the lot my mom had offered, Laura pointed to the log homes as we glided past on the interstate. "Remember your promise?" she asked with the slight rise of an eyebrow. "Uhhh...promise?" I replied. "The log home you promised me...in Gatlinburg that time...in the seventies". Jesus...I don't even remember the seventies! Laura proceeded to remind me in great detail of that day back in 1979, the cabin, the promise, her dream. So after work that day, we made a stop at Southland Log Homes for a tour of their model homes. And I was impressed with how far log homes had progressed since 1979! We collected some literature on the variety of styles that were available, went home and made our plans. We would have someone build us a new log home at Molly's Rock, overlooking the pond. It would be wonderful!<br />
<br />
<b>Enter The Family</b><br />
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My family has always been close. We had been blessed with wonderful parents who instilled in each one of us that family is truly all you ever have, and to stick together through good times and hard times. That your family will always have your back. After the impossible couple of years that Laura and I had just endured, this was never more true! Brothers Gary, Steve and sister Linda would call and check up on us, stop by and see us when passing by our town, and sometimes just make a special trip down to Prosperity and see how we were holding up. This meant more to Laura and I than we could ever convey to them. Just knowing that someone was there, especially after all the company had gone back home after the funeral, and especially after a couple of years had passed, was everything to us. We were, and still are grateful for them.<br />
The breakdown of my siblings is as follows:<br />
Linda-six years older than me;<br />
Steve - four years older than me;<br />
Me<br />
Gary - two years younger than me.<br />
As a result of our slight difference in age, Gary and I became pretty close while growing up, although we had both married and gone our separate ways. We still kept in touch through telephone and the holiday gatherings that our family enjoyed several times a year. One day while we were heading to the beach, I told Gary about the log home idea. He suggested that we stop and look at the model home at Southland as we were passing right by the place. After touring the inside, Gary started asking the salesman more questions about log home construction than I cared to know. After a few minutes we stepped outside. While looking up at the home, Gary blurts out "we can build this thing!"<br />
"What?" I asked. "Are you nuts?"<br />
"Look at it! We could stack logs! It would be fun".<br />
"But we know nothing about building anything!" I replied.<br />
"The salesman says to follow the blueprints that are provided and almost anyone can build a log home" Gary says.<br />
"Let me think about this"<br />
A few days later the decision was made that yes, we could build this home. And build it we did!<br />
Laura and I stopped by Southland Log Homes one afternoon, threw caution to the wind and ordered the 'Greenwood II', a home with a large great room, master bed and bath downstairs with walk in closet, kitchen, dining room, bathroom and laundry room, two upstairs bedrooms with a full bath and two huge walk in closets. We were given a delivery date for the end of May 2005. We started searching for a sub-contractor to build our foundation (as I had no experience with laying blocks and I wanted our foundation to be done by a professional). After finding a Mr Shealy, who came highly recommended, we then began looking for a stone mason to build the forty foot fireplace. We found a genius from Camden, SC who came very highly recommended and hired him on the spot. We had seen examples of his work and were duly impressed! Then, a contractor to dig our well and one for the septic tank. We secured the necessary building permits, installed a 'saw pole' (which is where your initial electricity comes to the property) and mounted the circuit breakers and receptacles needed to get started. Then, we grabbed the chainsaws and began cutting down forty four very large trees.<br />
<br />
<b>The Clearing and the Rains </b><br />
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<br />
While clearing the land, we received help from nephews, sister and brothers, mom and her gentleman friend, as well as other friends. That was hard work! Gary brought a log splitter and we not only cut the trees down, we also cut them into bite-sized pieces and split them for the fireplace.<br />
After several weekends of cutting and splitting wood, it was time to hire the landscape contractor who would push over the stumps and groom the land for the foundation guy.<br />
Side note- The well digger had completed several wells in the neighborhood and stated that they had all been striking water at about 200-250 feet. After three days of drilling, they finally struck water at 505 feet. My water is not only cold...but it's deep too! Strike one for going over budget on an item.<br />
Just as the foundation man finished and the log delivery was just three weeks away, the rains came. And boy did it ever rain! Night and day it rained, then it poured for a week. The building site was mud, mud, mud. Trying to walk in it would get you nowhere. We thought about fashioning a type of snowshoe to make our way around the site but thought better of it. We had gravel delivered for the new driveway, which goes up a pretty steep hill, but with our log delivery just days away, we knew that the truck delivering the logs would never make it up our driveway.<br />
