I’ve always become a bit verklempt when certain events occur, and I know to expect it since it’s happened to me all my life. Some examples are times such as when The Star Spangled Banner is sung and everyone stands with their hands on their hearts--what a wonderful display of patriotism and pride. It happens when I’m at a parade and the marching band comes down the street playing its songs. It’s happened when my children have been in productions throughout their lives or when they’ve graduated or been given an award. But I honestly didn’t expect to have that feeling of choked emotion when it happened this past weekend as Barry took the stage in the role of Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof as part of a production with LTCC, our local community theatre.
It came upon me all of the sudden as he began the first little soliloquy. Then when he started singing the first song, I realized once again just how talented this man really is, and my heart filled with pride and my eyes with tears. What an amazing gift he has to be able to sing so beautifully and with such clarity. No need for a microphone for his booming voice either!
Although the entire cast did a great job in Fiddler, my favorite was Tevye. He made me laugh during the performance, and me makes me laugh in life. I’m so very proud of him.
Now, "talk amongst yourselves" a bit while I regain my composure.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Facing Goliath
Today's sermon was about David and Goliath and how we all
have a Goliath of some sort in our lives.
Right off the bat, I started thinking about several Goliaths in my life,
but I knew my biggest Goliath had been breast cancer. I thought about family and friends whose
Goliaths have been alcohol, drugs, debt, infidelity, grief and other biggies,
and I realized that some of the Goliaths in life are choices, and others simply
happen to us. And I know that I didn't choose breast
cancer--it chose me.
If we're smart enough, we fight against our Goliath just
like David did and with his same faith.
David chose a slingshot, some smooth stones and no armor, and he beat
the giant down in spite of the fact that he was just a boy and untrained in the
ways of war. His story is one of many
examples in the Bible where God equips those who are called to do mighty
things.
As I think on some of my friends who have conquered the
Goliath in their lives, I feel like one of the cheerleaders in their camps, and
it's almost as if I have been part of the battle. After all, we all need people to believe in us and to
cheer us on. Barry always told his youth
groups to edify each other and to lift one another up, because without the
support of our friends, life is tough. Several
of his youth who are now adults have made a point to tell him that they still
remember to edify others in life. Lesson
well learned, guys.
Although I feel the cancer Goliath has been conquered in my
life, I still have reminders of how it almost got me. I get check-ups every three months with my
chemo oncologist and my radiation oncologist.
I get a mammogram every six months, and I see my surgeon once a
year. And because my tumor markers have
been elevated on two occasions since finishing treatment, I've had two PET
scans. All of this is to make sure that
my Goliath doesn't rear its ugly head back up into my life. I dislike going to the doctor, but I'm
thankful for modern technology and for these visits "just to make
sure".
My next visit to the chemo oncologist is this Wednesday, and
I'm anxious, just as always. I'm trying
not to worry about the "what ifs", because I've been living life like
a normal person. Even though I have a
scar on my breast and under my arm, I have trouble at times with discomfort in
my right arm, and the hot flashes are fairly relentless, cancer is becoming a
distant, unpleasant memory. I have truly
moved on!
I remember it being such a surreal feeling that people could
just keep on going and doing, having fun and living life when I was going
through the tough days of treatment. How
could they? I know it's the same way my friend Becky feels right now
as she misses her mom and my good friend, Glenda. How can people go on and be so happy while others
are in the midst of the pain of grief?
For any of us who are dealing with an
insurmountable Goliath, until the battle is won, we wonder how people
can go on as if life is normal. Although
my Goliath is gone, the memory certainly lingers.
And life has gone on around my battle, whether I've liked it or not.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Glenda--The Ultimate Cake Lady and Friend
We met Glenda Garver in March of 1997 when Barry came in view of a call to First Baptist Church, Marion. Mark Baber drove us to Glenda’s house to practice a duet for that Sunday’s service, and he introduced us to one of the feistiest and most loving individuals I’d ever met--Glenda.
I remember practicing our song while she played, but more than that, I remember her telling us that day how beautiful her grandchildren were and her showing us a new picture to prove it. She showed us a photo of a little girl with long, dark hair wearing a flowing white dress, and I remember thinking that this child was definitely beautiful. It was her Hannah. Hannah and our Kelsey were the same age, so I was very interested in my youngest having a friend to make her feel at home in a new community. And good friends they became.
