tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16966081721024897182024-02-20T09:01:08.647-08:00My Southern Heart...the StoriesA collection of memories and stories about my life growing up in the SouthSouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-79757081795775656092015-04-16T12:48:00.000-07:002015-04-16T12:49:01.899-07:00Turquoise...<div style="text-align: left;">
I love the color turquoise. I love it paired with any number of colors – white, yellow, green, red. I love it paired with copper.</div>
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My love affair with decorating and the color turquoise started years ago - when I was a high school student. I had a part-time job at a neighborhood bakery after school for a while (until it appeared it would challenge keeping make my A+ average). I remember taking part of my meager salary (we’re talking 50 years ago when the hourly minimum wage was downright sad) and surprising Mama with everything needed to redecorate our one bathroom in the little house on Victor Drive.<br />
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I was only 16 years old maybe and knew absolutely nothing about decorating. Nevertheless, I purchased turquoise paint for the bathroom walls, white paint for the trim, and a turquoise and white striped shower curtain. I added some new white towels to the mix and headed home to surprise Mama. She was surprised – though she said I shouldn’t have spent my money on the house. Even so, I think she was happy and we set about painting. Have you ever wished you could go back in time – <em>knowing what you know now</em>? I’d like one more shot at that little bathroom with the skills and knowledge acquired over the past 50 years. All the same, it was an improvement and Mama liked it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/lamp.jpg"><img alt="lamp" class=" size-medium wp-image-3935 aligncenter" data-id="3935" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/lamp-300x300.jpg" height="300" scale="0" width="300" /></a></div>
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<em>Earlier this week, I created a “board” about the color turquoise on Pinterest. It was fun sorting and browsing through all the ways turquoise is enjoyed. If you don’t know about <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a>, I wrote about the joys of Pinterest <a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/?s=pinterest">here</a>. If you’d like to see my turquoise board, it’s <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/southernheart/shades-of-turquoise-and-aqua/">here</a>. These photos are on my Pinterest board and are from another favorite place of mine: <a href="https://www.jossandmain.com/">Joss and Main</a>! </em><br />
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<em><span style="color: teal;"><strong>There’s a link to “follow me” on my Pinterest site and I’d love it if you did!</strong></span></em><br />
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/turquoisebedding.jpg"><img alt="turquoisebedding" class=" size-medium wp-image-3934 aligncenter" data-id="3934" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/turquoisebedding-300x300.jpg" height="300" scale="0" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/throw.jpg"><img alt="throw" class=" size-medium wp-image-3933 aligncenter" data-id="3933" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/throw-300x300.jpg" height="300" scale="0" width="300" /></a></div>
SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-71077717253786416972014-07-23T09:53:00.002-07:002014-07-23T13:24:18.194-07:00"I'll Go To My Grave Loving You"...<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The year was 1975. My sweet, gentle Dad had heard this song on the radio and asked me if I could find the record for him. He loved my Mama dearly and he loved this song. At the time, I was not a fan of country music - and definitely not a fan of the Statler Brothers - but I bought a tape player and the song for him (and a few others).</div>
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I watched as he listened to the sweet harmony and the words of the song...and his eyes teared up. The next thing I know there's a tear trailing down my cheek.</div>
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He did go to his grave loving Mama and his four daughters and all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren...four years before Mama.</div>
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<em>I think about this song from time to time...and about Daddy's love for and commitment to his family. I'm thankful for that legacy.</em></div>
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<a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/MAMAANDDADDY1968.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/MAMAANDDADDY1968.jpg"><img alt="MAMAANDDADDY1968" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2974" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/MAMAANDDADDY1968-205x300.jpg" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/MAMAANDDADDY1968-205x300.jpg" height="300" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="205" /></a></div>
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<a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/mamaanddaddy.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/mamaanddaddy.jpg"><img alt="mamaanddaddy" class="aligncenter wp-image-2975" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/mamaanddaddy-201x300.jpg" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/mamaanddaddy-201x300.jpg" height="447" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>The photo below was taken about 1952 at the Memorial Gardens Cemetery. </strong></em><strong><em>I wrote a post entitled "All Too Soon" and the years on Mamie Road about it <a data-mce-href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/all-too-soon.html" href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/all-too-soon.html">here</a>.</em></strong><br />
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<strong><em>This was originally posted in my daily blog<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/">, Sweet Journey Home,</a> on July 23, 2014.</em></strong></div>
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<object height="360" width="640"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/bIMOcU_SDEs?version=3&hl=en_US"></param>
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<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/bIMOcU_SDEs?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="640" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-32126163617793706472013-08-06T04:01:00.000-07:002013-08-06T07:38:16.414-07:00The sixth day of August...There are some days in life that are just bittersweet…<em>today is one of
those</em> <em>days</em>.<br />
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<em>On a sweet note</em>, today is Cindy's birthday. She is my sister Gerry’s
firstborn. Cindy is beautiful with a
heart of gold…just like her late Mom. She has an ever ready smile and a
wonderful sense of humor. We are always laughing when we’re all together. An
amazing pianist and wonderful teacher, she must bless the hearts of the students
at the college where she teaches. No doubt, she blesses the hearts of our
entire family…j<em>ust as she blesses mine</em>. Happy Birthday, Cindy! I love
you. Wish I could be there to celebrate with all of you!<br />
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<em>Love this photo from about 1957. Cindy was
almost 5 and I was 12. </em><br />
<em>(just guessing at the year and ages) </em></div>
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<em>Apparently, I’d propped her up in the car
window! </em></div>
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<em>I was a really good baby sitter!</em></div>
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<img alt="" class="aligncenter" height="404" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/DianneandCindy50s.jpg" width="580" /></div>
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Sadly, today also marks the ninth anniversary of my beautiful sister Dot’s
death. She fought a courageous battle against AML (Acute Myloid Leukemia)
but Heaven needed her. She had such strength and optimism. She believed
in FAMILY more than anyone I have ever known. Dot remembered special days with
a card, a note or a call. She organized family reunions and made sure that we
all got together. She had a gift for staying in touch. Dot had the
burden/privilege of being the oldest…maybe that comes with the territory. As I
shared in the previous post, searching for our family roots was Dot’s
inspiration and I will honor her by finishing it. She would like that. <br />
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<em>How I would love to answer the phone and hear her quip one more time,
“Hello! What’s going on besides the rent?” with that smile in her voice. I
miss her every single day…but I will see her in Heaven.</em><br />
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<em> </em><em>I love this picture of my sister
when she was about 21 years old. </em></div>
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Dot21.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter wp-image-2550" height="614" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Dot21-617x1024.jpg" width="370" /></a></div>
SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-45812014679420072322013-08-04T13:51:00.003-07:002013-08-04T13:51:42.198-07:00A mystery in Scotland...<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">As published in <a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/">Sweet Journey Home</a>...</span></em></div>
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I wonder if the same thing that makes me wish I’d been an FBI agent is the same
deep thing that makes me love a mystery? Finding clues, sorting them out and
solving a mystery is more than just a challenge – it’s actually intriguing.