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<br />
When delivery day arrived, we decided to store our home (2 truckloads full) in mom's driveway. After all, she was away on vacation. We could have the materials moved after the ground had dried a bit. Mom was none too happy when she returned home from that vacation! There was a house in her driveway.<br />
<br />
<b>The Foundation and Start Stacking</b><br />
<br />
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<br />
After all the blocks were laid and the rain had ceased, we started to lay the first sill for the foundation. We spent a couple of weekends building the floor and getting it ready for the first logs to be laid. On July 4, 2005, the first log was set and off we went. Sister Linda was keeper of the blueprints and kept us informed as to what log went where. The logs were marked on each end with the length of each log - one inch equals one pound. A 225 inch log, therefore, would weigh 225 lbs. Each log would have a foam sealer strip placed in the center from end to end. After lining it up, a 9 inch screw would be driven from the top into the log underneath, requiring a screw for every 36 inches. Drilling a 9 inch screw into a log takes a heavy duty drill, so we bought a Makita 3/4 inch drill for the job. You had to be careful with that monster or it would break your wrist! We would stack logs around the perimeter up to row 17. This is where the second floor came into play.<br />
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Row 17 logs are notched at the top to accommodate the beams that would support the floor for the upstairs. At this point we set the temporary flooring and continued to stack logs. After a few weeks, we had reached the tip top and were all done stacking. Side note - my mom got married about the time we were three or four logs from the top. The ceremony took place in her backyard. Wanting to get the stacking completed, we worked until called for the ceremony. Hot, sweaty and dirty, we attended the wedding but stayed away from the photographer.<br />
Meanwhile, our stonemason was building the fireplace. This guy and his crew were top notch.<br />
They built the concrete block portion of the fireplace and then went away to do another job out of town. The job they contracted involved building a long wall-hence they needed no scaffolding. The mason asked if he could just leave his scaffolding at our place until he returned. Uh...yes. I was going to have to rent, but this noble gentleman solved that problem. To this day I remember him and the beautiful work that he and his crew accomplished. (Southern Mule is the company name, located in Camden, SC). When they returned to do the stone work, I couldn't thank him enough for his gracious donation to the cause (and budget).<br />
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<br />
<b>Katrina</b><br />
August 29, 2005. Hurricane Katrina hits the Louisiana coast as a category 3 storm, weakening from a category 5. The devastation it caused was tremendous, mainly because of the levee situation. I would later discover that it would also devastate my budget.<br />
Pre-Katrina, an 8ft. 2x4 cost about $1.74. After Katrina, the price would rise to nearly $4.00 for that same 8 foot board. Drywall, which till the storm had been a little over $11 per 4x8 sheet climbed to almost $20.<br />
Needless to say, when you budget 1000.00 for an item and you end up paying $2300.00, it shoots your budget all to hell. Some of the amenities that we had planned on adding had to take a back seat...sorry Laura, no enclosed screen porch complete with hot tub. That will have to wait. Strike 2 for going over budget...big time!<br />
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<b>The Hispanic Contingent</b><br />
After considerable discussion, a few evenings of intelligent discourse and a few beers, it was decided that (a) we were completely unaware of the process for properly framing a roof and (b), we were absolutely not climbing way the hell up there! So time for another sub-contractor. We found a crew of gents from south of the border who were skilled in all aspects of roof framing and climbing (one was a lumberjack in a former occupation). They worked hard, showed their skills and certainly didn't mind using thousands of nails from my borrowed nail gun. And, come hell or high water, at 2PM each day they retreated to their work van for an hour and a half for siesta. Having a few days break, Gary and I sat down on lawn chairs facing the house and watched them work. Beer after beer was swilled as we watched in awe - these guys actually surfing down the rafters, only to step off at the last minute onto the log at row 17. After a few days, the roof, dormers and the porch roof was completely framed and we said goodbye to the gentlemen from Mexico. As they pulled away, Latino music blaring from the van, Gary and I looked at each other and said :back to work".<br />
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<b>The Schedule</b><br />