Glenda also showed us photos of some of the cakes she had made for birthdays, weddings and special occasions, and Barry was in love with her immediately. She took him to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of icing and just handed him a spoon--it might as well have been elixir of love! And to this day, I can’t tell you how many wonderful, absolutely delicious cakes Glenda has made for our family. The most recent cake was for Kelsey’s senior recital at OBU in April, and people LOVED the cake. Once you had a taste of a Glenda cake, all other birthday and wedding cakes just didn’t measure up. No kidding.
Once we came to FBC, Marion, Glenda and I worked together over cooking teams for Wednesday night suppers, and I got to see a different side to her. We planned menus, and she would make trips to wholesale distributors or to the grocery store to make sure we had what we needed each week for the meals. She would do whatever it took to make things work no matter how much time or effort was involved. She cared about people and about helping others when she could, and I could always depend on her.
Glenda went on mission trips with Barry on several occasions, and all he had to do was to ask her to be in charge of food for the trip. No worries from that point on! She had the job covered, and the mission team would look forward to breakfast, lunch and dinner prepared by Mrs. Glenda. One of my favorite stories from a First Presbyterian, West Memphis, mission trip to serve at The Kitchen in Springfield, was when Glenda left a big plate of cake with Sister Lorraine (the founder of The Kitchen ministries). Glenda told Sister Lorraine (who was around 82 yrs. old at the time) she was leaving a big plate of cake with her to share with the other two sisters who lived at The Little Portion. Sister Lorraine said that she would, and the mission crew returned home from the trip. About a week later, Glenda and Sister Lorraine were visiting on the telephone, and Sister Lorraine told her that she had a confession to make. She said, "Remember that plate of cake you left for us and asked me to share with the other sisters?" And of course, Glenda said she remembered the cake. Sister Lorraine said, "Well, I ate the entire plate of cake myself and didn’t share a bite!" Yes, Glenda’s cakes were that good. And I love that a Catholic nun made a confession to Glenda!
Glenda was also a wonderful seamstress, and she helped countless folks with hemming and altering over the years. She was as stubborn as they come, and although she helped me on many occasions, she would never take a dime for the work. Even with arthritis problems, she continued to play piano and to help others with sewing projects.
One part of Glenda that I loved and cherished over the years was her sense of loyalty to the people she believed in. I always said I wouldn’t want her for an enemy, but I certainly loved having her in my corner. I knew that no matter what, if me or my family needed anything, she would do her level best to meet that need. That’s just how she rolled. She passed that gene on to her daughter, Becky, and Becky has been known to take in stray people and animals over the years. She is compelled to help others as part of her basic nature--just like her mom.
Glenda had a dry wit and she could dish it out AND take it. I think that’s why so many people loved her. There were countless, wonderful aspects of Glenda Garver, and there is no way I can do justice to her in this simple blog. She was an amazing person, and my entire family will miss her dearly. How do you fill a the gap when someone such as Glenda is removed from your life? I’m praying that God will give us all a peace that passes understanding and that time will heal.
One thing I do know, we’ll always have a special place in our hearts for Glenda.
I remember practicing our song while she played, but more than that, I remember her telling us that day how beautiful her grandchildren were and her showing us a new picture to prove it. She showed us a photo of a little girl with long, dark hair wearing a flowing white dress, and I remember thinking that this child was definitely beautiful. It was her Hannah. Hannah and our Kelsey were the same age, so I was very interested in my youngest having a friend to make her feel at home in a new community. And good friends they became.
Glenda also showed us photos of some of the cakes she had made for birthdays, weddings and special occasions, and Barry was in love with her immediately. She took him to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of icing and just handed him a spoon--it might as well have been elixir of love! And to this day, I can’t tell you how many wonderful, absolutely delicious cakes Glenda has made for our family. The most recent cake was for Kelsey’s senior recital at OBU in April, and people LOVED the cake. Once you had a taste of a Glenda cake, all other birthday and wedding cakes just didn’t measure up. No kidding.
Once we came to FBC, Marion, Glenda and I worked together over cooking teams for Wednesday night suppers, and I got to see a different side to her. We planned menus, and she would make trips to wholesale distributors or to the grocery store to make sure we had what we needed each week for the meals. She would do whatever it took to make things work no matter how much time or effort was involved. She cared about people and about helping others when she could, and I could always depend on her.