This time, I’m talking about searching out clues in my family history. Years
ago, my late sister Dot had the dream of finding our ancestors. I joined her in
the exciting search. It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to know that
with the last name of McGregor, our ancestors had come from Scotland.
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We began the journey back through the years and enlisted the help of our
other two sisters. The four of us traveled to the archives of Mississippi and
various other libraries. We wrote many letters requesting information from
archives in several states. Amidst the laughter on each trip we’d take, we
discovered answers – in birth records, death records, marriage records,
old newspaper clippings and family Bibles. You would have thought we’d won the
lottery when we “proved” a date or name. There are three large rubbermaid
containers stacked next to my chest in my bedroom…filled with several years
worth of hard work. I purposely did not put them in the storeroom for a good
reason: they’re there to remind me that I must finish this family history.
When the snow starts to fall in a few months, I will rejoin Ancestry.com and
begin the journey back through time once again.<br />
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Several years ago, my
husband and I were traveling through North Carolina where my immigrant ancestor,
Rev. William McGregor, had lived almost 300 years ago now. There at the foot of
Fall Mountain, he built a homestead – complete with a sturdy log house and
outbuildings. He established a large apple orchard. He “preached in the
meeting houses of America”…<em>which had been his reason for coming to
America in the first place</em>. He sold his home and land to Dr. Kron, the
first physician of North Carolina. <a href="http://d.lib.ncsu.edu/collections/catalog/bh009803501">The house has been
rebuilt </a>as an exact replica and is in Morrow Mountain State Park in Stanly
County, North Carolina. </div>
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It was somehow humbling, yet awe-inspiring, to stand on the land of
my ancestor, a Baptist preacher from Scotland (there weren’t a lot of Baptists
in Scotland at that time). I stood on the porch of his home and wondered where
the answers lie. So many of the actual records burned in fires over the years
according to the archives there in Stanly County. There are hundreds of his
descendants who are searching – as I am. Supposedly, Rev. William McGregor was
born in Ossian’s Glen, Scotland. Other records indicate he came from the Isle
of Skye. <br />
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<em>The mystery lies in Scotland but there is much to prove here first. This
is just part of the mystery that I will be working on this Winter, when the snow
begins to fall…</em><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Below: Rev. William McGregor’s house
in Morrow Mountain State Park.…</span></div>
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<img alt="wmmcgregor1" class="aligncenter" height="421" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/wmmcgregor1-1024x669.jpg" width="645" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Below: The back of Rev. William McGregor’s log
house</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/wmmcgregor2.jpg"><img alt="wmmcgregor2" class="aligncenter wp-image-2537" height="405" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/wmmcgregor2-1024x675.jpg" width="614" /></a> </div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em> </em>Below: The back door of Rev.
William McGregor’s house…</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/wmmcgregor4.jpg"><img alt="wmmcgregor3" class="aligncenter" height="393" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/wmmcgregor3-1024x655.jpg" width="614" /></a></div>
SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-62069227222075450662013-07-04T11:47:00.005-07:002013-07-04T11:47:56.736-07:00My memories of the Fourth of July...<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="text-align: left;">
When my three
sisters and I began our family history search ( inspired and instigated by my
oldest sister Dot), we made several family history journeys...with so much
laughter and fun as the four of us traveled together. Sometimes, my niece
Sharon accompanied us and there was even more laughter. One of those trips was
to Jackson, Mississippi, where we spent the day in the Mississippi archives.
Another search took us to Pontotoc County, Mississippi, where Mama and Daddy
were both born. There, we visited both the library and the dusty archives of
the small town newspaper. Most of the articles were not on microfiche or
anything more updated, so we searched through dozens of large leather-bound
journals containing newspapers from many decades ago. </div>
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We would get so excited whenever we found an article about our family. One
such article was written about Mama's Fourth of July birthday party held at
their home. From the date, they would not have been married very long. It
described the menu (including homemade ice cream - or "cream" as Daddy called
it. Year after year, there was a twofold celebration...Mama's birthday and our
nation's independence. <br />
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As the years rolled by and we daughters were born, the celebration
continued. As we grew up, got married and had families, the celebration
continued. Every year, the family gathered for a picnic and cookout with all
the trimmings in her honor. In later years, it was held at my oldest sister
Dot’s house because she had a swimming pool. Memphis is hot in the summertime
and the kids loved the pool. Dot would bake a large chocolate sheet cake with a
hint of cinnamon and a delicious chocolate icing. Sometimes, she’d decorate the
top. It was so very good. My mouth waters just remembering. With the cake, there
would be homemade vanilla ice cream, usually my sister Gerry’s specialty. Before
dessert, of course, there would be delicious grilled hamburgers, baked beans,
potato salad and other wonderful dishes. In later years, we’d sometimes order
Memphis barbeque at its best – from Corky’s.<br />
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<em>These will always be my memories of the Fourth of July...my dear parents,
my sisters, my precious family. I have no doubt they are celebrating in Heaven
today. Happy Birthday, Mama... </em><br />
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<img alt="" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th-686x1024.jpg" height="491" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th-686x1024.jpg" width="330" /></div>
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<em>Below:
the McGregor girls at one of Mama's Fourth of July birthday parties...</em> </div>
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<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0136-1024x705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="scan0136" border="0" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0136-1024x705.jpg" height="381" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0136-1024x705.jpg" width="553" /></a></div>
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<em> Below:
<em>Dianne and Gerry at Mama’s 4th of July birthday party at Dot’s house. About
1990.</em></em></div>
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<a href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/4thofjulyatdotshouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/4thofjulyatdotshouse.jpg" height="356" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/4thofjulyatdotshouse.jpg" width="409" /></a></div>
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Below are just a
few of the members of my large family. I need to dig through all my photos and
scan the rest! I faithfully took my Pentax K1000 to every single function we
had. Everybody teasingly complained then. Now, they are glad for a bit of
history captured on film.</div>
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<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="text-align: center;">
<em>Below:
My sister Gerry and my niece Sharon about 1982. </em><em>Mama's Fourth of July
birthday party at Sharon's house.</em></div>
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<img alt="scan0015" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0015.jpg" height="596" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0015.jpg" width="412" /></div>
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<em>Below:
my oldest, my great-niece Dawn and my niece Gina</em><a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/GinaDawnandBill.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/GinaDawnandBill.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter wp-image-2356" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/GinaDawnandBill.jpg" height="401" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/GinaDawnandBill.jpg" width="597" /></a></div>
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<em>Below:
my sister Dot and her husband Tom...late 80's.</em><a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0028.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0028.jpg"><img alt="scan0028" class="aligncenter wp-image-2355" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0028-1024x673.jpg" height="364" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0028-1024x673.jpg" width="553" /></a></div>
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<em> Below:
my sister Eunice and her husband Eddie.</em><a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/euniceandeddie.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/euniceandeddie.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter wp-image-2359" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/euniceandeddie-1024x695.jpg" height="417" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/euniceandeddie-1024x695.jpg" width="614" /></a></div>
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<em>Bill and
me at a Fourth of July birthday party for Mama...late early 90's.</em><a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/billanddiannesummer.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/billanddiannesummer.jpg"><img alt="billanddiannesummer" class="aligncenter wp-image-2357" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/billanddiannesummer.jpg" height="386" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/billanddiannesummer.jpg" width="383" /></a></div>
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<em>Below:
my sister Gerry at another Fourth of July at Dot's house... </em><img alt="gerryatdotshouse" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/gerryatdotshouse-953x1024.jpg" height="442" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/gerryatdotshouse-953x1024.jpg" width="412" /></div>
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<em> Below:
three of my nieces at Dot's house...late 80's.</em><img alt="scan0111" class="aligncenter" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0111-1024x684.jpg" height="410" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0111-1024x684.jpg" width="614" /></div>
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<em>Below:
Mama's Fourth of July birthday party at my niece Sharon's house - about 1982.