We had been blessed with relatively good weather, although it was extremely hot, since we had started building the foundation. We formulated a plan to combat the heat. My mom had a pool next door so the schedule was set as follows:<br />
5AM Get up and have coffee;<br />
5:30AM Start work;<br />
8AM Call for breakfast;<br />
8:40AM Back to work;<br />
Noon: lunch;<br />
12:30 Back to work;<br />
3PM Break to swim and nap (our siesta);<br />
6PM Back to work;<br />
9-10PM Knock off and have a beer or 12<br />
Asleep by midnight<br />
<br />
This schedule worked very well for us and we stuck to it religiously for the duration of the summer and early fall.<br />
As cooler weather started creeping into South Carolina, so did the rains. At one point the rain was pouring off the steep-pitched roof so hard that it found it's way into the home, which was technically "in the dry". Gary and I put our heads together and created a troth using tarps to channel the water back outside. It looked like a waterfall which fed a stream to the outside which fed another waterfall off the foundation.<br />
For the build, we were sleeping in an old pop-up camper that my sister had lent us. Every night, after a hard day's work, we hit the sack and went straight off into a deep sleep. At 4:30 AM on the nose, a mockingbird, perched right outside our door, would sing us awake (whether it was time to get up or not). I wanted to shoot that bird. But we'd arise, get the coffee on and prepare for another day.<br />
<br />
<b>Crap Runs Downhill</b><br />
As we got closer to the end of our 18 month build, it came time to do the electrical work and the plumbing. The electrical part we had down. Brother Gary really knows his way around a three way switch and his genius allowed us to get through the wiring and connecting in no time. For the plumbing, we knew one thing...the chapter title. We were fortunate to have as a resource a gentleman who had retired down south and was a friend of my moms. He had been a master plumber in his home state of Indiana and proved invaluable to us. While he never physically crawled around under the house or connected one bit of pipe, his expertise gave us the courage to go for it without having to hire another sub-contractor. Roger passed away a couple of years ago...really miss that guy!<br />
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<b>The Gang</b><br />
When taking on a project such as this, you take on a slew of responsibility. I felt, at times, that it was all on my back. One day I looked around and there were two beautiful girls on the scaffold, stacking logs and setting those 9 inch screws. They were co-workers of my wife and wanted some experience with construction. They had volunteered their time and energy on a very hot summer day to come and lend a hand. I realized that I was never alone in this project.<br />
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Brothers Gary and Steve, sister Linda, mom and husband Jim, son Michael, nephews Pete, Brandon, Derick and Shannon, friends like the co-author of this blog (Larry Durham), co-workers of my brother and myself (Pete and David D.), my sister's boyfriends, some people that we hardly knew - all came down to help us build our home. It was an experience that showed the love that exists on this planet. These people wanted no money for their efforts. Some got caught up in the story of the build, some just came for the experience. We worked together, ate breakfast and dinner together and would swim together during those hot summer months. We froze our asses off, then huddled up next to the fire when it got really cold. We laughed and joked and cursed and sweat and bled. We made possible, for us anyway, the impossible - we built a freaking house! I remember well, minutes after first signing the papers to buy the logs, my brother leaving me a voicemail - "Don't sign the papers! I was just kidding about building the house". Before I could determine that he was just messing with me, I expressed my concern to Laura about Gary's call. Her reply: "Don't worry. People build houses everyday...and we're people".<br />
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<b>The Housewarming</b><br />
August 2006, We had done it! After losing about 40 pounds in sweat and 50 pounds out of my wallet, we had a home. We invited all those involved, as well as other family, friends and coworkers to see what we had accomplished. Some of the naysayers, those who openly scoffed at the very idea that we could build a home, failed to show. Their absence spoke volumes. Those who did attend loved the place. It was our home, Laura's dream home - a cabin in the forest. Fort Reid. We had done well.<br />
We had a plaque made with an etching of our cabin along with the names of all those who helped build it. It is mounted right next to the front door. All who come to Fort Reid stop and read it. All comment on it. And they all love the place!Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059878845535853127.post-34505324669098087512015-08-20T18:18:00.001-04:002015-08-20T18:20:08.958-04:00JÄGERTRON LIVE War Pigs Whole Lotta Love<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OdE0z5u-cFk" width="480"></iframe>In an earlier post I spoke of my son and his musical talent...the above was taped this August...I love three piece bands!Larry Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08359454866480816924noreply@blogger.com0