Glenda went on mission trips with Barry on several occasions, and all he had to do was to ask her to be in charge of food for the trip. No worries from that point on! She had the job covered, and the mission team would look forward to breakfast, lunch and dinner prepared by Mrs. Glenda. One of my favorite stories from a First Presbyterian, West Memphis, mission trip to serve at The Kitchen in Springfield, was when Glenda left a big plate of cake with Sister Lorraine (the founder of The Kitchen ministries). Glenda told Sister Lorraine (who was around 82 yrs. old at the time) she was leaving a big plate of cake with her to share with the other two sisters who lived at The Little Portion. Sister Lorraine said that she would, and the mission crew returned home from the trip. About a week later, Glenda and Sister Lorraine were visiting on the telephone, and Sister Lorraine told her that she had a confession to make. She said, "Remember that plate of cake you left for us and asked me to share with the other sisters?" And of course, Glenda said she remembered the cake. Sister Lorraine said, "Well, I ate the entire plate of cake myself and didn’t share a bite!" Yes, Glenda’s cakes were that good. And I love that a Catholic nun made a confession to Glenda!
Glenda was also a wonderful seamstress, and she helped countless folks with hemming and altering over the years. She was as stubborn as they come, and although she helped me on many occasions, she would never take a dime for the work. Even with arthritis problems, she continued to play piano and to help others with sewing projects.
One part of Glenda that I loved and cherished over the years was her sense of loyalty to the people she believed in. I always said I wouldn’t want her for an enemy, but I certainly loved having her in my corner. I knew that no matter what, if me or my family needed anything, she would do her level best to meet that need. That’s just how she rolled. She passed that gene on to her daughter, Becky, and Becky has been known to take in stray people and animals over the years. She is compelled to help others as part of her basic nature--just like her mom.
Glenda had a dry wit and she could dish it out AND take it. I think that’s why so many people loved her. There were countless, wonderful aspects of Glenda Garver, and there is no way I can do justice to her in this simple blog. She was an amazing person, and my entire family will miss her dearly. How do you fill a the gap when someone such as Glenda is removed from your life? I’m praying that God will give us all a peace that passes understanding and that time will heal.
One thing I do know, we’ll always have a special place in our hearts for Glenda.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Simple Life. Simple Pleasures
My Grandma Allred was my dad’s paternal grandmother, and at the time I remember her, she lived in Bismarck, Arkansas, in a small, wood frame house with a porch across the front and a small porch to the side. I guess I was maybe eight or nine, and I remember Grandma Allred being very old. She had out-lived several husbands, and we called her husband at the time, "Mr. Carpenter". I thought for a long time his name was "Mr. Cobbinder" because that’s what I heard when Grandma Allred called him. I feel certain they were both older than dirt, and he eventually outlived my Grandma.
Grandma Allred was a tiny lady with a face so worn from weather and work that I was never sure if the wrinkles were from smiles or frowns, but I think they were from smiles. She was pleasant enough to visit with, and she always wanted to give us some little something from her house such as a doily or some home-canned goods. We’d look at mom for the okay, and she would either nod or shake her head if we were offered a gift. You just never knew what you might come home with.
I remember my mom taking us kids to visit them every month or so, and often mom would help Grandma Allred and Mr. Carpenter by cleaning out their refrigerator, straightening the house and cooking them a meal. Both of them had very poor eyesight at this point, and I recall a small, open container of jelly with a spoon on their dining table on top of a lazy Susan with a few other condiments. They never knew about the steady stream of ants mom cleared off the table when we were there, and that she dumped out the jelly dish and replaced it with a sealed jar of jelly. She cleaned out some of the canned goods, too, that had gone bad. Grandma would give her jars of the canned goods, and often they had not sealed properly, and mom would take them home and dump the contents into the trash. The old jars were still good for canning, and some of them were so old, they had glass lids. The contents were often dark brown, but Grandma would hand a jar to mom and say, "Now here’s a jar of peaches." Or, "I believe this one is muscadine preserves."
On one particular visit to Bismark, my brother, Steve, and I begged mom to let us go down the road to a little stream to play, and it was shallow enough water, so we were fine. I don’t remember ever seeing a snake or worrying about any, but I’m sure they must have been around. The water was perfectly clear in the stream, and we saw perch everywhere. We waded into the water and actually began catching fish with our hands, but we had nothing to put them in. We ran back to the house to tell mom that we were catching fish with our hands, and she gave us an old white, tin bucket from the side porch (the kind with the red rim around the top), and we took the bucket and began to catch a dozen or so perch. It was so much fun, and we proudly returned with our bucket full.