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<em>My
youngest is in the "firetruck" and my great-nephew is on his bike.</em> <a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0089.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0089.jpg"><img alt="scan0089" class="aligncenter wp-image-2364" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0089-1024x696.jpg" height="376" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0089-1024x696.jpg" width="553" /></a> </div>
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<em>Below:
my oldest two with their "Mamaw"...about 1990...at Dot's house.</em><img alt="scan0126" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0126-1024x688.jpg" height="372" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0126-1024x688.jpg" width="553" /> </div>
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<em>Below:
my sister Gerry and her husband, my niece and her son (who is now in his third
year of medical school!)</em><a data-mce-href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0118.jpg" href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0118.jpg"><img alt="scan0118" class="aligncenter wp-image-2366" data-mce-src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0118-1024x684.jpg" height="369" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/scan0118-1024x684.jpg" width="553" /></a> </div>
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<em>My
niece...Gerry's older daughter. I wish you could hear her play the
piano...</em> </div>
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<em>As published in </em><a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/"><em>Sweet Journey Home</em></a><em> today...</em></div>
SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-48986522269978839152013-04-10T08:14:00.001-07:002013-05-06T08:33:12.348-07:00Fifty years ago and a convertible...<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/KHSgraduatesinconvertible.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1410" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/KHSgraduatesinconvertible.jpg" title="KHSgraduatesinconvertible" /></a></div>
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It was a beautiful day in Memphis…May 1963. We had just graduated from high school, and from the smiles on our faces, we were happy about that. We all piled into this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morris_Minor">Morris Minor</a> convertible and someone snapped the photo...magically capturing a moment in time.<br />
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There were applications for college or other plans for futures already set in place. There were over 200 of us in that graduating class. I made it to the 10th and 20th KHS reunions, but most of my classmates I would never see again. I wasn’t aware of that sad fact on this happy day above.<br />
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Fifty years ago there were no computers as we know today, no internet, no email and most of us didn’t have automobiles. We used the telephone to call one another as soon as we walked home from school to talk about our day. Nevermind, we had just seen one another an hour or so before. We were all great students with good grades. We were in the Honor Society, Student Council, Talon yearbook staff and different other extracurricular activities. We did a lot of things as groups – like roller skating on Friday nights. We all loved roller skating! I can still remember the thrill of skating fast in the roller rink to the sounds of the 50′s and 60′s rock and roll! I loved skating backwards. I would love to try roller skating again with my grandchildren…but somehow, fifty years later, I’m afraid I’d break a hip!<br />
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Most of our mothers sewed our clothes and we all had great wardrobes. To school we wore saddle oxfords and penny loafers (usually with white socks) or flats. On Sundays, we wore “high heels” with hosiery. By the time we were in college, the heels were really high and were called “spikes”! Not as high as the platform “stilletos” today but definitely high heels. Oh funny things, memories…<br />
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I saw this photo for the first time yesterday on Facebook (shared by a friend in my KHS class and used with her permission). The memories came flooding in. You may think you have forgotten something but you haven’t. Those memories are still there…just layered over with years and years of other memories in time.<br />
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<i>In case you can’t tell which one I am in the photo above – I’m the one standing up. In the photo below I am second from right.</i> <img alt=";-)" class="wp-smiley" src="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/wp-includes/images/smilies/icon_wink.gif" /><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Originally published in my other blog, </span></i><a href="http://www.sweetjourneyhome.com/"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Sweet Journey Home</span></i></a><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">.</span></i></div>
SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-63455848384410546052013-02-17T12:06:00.001-08:002013-03-16T08:30:03.357-07:00Remembering Daddy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrfIFvB9X5OKnMeMmVcpJ2M2n2R08C_5n70i4xTiuZ3BDzX7k3BpZKkzrJfGx22Sx16s6XAzl5HwGiNeZZMhyphenhyphenZPaXl8k5h42C-D7XmiiMqyXJ8IF89lVQ6n587Ds6MbFWTcChpyUzoBty/s1600/Justin+and+Papaw+2+great+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrfIFvB9X5OKnMeMmVcpJ2M2n2R08C_5n70i4xTiuZ3BDzX7k3BpZKkzrJfGx22Sx16s6XAzl5HwGiNeZZMhyphenhyphenZPaXl8k5h42C-D7XmiiMqyXJ8IF89lVQ6n587Ds6MbFWTcChpyUzoBty/s400/Justin+and+Papaw+2+great+photo.jpg" width="262" /></a>Today is Daddy's birthday. I am wondering if birthdays are celebrated in Heaven. If so - <em>and I'm inclined to think they are</em> - then Mama, Daddy, my sisters Dot and Gerry, Bill - my husband of 39 years and his parents Frank and Bobbie, my maternal and paternal grandparents and all the host of family and friends who've gone before are celebrating this sweet and gentle man's life. </div>
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Time has eased the deep pain of losing each of my parents, but I miss them still. I miss my sisters. I miss hearing their voices and their sweet counsel whenever I shared a problem or decision I was facing. I especially miss the times we four sisters had together and all the laughter. I'm thankful that my sister Eunice remains on this earth with me and I've told her that I have to go first! Funny, I know, but I was serious!<br />
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Christmas of 2011, I had (most of) this blog professionally published as a gift for my children, grandchildren, my sister Eunice and all my nieces and nephews. Needless to say, it was an expensive Christmas but well worth it. I'm better at expressing myself on paper than in person and I wanted my children to know as many of the stories that I could remember.<br />
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<em>I'm thankful for a legacy that may not have included an abundance of possessions...but a great deal of love.</em><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo above: My youngest with my Dad - his "Papaw" - when he was about three years old</em>.</span><br />
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SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-35242299330844834752012-07-03T18:37:00.002-07:002012-08-10T08:56:12.389-07:00Happy Birthday, Mama...<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a data-mce-href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th.jpg" href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter wp-image-5732" data-mce-src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th-686x1024.jpg" height="491" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/mamaanddaddydotshousejuly4th-686x1024.jpg" width="330" /></a></div>
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Mama was born on the 4th of July. Every year, the family gathered for a picnic and cookout with all the trimmings in her honor. In later years, it was held at my oldest sister Dot's house because she had a swimming pool. Memphis is hot in the summertime and the kids loved the pool. Dot would bake a large chocolate sheet cake with a hint of cinnamon and a delicious chocolate icing. Sometimes, she'd decorate the top. It was so very good. My mouth waters just remembering. With the cake, there would be homemade vanilla ice cream, usually my sister Gerry's specialty. Before dessert, of course, there would be delicious grilled hamburgers, baked beans, potato salad and other wonderful dishes. In later years, we'd sometimes order Memphis barbeque at its best - from Corky's.</div>
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<em>Yes, I know that July 4th represents Independence Day...but not to me. To me, it is Mama's birthday. The day is filled with memories that make me wish I could turn the clock back and we'd all be together celebrating. Little did I know then, how quickly time would pass...</em><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>Dianne and Gerry at Mama's 4th of July birthday party at Dot's house. About 1990.</em></span></div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-27466271423522361182012-02-17T14:15:00.000-08:002012-02-17T14:19:36.510-08:00Legacy...<div class="art-postcontent">As published in <a href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/">My Southern Heart</a>...<br />
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Today is my Daddy’s birthday and I’m missing him. He was born on February 17, 1905…the youngest of seven children. His father and grandfather before him were farmers in the rich farmland of the Mississippi Delta. With a legacy bestowed by their Scottish immigrant ancestors, they had strong work ethics, Christian values and believed in the strength of family.<br />
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I never heard my Daddy raise his voice in anger or utter a curse word in my entire life. He was a strong but gentle man. As the father of four daughters, he was mellow and laid-back – I supposed he had to be. With a quick and ready smile, he had a good sense of humor. As children, my niece Sharon and I would get to laughing at the supper table and could easily get him to laugh. On more than a few occasions, we were sent from the table until we regained our composure.<br />
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He and Mama spent a lifetime together. After a severe stroke claimed her speech and altered her personality, he was kind and patient with her. In the last few months of his life, one of his favorite country songs that he would listen to often was “I’ll Go to My Grave Loving You” by the Statler Brothers. He loved her and us, his four daughters, with all his heart. He also loved his grandchildren. I just wish that he could have lived long enough to meet my grandchildren. My oldest grandson has my Daddy’s olive complexion, dark brown eyes and very dark brown hair. My Dad was the only grandparent or great-grandparent with those features, and I love the fact that my grandson inherited them.<br />
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Daddy was an “old-time” Democrat, which my son says today would, most likely, be the Libertarian party. He believed in searching for the candidate who would be the strongest leader…the one with the most integrity and character. He was also not fond of “big government”. I’ve wondered what he would have to say about the November election and which candidate he would choose. I think I have an idea.<br />
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<em>I’m truly thankful for the legacy that my parents left my sisters and me…</em><br />
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<em><img alt="" class="alignleft" height="400" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/mamaanddaddy-686x1024.jpg" title="Mama and Daddy" width="268" /></em></div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-48309055321369579822011-10-18T17:09:00.001-07:002012-08-12T18:44:58.980-07:00One amazing life...<div style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #141613; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin: 10px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Gerry.jpg" style="color: #99420f; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-5284" height="392" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Gerry.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(253, 253, 252); display: block; margin: 10px auto;" title="Gerry" width="576" /></a><em>In memory of my sister, Sarah Geraldine “Gerry” McGregor Harden. </em></div>
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<em></em><em>August 1, 1930 – October 13, 2011</em></div>
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I was in Chicago when the sad news came. My sister had lost her courageous battle with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). She was, at that moment, in Heaven…surrounded by a host of loved ones who’d gone before. The Bible says “absent from the body, present with the Lord”. Praise God!</div>
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I changed my reservations and flew South. My plans had been to travel South on Sunday and spend the week with my sister…<em>but Heaven needed her sooner.</em> On Sunday, we celebrated the amazing life of my beautiful sister at her funeral service in the church she has attended for 50+ years. There in the midst of the beautiful stained glass windows and an exquisite blanket of Autumn flowers, a host of family and friends met to remember and grieve together. I was reminded of the song “Thank You for giving to the Lord” for that is what she did. Because she loved her Saviour, she gave so selflessly…to each and every one of us, her family…and the very long line of friends at the church. We love you and miss you, Gerry, but we’ll see you again in Heaven. How I thank God that I am so blessed to call you SISTER.<br />