Steve helped mom clean the fish, and she added them to the meal along with the vegetables she had already started cooking while we were fishing. She made a lemon cake that day, and I can still remember there being no cake mix and mom just making it from scratch with flour, sugar, baking powder, sugar, etc. and some lemon flavoring she found in the cabinet. How did she know those ingredients would make a cake? I believe that was the first day I saw how much talent and work and ingenuity it took to be a good cook and manager of what you had on hand. Making do. She made a lemon buttercream icing, too, with margarine, powdered sugar and the same flavoring--nothing from a can or a mix.
And then we sat down to a great meal of fresh vegetables, fried perch, corn bread, iced tea and hot coffee and then lemon cake for dessert. What a feast! It’s been many years ago, but I still remember the fish and the lemon cake from that day.
Barry and I recently drove past the place where the house used to be, and there is another house located there now. I still think about our visits, and I’m glad mom took us to see Grandma Allred during the winter of her life. It gives me a perspective on things that I might not have had. They lived simply, Grandma and Mr. Carpenter. And they didn’t mind eating perch from the stream or having a meal from scratch prepared by my mom. Simple life. Simple pleasures.
Grandma Allred was a tiny lady with a face so worn from weather and work that I was never sure if the wrinkles were from smiles or frowns, but I think they were from smiles. She was pleasant enough to visit with, and she always wanted to give us some little something from her house such as a doily or some home-canned goods. We’d look at mom for the okay, and she would either nod or shake her head if we were offered a gift. You just never knew what you might come home with.
I remember my mom taking us kids to visit them every month or so, and often mom would help Grandma Allred and Mr. Carpenter by cleaning out their refrigerator, straightening the house and cooking them a meal. Both of them had very poor eyesight at this point, and I recall a small, open container of jelly with a spoon on their dining table on top of a lazy Susan with a few other condiments. They never knew about the steady stream of ants mom cleared off the table when we were there, and that she dumped out the jelly dish and replaced it with a sealed jar of jelly. She cleaned out some of the canned goods, too, that had gone bad. Grandma would give her jars of the canned goods, and often they had not sealed properly, and mom would take them home and dump the contents into the trash. The old jars were still good for canning, and some of them were so old, they had glass lids. The contents were often dark brown, but Grandma would hand a jar to mom and say, "Now here’s a jar of peaches." Or, "I believe this one is muscadine preserves."
On one particular visit to Bismark, my brother, Steve, and I begged mom to let us go down the road to a little stream to play, and it was shallow enough water, so we were fine. I don’t remember ever seeing a snake or worrying about any, but I’m sure they must have been around. The water was perfectly clear in the stream, and we saw perch everywhere. We waded into the water and actually began catching fish with our hands, but we had nothing to put them in. We ran back to the house to tell mom that we were catching fish with our hands, and she gave us an old white, tin bucket from the side porch (the kind with the red rim around the top), and we took the bucket and began to catch a dozen or so perch. It was so much fun, and we proudly returned with our bucket full.
Steve helped mom clean the fish, and she added them to the meal along with the vegetables she had already started cooking while we were fishing. She made a lemon cake that day, and I can still remember there being no cake mix and mom just making it from scratch with flour, sugar, baking powder, sugar, etc. and some lemon flavoring she found in the cabinet. How did she know those ingredients would make a cake? I believe that was the first day I saw how much talent and work and ingenuity it took to be a good cook and manager of what you had on hand. Making do. She made a lemon buttercream icing, too, with margarine, powdered sugar and the same flavoring--nothing from a can or a mix.
And then we sat down to a great meal of fresh vegetables, fried perch, corn bread, iced tea and hot coffee and then lemon cake for dessert. What a feast! It’s been many years ago, but I still remember the fish and the lemon cake from that day.
Barry and I recently drove past the place where the house used to be, and there is another house located there now. I still think about our visits, and I’m glad mom took us to see Grandma Allred during the winter of her life. It gives me a perspective on things that I might not have had. They lived simply, Grandma and Mr. Carpenter. And they didn’t mind eating perch from the stream or having a meal from scratch prepared by my mom. Simple life. Simple pleasures.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Saying Goodbye to Melissa
Although I never met her, I prayed for Melissa Dockery every
single day. We both had breast
cancer. Just a week before I started
treatment in the Fall of 2010, Melissa began treatment. Our mutual friend, Anne, introduced us to each
other via e-mail and Caring Bridge. It
shouldn't be this way, but Melissa died today.