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<br /></div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-27564863843329831152011-07-04T16:13:00.000-07:002011-07-04T16:15:53.571-07:00The Fourth of July...<a _mce_href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/mamaanddaddy.jpg" href="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/mamaanddaddy.jpg" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img _mce_src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/mamaanddaddy-686x1024.jpg" alt="" class="size-large wp-image-4958 " height="400" src="http://www.mysouthernheart.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/mamaanddaddy-686x1024.jpg" title="Mama and Daddy" width="268" /></a>Mama was born on July 4, 1904, in the "hills" of Mississippi to parents of Irish ancestry...parents who cherished their six children, three sons and three daughters. As a young woman, Mama had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and was very petite. Even at her tallest, before the osteoporosis in later years, she was barely five feet. Although she never had the opportunity to pursue training, she could play the piano and organ "by ear" and sang beautifully. An accomplished seamstress, she possessed an amazing talent with a needle and thread. Through the years, she made much of our clothing, quilts and curtains. She was artistic and could sketch whatever she wanted to create. Down through the years, I would see these same talents emerge in her daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. <br />
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In the course of working on my family's ancestry, I found a newspaper clipping from the newspaper in the small Mississippi town where she, my dad and my sisters lived before I was born. There was a description of the large fourth of July birthday party the family gave for Mama and all the relatives who attended. It talks about everyone enjoying the great food, especially the homemade ice cream. I could just imagine all those tables set up outside beneath those tall Mississippi pines on a hot summer's day. <br />
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All through the years as I was growing up, and even when my children were young, my sisters and our families would get together for Thanksgiving, Christmas and the fourth of July for Mama's birthday. In later years, when everyone had their own traditions for Thanksgiving and Christmas, it was the Fourth of July that became our family reunion time...and a celebration of Mama's birthday. It was a fun time with the entire family together, celebrating with an abundance of good food and much laughter. <br />
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After Mama and Daddy both passed away, my sisters and I tried to continue the fourth of July tradition. Eventually, the family grew even larger with an ever widening circle as each of our children married, had children and started traditions of their own. <em>In time, the fourth of July celebration was just a memory...but a deeply embedded one</em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv01qL1HZR_ImgMlvCSL9KkGS2eAnaASUoKc0HPtlDen6yER9ZQ6cVAc_N85D0A-Ze64Faowv3CwzP63j13Ojg-aGXaJjP7SEaNrfRIa1C5kUL0lxolv8l28wDKoyNMmhdxqzb2gK9xVFF/s1600/sisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv01qL1HZR_ImgMlvCSL9KkGS2eAnaASUoKc0HPtlDen6yER9ZQ6cVAc_N85D0A-Ze64Faowv3CwzP63j13Ojg-aGXaJjP7SEaNrfRIa1C5kUL0lxolv8l28wDKoyNMmhdxqzb2gK9xVFF/s400/sisters.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My sisters and I...about 1960.</div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-22355782171738350942011-06-19T09:29:00.000-07:002011-06-20T09:38:42.938-07:00Father's Day...Today is Father's Day and my mind is full of memories. I was 45 years old when I lost my Dad at the age of 86. I look back now and realize that forty-five was young to lose my father, but my children would be younger still when they lost their Dad. <br />
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Life is precious...and altogether fragile. Five years ago, my children and I came face to face with that fact when their father had a sudden massive coronary; and, at the all too young age of 62, he was gone. He had been the love of my life for forty years...four decades. We'd had a sad ending to our story for after 39 years of marriage, it had ended in divorce. My heart had been broken, but I had loved him still even then. Seven and a half months later, he was gone. I was left with memories and a string of what-ifs. It was an extremely hard time for my children and me. We'd all had so much to deal with in the loss of the family as we'd known it and then a loss so great it would take years to heal. Time helps a little. Over time, pain has a way of softening at the edges. <br />
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He was a wonderful Dad and my children miss him so much. I miss him. I'm sad that he never really knew our grandchildren as they got older. That hurts a lot. I try to talk about him when I'm with them. I tell them little ways my son or daughter is like their father. I show them pictures and I tell them about him. I don't want them to forget him...although they were so young they barely remember him. I'd like to think that somehow he will know it when our newest grandbaby...a precious little girl...is born this September. I love my children so very much and I'm glad he was their father. <br />
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He died in the month of April, and that first Father's Day after his death, there was so much pain and hurt for all of us. I wanted something that would, in a way, be "from him" for our children. For our daughter, I chose the little Willow Tree "Father and Daughter" carving and for our two sons the "Father and Son" carving. I hope each time they look at it, they remember all the good times and the great memories...<em>for there were a lot of those</em>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt6Hnj7FQpnptABE-2tVzKFSd59_lVjaOsX6yR1d0yjcagIO_CMO2xP-01rf6FU67SgzG37bTaXpqPVBiQ3pYFw-pta3cQAOa1mZav-UL2n0wPiJAvv48mcZPq__FsiKd3Bw55e-lqW5_/s1600/father-and-daughter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt6Hnj7FQpnptABE-2tVzKFSd59_lVjaOsX6yR1d0yjcagIO_CMO2xP-01rf6FU67SgzG37bTaXpqPVBiQ3pYFw-pta3cQAOa1mZav-UL2n0wPiJAvv48mcZPq__FsiKd3Bw55e-lqW5_/s320/father-and-daughter.png" width="301" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYFsCs8ZXR-BGTluKea6uozexCfnEXB-DzVKePZu96INw3cMQyeK3Q15DZZMP9dFeJ16L_6D2czRq75f72xdbuDRvef_dJPySBkyNw9vaHi_-2sQ5aRuCL2S-JEknwcb644reJk7y1Gc1/s1600/fatherandson.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmYFsCs8ZXR-BGTluKea6uozexCfnEXB-DzVKePZu96INw3cMQyeK3Q15DZZMP9dFeJ16L_6D2czRq75f72xdbuDRvef_dJPySBkyNw9vaHi_-2sQ5aRuCL2S-JEknwcb644reJk7y1Gc1/s320/fatherandson.png" width="235" /></a></div><br />
<em>I'm in the process of scanning forty years worth of photos...a lifetime. I want each of my children to have a record of our family. It will take me a while but this is important; and I will get it done.</em><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<strong>Just a few of the memories of a lifetime...</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(The order of everything is still a time-intensive work-in-progress but I wanted to show the slideshow with this post.)</span><br />
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</noscript>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-24372694235483825542010-10-31T13:30:00.000-07:002010-11-01T09:55:58.712-07:00Down memory lane...<em>Growing up on Victor Drive, Halloween was a fun time. We dressed like hobos or some other easy costume and went "trick or treating". Walking around those tree-lined blocks, we'd gather homemade popcorn balls wrapped in cellophane, hand-dipped cinnamon redhot apples or caramel apples...and lots of candy bars. We never ventured too far from home. It was safe because these were our friends and neighbors...in a different time and place. </em><br />
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<em>As our children were growing up, we'd often get together with my husband's sister and her family for Halloween. We'd have a Mexican fiesta and then go "trick or treating". Fun memories...</em><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1r2Vj6XMCeHIFOvldfzt79PUn-gRu6Ptczn2UAU6lZX1sje14NgYVKa3KqL2XAcADMI9tY4XJBLgLWsYaZ4_IZDF8perLAflkBR7vDw-e2XvXTI-amgVPLq_1ZbmAL3xkvzmsiQ1GfDR/s1600/H1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1r2Vj6XMCeHIFOvldfzt79PUn-gRu6Ptczn2UAU6lZX1sje14NgYVKa3KqL2XAcADMI9tY4XJBLgLWsYaZ4_IZDF8perLAflkBR7vDw-e2XvXTI-amgVPLq_1ZbmAL3xkvzmsiQ1GfDR/s400/H1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eating candy in a little house on Rhea Avenue many years ago...<br />
I'm sure I brushed their teeth! ;-)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYSTnbGQq2ePljao3XGLdTtvI7VMa2NkxVcnb8UvTKYF4JfTuYw5u0knj8ebJQNgxlzWMh1n8qny-D5P2THjHZiJqu9TGTFzOnZUiGCixQlH18Dfq6UXkDlMsN08JXKQCZ9DsUEJ2i_9p/s1600/H2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYSTnbGQq2ePljao3XGLdTtvI7VMa2NkxVcnb8UvTKYF4JfTuYw5u0knj8ebJQNgxlzWMh1n8qny-D5P2THjHZiJqu9TGTFzOnZUiGCixQlH18Dfq6UXkDlMsN08JXKQCZ9DsUEJ2i_9p/s400/H2.jpg" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love those chubby little cheeks!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLE0XOfbXhmeIXdLL1xrjMk6uSTXb-UIOiryMo4jT_1VUpO4dk5t-CFvSINTn1zD0iM3DmR71SQpVPiywWFDKB3FBHzYdiEVwmEg-RYu2zUbyKux7q8rE7XecSIchuWpF5lu44RIwsJDOt/s1600/JSThalloween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLE0XOfbXhmeIXdLL1xrjMk6uSTXb-UIOiryMo4jT_1VUpO4dk5t-CFvSINTn1zD0iM3DmR71SQpVPiywWFDKB3FBHzYdiEVwmEg-RYu2zUbyKux7q8rE7XecSIchuWpF5lu44RIwsJDOt/s640/JSThalloween.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My youngest (left), age 5, and two of his cousins on Halloween in Memphis years ago...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYpo7BD6mY-cRK3lKKm6MEuk5M2F54yVqLmHbHCXG2GSPivu1DlPvPKaxuAlahk2amXT47bOCpB5mRTva2aK5A0fHhSym7wpGNi-EHnW6IK8GZj4J_6GGoyDa9o_Gc6xsmfxP_cuk7Fgh/s1600/JSThalloween2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYpo7BD6mY-cRK3lKKm6MEuk5M2F54yVqLmHbHCXG2GSPivu1DlPvPKaxuAlahk2amXT47bOCpB5mRTva2aK5A0fHhSym7wpGNi-EHnW6IK8GZj4J_6GGoyDa9o_Gc6xsmfxP_cuk7Fgh/s400/JSThalloween2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin and his three cousins "trick or treating" in Memphis.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1z8y-J_ZSaUHSLJD0Thpz05rrn7ku2TNY4sQmtEcswT8PfktpQV9etnv5hLiTpz6azClYwi6npVEAb10BL-Mz_Dz6C9qgTcStzohV8_SAAHRzp0zP8cDkzVBoNVjYlXHJZewmIP4XD-NP/s1600/H4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1z8y-J_ZSaUHSLJD0Thpz05rrn7ku2TNY4sQmtEcswT8PfktpQV9etnv5hLiTpz6azClYwi6npVEAb10BL-Mz_Dz6C9qgTcStzohV8_SAAHRzp0zP8cDkzVBoNVjYlXHJZewmIP4XD-NP/s400/H4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <br />
Twenty-five years ago! My baby boy's kindergarten party at Halloween...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibACCBcjsslO71uo0FUFKOd147JBEVEidf6t3M2J6w7mzOiHjOrXcFSs3Xd7Z2aCkZekis3aoLWT4JxhsO9Da8cgVLg3KZuhLVUctUGfCJoMfMyRnw7jWmLleqmrkqdyiXjjOaFOJWdABf/s1600/H3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibACCBcjsslO71uo0FUFKOd147JBEVEidf6t3M2J6w7mzOiHjOrXcFSs3Xd7Z2aCkZekis3aoLWT4JxhsO9Da8cgVLg3KZuhLVUctUGfCJoMfMyRnw7jWmLleqmrkqdyiXjjOaFOJWdABf/s640/H3.jpg" width="406" /></a></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAdj0JbmyRFDDBTCZlZFRZxPTq3Wkj_phb0kMuBmGgbPpYc8uUrXINRVzzEUQ3vdVts7oNdilmrNin6DY5H59LI1_bKUJ7ed-YPeGFfas_ABev7erGTcFZtm1E2bfIVMQfYznCzDPxH4K/s1600/bryceasskunk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAdj0JbmyRFDDBTCZlZFRZxPTq3Wkj_phb0kMuBmGgbPpYc8uUrXINRVzzEUQ3vdVts7oNdilmrNin6DY5H59LI1_bKUJ7ed-YPeGFfas_ABev7erGTcFZtm1E2bfIVMQfYznCzDPxH4K/s320/bryceasskunk.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first grandchild dressed in a "skunk" costume my daughter made! The costume made the rounds through the years.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvZScZe8co583GpWOCQTZhdpqXA1057IlCP5YOXf9Q-qAPlx2o00kf-Sb2p9_0XUqC-wL84Xy5HFeOK4fHvyXOL2oS7JKMLGA3Ox8HxOWqltk7cux4drnVfJnQyq_pyUAAIhuFtEK4bqbM/s1600/H5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvZScZe8co583GpWOCQTZhdpqXA1057IlCP5YOXf9Q-qAPlx2o00kf-Sb2p9_0XUqC-wL84Xy5HFeOK4fHvyXOL2oS7JKMLGA3Ox8HxOWqltk7cux4drnVfJnQyq_pyUAAIhuFtEK4bqbM/s400/H5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awww, Mom! That's enough pictures! Let's go get some candy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj90eroqJ63GzNdyl1CCLugIvL9rTEONRXOZfH3hPngATsQtfcv7hQJKJL7d8Uif-oJUvfm0rimGf_2gAAtKEPDVVUBV0_ZPbYSCeJZJF593b-5mxo9-tCLIDuV54ERUYqpCFUpb5YjJg7/s1600/Halloweenphotos2004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj90eroqJ63GzNdyl1CCLugIvL9rTEONRXOZfH3hPngATsQtfcv7hQJKJL7d8Uif-oJUvfm0rimGf_2gAAtKEPDVVUBV0_ZPbYSCeJZJF593b-5mxo9-tCLIDuV54ERUYqpCFUpb5YjJg7/s320/Halloweenphotos2004.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now, baby sister was the skunk!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPEQ16TEfUmnZ_MEoy78IcpQUXmCHoTlpE1nVBGDgNYTrM8FT_M2UdK4FHApck8oCyQDSr6tl4cHBlH9T25g4AuMYNerJWJGaoBYpjNqsbElNL6p1nZHyN9K1-0ebu6f5WJNH4n-kxXdj/s1600/H6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPEQ16TEfUmnZ_MEoy78IcpQUXmCHoTlpE1nVBGDgNYTrM8FT_M2UdK4FHApck8oCyQDSr6tl4cHBlH9T25g4AuMYNerJWJGaoBYpjNqsbElNL6p1nZHyN9K1-0ebu6f5WJNH4n-kxXdj/s320/H6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All these years later and my baby girl still likes dressing up for Halloween! </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaMjZMAYpTarhZN8Iu7iRHji26gwUbqHaehYjb-i0ZMAvVis4Y9h63S8HALMbxo0psDDUodhTvjajcyIGl_DEHPzZSvKBKhhArWB78wKaCd5e6IVoeWsTCBq3wqa5bnY5-Tbio1bIF87R/s1600/BryceatHalloweenParty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaMjZMAYpTarhZN8Iu7iRHji26gwUbqHaehYjb-i0ZMAvVis4Y9h63S8HALMbxo0psDDUodhTvjajcyIGl_DEHPzZSvKBKhhArWB78wKaCd5e6IVoeWsTCBq3wqa5bnY5-Tbio1bIF87R/s320/BryceatHalloweenParty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOB3_gropT6VG6ZnxcR1l49tLQbpZRJ3_mnJPvzXe5d_Z-T7d8jMOso554DGy373uRuKAwFNLdt7HrW8I0sdHjhYNSxeqJ5rjLoXUqtyYCWRYMFhskQIl0tvi7saKjFyOgnhrTI9pYhzJ3/s1600/H9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOB3_gropT6VG6ZnxcR1l49tLQbpZRJ3_mnJPvzXe5d_Z-T7d8jMOso554DGy373uRuKAwFNLdt7HrW8I0sdHjhYNSxeqJ5rjLoXUqtyYCWRYMFhskQIl0tvi7saKjFyOgnhrTI9pYhzJ3/s400/H9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was "Grumpy" here but wasn't too keen on keeping the beard on! Check out my grandson's "peregrine falcon" costume that my daughter created (totally her creation)! My grandson was studying birds at the time and that was what he wanted! </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aA5mlTs8g35Iy8makFMbJdvqS6-zfasQLVnO9Rz71yFC7XD1L57U6MbYKLHdpF3PWTy3bLp8Wg_vNYvgBErIsa58C1Ptg-ea1pylqGnOtpGnwIaANg3Gf7lGLq0Fmj3HBEU2Krd62u0L/s1600/H7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aA5mlTs8g35Iy8makFMbJdvqS6-zfasQLVnO9Rz71yFC7XD1L57U6MbYKLHdpF3PWTy3bLp8Wg_vNYvgBErIsa58C1Ptg-ea1pylqGnOtpGnwIaANg3Gf7lGLq0Fmj3HBEU2Krd62u0L/s320/H7.