My initial diagnosis was about the same as Melissa's, and we
mostly e-mailed back and forth about our experiences with chemo and what was
working for us to help with energy or nausea.
It was somewhat comforting to know another person going through similar
treatment, and Melissa became a friend or a sort-of e-mail pen pal.
Within a couple of months, I learned our journeys were
taking very different routes when they found Melissa also had esophageal
cancer.
As I continued and
finished my breast cancer treatments, Melissa continued on with treatment after
treatment for esophageal cancer which eventually took control of her body. She kept such a positive attitude through it
all. In the midst of treatments, she
traveled to New York City and also made a recent trip to San Diego with family,
and she lived life to the fullest. Melissa was smart, and as an ER doctor at
UAMS, and she knew from her medical training that esophageal cancer was brutal
and left no survivors. She took
advantage of the good times and focused on the people in her life, because she
knew the most difficult times were ahead of her.
It has been a somber week for me as I have thought about
Melissa and hospice, and it has taken me back to where we both were a year and
a half ago. I am very sad for Melissa's
family, and I pray a peace that passes understanding for them as they deal with
her loss. I still say it just shouldn't
happen this way when a person is still in the prime of working and living life.
But cancer isn't fair.
For the time that I knew you, I thank you for being the
encourager that you were, Melissa. You
will be missed.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Just Us--Part of My New Normal
One of the fun parts of life with grown children is that Barry and I don't mind going off and doing things on our own. We've actually taken several vacations without the girls, and we liked it! This past Sunday, we went to church, had a nice lunch and then did a little shopping--just the two of us. It was so pleasant with no one giving us their opinion, and it was amazing how easy it was to decide where to eat and where to shop!
As we went from place to place, I was struck with the realization of how good I felt. I realized I am able to go and do without it taking a toll on me physically. It's amazing! Unless a person has been through chemo or radiation, I believe it is difficult to understand what it can do to disable you. In the days following a dose of chemo, I can remember my legs literally shaking when I would stand for too long a period of time. There were achy joints and bones that were relentless for days. There was nausea, breathlessness, puffiness, racing thoughts, and just a feeling of being dog tired. And yet, there was determination to get better and beat this thing.
And as time has gone by, I have gotten better and better and better, and now it's almost as if it was all just a very bad dream. Oh, I know I will still have doctor's appointments every three months for a while to make sure the cancer hasn't crept back in, but I can't tell you how good it feels not to see a doctor each week, not to have blood work.
This realization hit me in the face as we were shopping, and I thought, "I feel good, and I'm not tired!" I knew I wouldn't have to take a nap to recover from being out for the afternoon, and that felt wonderful. I don't want to ever take for granted feeling good and being ABLE--I feel blessed to be out and about. I am grateful for so many things. Truly grateful.
I'm trying to get back to normal in other areas of my life that had to take a hiatus, but some things are slow upon returning to normal. I need to lose weight, for instance, but that hasn't happened so far, and it will just be a topic for another day. One area that I truly miss is singing in the church choir. I haven't gone back to singing in the choir yet because I can't bear the thought of wearing a choir robe and having a stole up around my neck and then having hot flashes on Sunday mornings. It's hot enough for me wearing short sleeves and sandals, and there truly might be a scene if I start throwing off my choir robe or other articles of clothing in the midst of a flash!
Since I've not been singing in a choir each week, my voice is not in as good a shape as it should be, and now we've promised to sing a duet at church in the next couple of weeks. Barry and I practiced our duet this evening, and I could tell my voice wasn't as strong as it was before chemo. I remember it being very weak during chemo, and I hated that. I think it was inflammation, and I literally had difficulty speaking loudly without coughing. Right now I believe the problem is lack of practice and lack of use. After we finished going through the song a couple of times (and by then I was a little hoarse), I told Barry I was concerned about how I sounded. He said, "Surely you know you sound good?" I said, "I know I'm better than the average bear, but I just don't want to embarrass you." And then he got me. He said, "I'm never embarrassed by you. When we sing together, we're like oxygen in air, we just go together." Oh my.