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6dxRdQ8LE-D5GLNQea-dBaQwRHadLn_l25_Vv8EQzAErqobawXm3qbkfkJOIqPn0e8uQlmcmA1i4mmPLM7LIcH6yuBKXpMMTMkUqO8P5CTXuG2kco8oHc-vsiiU7jM1RFHKEms6u-pZN/s1600/H8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6dxRdQ8LE-D5GLNQea-dBaQwRHadLn_l25_Vv8EQzAErqobawXm3qbkfkJOIqPn0e8uQlmcmA1i4mmPLM7LIcH6yuBKXpMMTMkUqO8P5CTXuG2kco8oHc-vsiiU7jM1RFHKEms6u-pZN/s320/H8.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<div align="left"><em><span style="font-size: small;">I have several really cute photos of when my oldest two were young at Halloween but can't seem to find those right now. I'll add them when I find them. I'm in the midst of organizing photo albums after many years...sound familiar to anyone else out there?!</span></em></div></td></tr>
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I've had the most wonderful, peaceful vision of her reunited in Heaven with her loving husband, her son (my husband of 39 years), her parents and grandparents, my parents, my sister and a host of other family and friends. I'm sure, by now, she has talked to Jesus and finds Heaven "glorious" (her word!).<br />
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For those who know the Lord, the Bible says "absent from the body, present with the Lord" (II Cor. 5:8), interlocking circles...not one single moment in time when we are not with Him. Sadly, due to the distance (I'm in Oregon) and the time (the funeral is tomorrow), I couldn't be there this weekend. I will be traveling South in a couple of weeks for some wonderful, unhurried time with family then...<br />
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<em>This is Bobbie, my other mother of almost 40 years, and me at my younger son's wedding four years ago. As the music played at the wedding reception to introduce the wedding party and family, the two of us "danced" in together. She was fun loving...</em><br />
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<em>Bobbie and Frank...this photo was taken many years ago when he was home on leave during the war. She was always a snappy, snazzy dresser. With red hair and green eyes, she loved dressing up and wearing beautiful, vibrant colors</em>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK9dGQ6jzTlKKTPRRyzAB4-LxblIPXRvZm2sDqsJ979oS8YS7-hcbf4k028Pzi3JLkQvao4pV1LfCsiWT58uB0mkzqyulGNfBj7Hdd_aZ9CMkrABxhztA2DYJ2myDTzpYGM4iE5p_31GM/s1600/frankandbobbieyoung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK9dGQ6jzTlKKTPRRyzAB4-LxblIPXRvZm2sDqsJ979oS8YS7-hcbf4k028Pzi3JLkQvao4pV1LfCsiWT58uB0mkzqyulGNfBj7Hdd_aZ9CMkrABxhztA2DYJ2myDTzpYGM4iE5p_31GM/s640/frankandbobbieyoung.jpg" width="457" /></a></div>
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<em>This photo below was probably taken about 1944. Bobbie and her firstborn, my future husband, taking a walk. I was born on his birthday exactly two years later. Notice her suit. I love the clothes from the 40's!</em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqctlgCLVNDdK0ha9UUOdhtFYA90bXdbJnAcuBFPxuamsDOlzii8HzTeW4hnH2j3pIIpZ8pAReEmUcHWB4-3nPd41fmHqRysEawQGT3OCeYJZhujTKlpsVZtCl18bAcrVW6OderdMci-2/s1600/bobbieandbilltoddler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqctlgCLVNDdK0ha9UUOdhtFYA90bXdbJnAcuBFPxuamsDOlzii8HzTeW4hnH2j3pIIpZ8pAReEmUcHWB4-3nPd41fmHqRysEawQGT3OCeYJZhujTKlpsVZtCl18bAcrVW6OderdMci-2/s640/bobbieandbilltoddler.jpg" width="386" /></a></div>
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<em>A sweet family portrait. This photo was probably taken during the early 50's. I love Penny's curls! Actually, my daughter's youngest daughter looks a lot like Penny here!</em><br />
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<em>I think the photo below was taken at Libertyland in Memphis. They were probably about my age here. </em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherOG-TVYfg7_Q24VhGHwBstqoy9untgQb3CoHfB8iJTXib5oP08CbH2sIK-l-WYJgjyUwcuoZ4tYHnaTSFoAbLvDL-IWk99rmIGVNxVr0ZgecT_ZdqMpothIx0ZdC8uXdaUWdJSIlxEFW/s1600/boompaandboommacarousel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherOG-TVYfg7_Q24VhGHwBstqoy9untgQb3CoHfB8iJTXib5oP08CbH2sIK-l-WYJgjyUwcuoZ4tYHnaTSFoAbLvDL-IWk99rmIGVNxVr0ZgecT_ZdqMpothIx0ZdC8uXdaUWdJSIlxEFW/s400/boompaandboommacarousel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-13118728653434871042010-09-20T14:23:00.000-07:002010-09-22T22:21:10.800-07:00Diane...I spent a couple of hours sitting on the floor of the closet this morning...surrounded by boxes of papers. In the process of searching for a particular document, I came across cards and letters that I've kept for decades. One of my favorite finds was a letter written forty years ago by my friend <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/11/remembering-ross.html">Diane</a>, one of my dear church friends from my high school years. Born and raised in Louisiana, Diane was beautiful with the dark brown eyes and dark hair of her Cajun French ancestors.<br />
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Diane had married right after graduating from Memphis State and moved to California to be with her young husband who was in the Navy. From there, they moved to Colorado, and then, years later, to Okalahoma. We kept in touch for a while. She had a daughter and then a son. I had a son, a daughter, a son. We exchanged Christmas cards and phone calls from time to time. Then I went to nursing school and life got even busier. We moved out of state and, eventually, Diane and I lost touch.<br />
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Using the internet, I tracked Diane down about seven or eight years ago and telephoned her. We talked for a long time. She had bone cancer but was fighting it. We discussed trying to meet in Memphis in the near future. It had been so many years. Through my struggles of the past five years, Diane and I once again lost contact. I forgot her married name. I couldn't find her. Today, holding the letter from Diane in my hands, I had her last name. Once again, using the internet, I searched for Diane. <em>This time</em>, I found a beautifully written obituary and tribute. She died in 2009. Her husband passed away several years before her. Her sister Yvonne, another church friend from my teen years, had also preceded her in death. I sat at my computer, looking at the photos of her life over the past four decades and reading her obituary and I cried. I couldn't help it...<br />