Even though I'm feeling good these days, it may take me a while to get everything back to normal in my life, and I realize there are things that will have to be a "new" normal. Regardless, I think I'll be just fine as long as I have my oxygen to help me! Yes, I'm grateful, and I don't want to take anything for granted.
As we went from place to place, I was struck with the realization of how good I felt. I realized I am able to go and do without it taking a toll on me physically. It's amazing! Unless a person has been through chemo or radiation, I believe it is difficult to understand what it can do to disable you. In the days following a dose of chemo, I can remember my legs literally shaking when I would stand for too long a period of time. There were achy joints and bones that were relentless for days. There was nausea, breathlessness, puffiness, racing thoughts, and just a feeling of being dog tired. And yet, there was determination to get better and beat this thing.
And as time has gone by, I have gotten better and better and better, and now it's almost as if it was all just a very bad dream. Oh, I know I will still have doctor's appointments every three months for a while to make sure the cancer hasn't crept back in, but I can't tell you how good it feels not to see a doctor each week, not to have blood work.
This realization hit me in the face as we were shopping, and I thought, "I feel good, and I'm not tired!" I knew I wouldn't have to take a nap to recover from being out for the afternoon, and that felt wonderful. I don't want to ever take for granted feeling good and being ABLE--I feel blessed to be out and about. I am grateful for so many things. Truly grateful.
I'm trying to get back to normal in other areas of my life that had to take a hiatus, but some things are slow upon returning to normal. I need to lose weight, for instance, but that hasn't happened so far, and it will just be a topic for another day. One area that I truly miss is singing in the church choir. I haven't gone back to singing in the choir yet because I can't bear the thought of wearing a choir robe and having a stole up around my neck and then having hot flashes on Sunday mornings. It's hot enough for me wearing short sleeves and sandals, and there truly might be a scene if I start throwing off my choir robe or other articles of clothing in the midst of a flash!
Since I've not been singing in a choir each week, my voice is not in as good a shape as it should be, and now we've promised to sing a duet at church in the next couple of weeks. Barry and I practiced our duet this evening, and I could tell my voice wasn't as strong as it was before chemo. I remember it being very weak during chemo, and I hated that. I think it was inflammation, and I literally had difficulty speaking loudly without coughing. Right now I believe the problem is lack of practice and lack of use. After we finished going through the song a couple of times (and by then I was a little hoarse), I told Barry I was concerned about how I sounded. He said, "Surely you know you sound good?" I said, "I know I'm better than the average bear, but I just don't want to embarrass you." And then he got me. He said, "I'm never embarrassed by you. When we sing together, we're like oxygen in air, we just go together." Oh my.
Even though I'm feeling good these days, it may take me a while to get everything back to normal in my life, and I realize there are things that will have to be a "new" normal. Regardless, I think I'll be just fine as long as I have my oxygen to help me! Yes, I'm grateful, and I don't want to take anything for granted.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Easters and Deviled Eggs
I've always believed that every true Southern Belle needs a deviled egg plate and to know how to make deviled eggs. I'm sure there are hundreds of recipes. One of the local grocery stores where I live has a plate lunch, and last week one of the ladies behind the counter said to me, "And we have stuffed eggs today, too, Sweety." Stuffed eggs? I'd never heard them called that, but it works.
As Traci and I were talking tonight about deviled eggs and Easter things and the different ways people decorate and hide eggs, I was reminded of several Easters when my mom, my brothers and sisters and I would go to my grandparents' house when they lived in Heavener, Oklahoma.
My Papa was in charge of maintenance at Heavener High School, and the three-bedroom home they lived in was right across the street from the school. Once again, we all thought it was the coolest thing for them to live right on campus! The house was situated on the edge of a field that was used for football parking, and the stadium loomed large in the distance. I remember it being brand new at the time, but that was in the early 70's.
One year, the City of Heavener had a community-wide Easter egg hunt on the Saturday before Easter, and my sister, Cheryl, who was maybe five or six at the time, found a prize egg! She won a big, stuffed rabbit and even got her picture taken for the newspaper. She was so very excited, and the rest of us were so very jealous. Some weeks later, my Nanny and Papa mailed her a copy of the newspaper clipping showing this tow-headed little girl smiling shyly at the camera along with the other prize egg finders.
One Easter when I was in sixth grade, I saved up my money and bought some pierced earrings in the shape of white gold crosses. My ears weren't pierced at the time, but I knew my Aunt Judy could do just about anything that had to do with cutting or fixing hair, and surely piercing ears wouldn't be an issue for her. We went to Ben Franklin's and bought the largest needle they had (no kidding). We numbed my ear with ice, and then Aunt Judy placed half of a potato behind my ear lobe and pierced both of my ears. Yes, it hurt, but I was never so proud than to have those shiny crosses in my ears on Easter Sunday morning.
As to the deviled eggs, I remember us dying 12 dozen eggs one year. There were a lot of us grandchildren, and it took quite a few eggs to fill our baskets. After church that day as my Nanny, my mom and my aunts were finishing up on the lunch preparations, all of the kids hid and hunted eggs. We had been at it for a while when I remember my Aunt Kaye Kaye coming out back to ask us for our cracked eggs. We didn't want to give up the eggs, but they were needed for deviling in the kitchen. As we looked through the baskets, some of the younger cousins cried to keep their broken eggs, but after some discussion and egg swapping, the crew reluctantly gave up our cracked eggs. After all, they were difficult to hide without getting grass stuck in them.
My Traci can't believe we used eggs that had been on the ground, that had been cracked open and that had been out of refrigeration for hours. But we did, and I lived to tell about it. I don't remember any of us getting sick from the double use of the Easter eggs either. My family was just being resourceful. Granted, many of the eggs were tossed out, but the better ones found their way onto the lunch menu.
It's funny, but one thing I do remember seeing was a little bit of Easter egg dye every now and then on the whites of the eggs on the deviled egg plate. I ate around that part.
As Traci and I were talking tonight about deviled eggs and Easter things and the different ways people decorate and hide eggs, I was reminded of several Easters when my mom, my brothers and sisters and I would go to my grandparents' house when they lived in Heavener, Oklahoma.
My Papa was in charge of maintenance at Heavener High School, and the three-bedroom home they lived in was right across the street from the school. Once again, we all thought it was the coolest thing for them to live right on campus! The house was situated on the edge of a field that was used for football parking, and the stadium loomed large in the distance. I remember it being brand new at the time, but that was in the early 70's.
One year, the City of Heavener had a community-wide Easter egg hunt on the Saturday before Easter, and my sister, Cheryl, who was maybe five or six at the time, found a prize egg! She won a big, stuffed rabbit and even got her picture taken for the newspaper. She was so very excited, and the rest of us were so very jealous. Some weeks later, my Nanny and Papa mailed her a copy of the newspaper clipping showing this tow-headed little girl smiling shyly at the camera along with the other prize egg finders.
One Easter when I was in sixth grade, I saved up my money and bought some pierced earrings in the shape of white gold crosses. My ears weren't pierced at the time, but I knew my Aunt Judy could do just about anything that had to do with cutting or fixing hair, and surely piercing ears wouldn't be an issue for her. We went to Ben Franklin's and bought the largest needle they had (no kidding). We numbed my ear with ice, and then Aunt Judy placed half of a potato behind my ear lobe and pierced both of my ears. Yes, it hurt, but I was never so proud than to have those shiny crosses in my ears on Easter Sunday morning.
As to the deviled eggs, I remember us dying 12 dozen eggs one year. There were a lot of us grandchildren, and it took quite a few eggs to fill our baskets. After church that day as my Nanny, my mom and my aunts were finishing up on the lunch preparations, all of the kids hid and hunted eggs. We had been at it for a while when I remember my Aunt Kaye Kaye coming out back to ask us for our cracked eggs. We didn't want to give up the eggs, but they were needed for deviling in the kitchen. As we looked through the baskets, some of the younger cousins cried to keep their broken eggs, but after some discussion and egg swapping, the crew reluctantly gave up our cracked eggs. After all, they were difficult to hide without getting grass stuck in them.
My Traci can't believe we used eggs that had been on the ground, that had been cracked open and that had been out of refrigeration for hours. But we did, and I lived to tell about it. I don't remember any of us getting sick from the double use of the Easter eggs either. My family was just being resourceful. Granted, many of the eggs were tossed out, but the better ones found their way onto the lunch menu.
It's funny, but one thing I do remember seeing was a little bit of Easter egg dye every now and then on the whites of the eggs on the deviled egg plate. I ate around that part.
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