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<em>So, once again, I've been reminded how short life is. I made up my mind to write the Christmas letter again this year that I've neglected for the past five years and to reconnect with those long lost friends who are still living...</em>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-8026821236958528922010-09-12T10:14:00.000-07:002010-09-19T12:14:00.064-07:00Mama and the pizza...It was the late 1950's. We were living in the house on Victor Drive with the sunny windows and the knotty pine dining room with the corner china cabinets. It was a time of early rock and roll, dancing and pizza. Our first introduction to pizza was from George, a big, strong, dark-haired cajun planter from Louisiana. All these years later, and I remember George Broussard like it was yesterday. He was Glenda's boyfriend and Glenda was Dot's best friend. So we all spent a lot of time together in that little house on Victor Drive.<br />
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George had a booming voice and a great laugh. His conversation was sprinkled with a few cajun words here and there, and he loved to kid Mama. One weekend, he brought a large, filled-to-the-brim pizza over for lunch. We'd never even <em>seen </em>a pizza. I have to admit, at first glance, I had my doubts. All these years later, I've had the best Chicago pizza in downtown Chicago...so I'd have to say I know good pizza. I don't know where George got it, but that was some pizza! Mama took one look at it and had her doubts too. It, obviously, wasn't Southern vegetables and cornbread. She almost didn't try it, but she did...and she fell in love with George's pizza. The best I recall all these years later, I'd say it was a thin-crust, SUPREME pizza and it was, indeed, delicious.<br />
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Quite frequently after that, George would arrive with Glenda on his arm and toting another gift for Mama...a pizza supreme. I'm not sure that George ever knew that Mama became a serious pizza fan after that. She tried making it from scratch from time to time, but when she was in a hurry, she'd resort to Chef Boyardee. Not too sure that George would have approved of that...SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-59223977968470472082010-09-10T09:57:00.000-07:002010-09-14T13:26:00.652-07:00The paper trail...tracks in time: Mike<div align="left">When I was younger, <em>and the family members with most of the answers were still living</em>, I was too busy to care. I was a young wife with three children to raise, a home to take care of and a nursing career. It never occurred to me to search for "ancestors" or even to ask about them. What a shame - the answers were there.<br />
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For the past few weeks, I've searched for information about William Merle Jordan - or "Mike" as he was affectionately known. He was my oldest sister's first love...in all honesty, the love of her life. They met in Clarksdale, Mississippi, in the mid-forties. I wish I had asked my sister just <em>how </em>they'd met. I've seen pictures of Mike...a handsome young man with striking blue eyes. I see those blue eyes now in his daughter, Sharon. I see a remarkable resemblance to him in Sharon's son, Michael. My sister did tell me the story about the days not long after they'd met, when Mike worked as a "milk man" in Clarksdale. Quite often, on an early morning, he would leave two quarts of chocolate milk in the old-fashioned glass bottles on the door step of our home as a gift for my sister and the family, a sweet simple gesture and a luxury at that time. </div><div align="left"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO30GMxLJLVpiSXUIvxllKthWii3QK9CDEjNcHQnTTEYwxTzbSAgDOXlje5lA06u4XkEkrTT1b_D-SOzCG67NaAAIzxFuQ1NIjmGHww7qNg3rToubh0hsc4NqR5D_RgtSRPhYWiqhwn7vB/s1600/mikeanddotbyporch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO30GMxLJLVpiSXUIvxllKthWii3QK9CDEjNcHQnTTEYwxTzbSAgDOXlje5lA06u4XkEkrTT1b_D-SOzCG67NaAAIzxFuQ1NIjmGHww7qNg3rToubh0hsc4NqR5D_RgtSRPhYWiqhwn7vB/s320/mikeanddotbyporch.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Dot and Mike were married on March 1, 1947. They were young and in love...they were happy. They lived for a time in Clarksdale and then we all moved to Memphis. My parents purchased half a large two-story duplex on Chelsea Avenue. Uncle Lester and Aunt Ethel purchased the other half. Dot and Mike had the attic apartment, which my sister Gerry says Dot decorated like <em>Country Living</em> and that it was so cute.</div><div align="left"></div><br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515373825505716482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6U2JYRpxChXEIndUzgP8vWI3eEiUIWpFEy2CVWDoNSBqNBxCNJ4BmlknUjLdXLo3MnPSasot1nTuJKI-bUi90SF8A1Rf-XhDq6ESoWBcLTpbFyp35utOXRR-C3nwcpdCMxcbOwEazY6Vm/s400/Dot21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /><br />
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<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><em>My sister, Dorothy. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties here.</em></span></div><em><span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></em><br />
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My niece, Sharon, was born on September 16, 1948. I was two and a half years old at the time. I must have thought they'd given me a real live baby doll. She had a beautiful olive complexion and big blue eyes just like both of her parents. She also had a shock of thick, dark hair. I love the photos of her with that dark hair sticking straight up! She was a beautiful baby and is still beautiful. </div><br />
<div align="left"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515372385013014162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGFiMje7tJBNnG1yW4aeZTsIXqzMZxWCfzir6CqFNd9pLekpAcGhFkMwCkQ9zVfJ-psHIq4gLADe2wTpYobhpgUg4dx3QNJ7ntNPrPVIZ6F38f5MzRqCjENvhOYfKOUMrYAEDM1NCv-A4/s400/dotdiannesharon.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 335px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /><span style="font-size: 85%;"><em>My sister, Dot, holding Sharon and me sitting beside them. Notice my arm on Dot's knee and Sharon's little hand on my shoulder. You also couldn't miss my brown high tops! </em><em>This photo was taken on the steps of the large duplex on Chelsea.</em></span></div><br />
These were the years following WWII. Times were hard and jobs were scarce. Mike traveled to Texas with his brother Charles to find work. He had lined up a good job as a truck driver which was to have started the first day of February 1949. In the meantime, he was working on a shrimp boat. On Monday morning, January 24, 1949, there was an explosion aboard the <em>Wilda L</em>, a 54-foot shrimping boat, eight miles off the shore of Freeport, Texas. Both the owner of the boat and William Merle "Mike" Jordan were lost to the sea. A search of the waters and through the debris in the hull of the boat failed to locate their bodies.<br />
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My sister and Mike's mother traveled to Freeport, Texas, most likely by train, right after they received word of the explosion. Years later, my sister remembered those dark days, staring out into the deep waters of the Gulf, watching as the Coast Guard searched in vain. She was twenty-one years old at the time with a four-month-old baby girl. Mike was twenty-three. <br />
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On the telephone the other day, Sharon and I both cried as she read to me from the last letters that Mike wrote home to her mother from Texas. He had high hopes and dreams of a better life for them. He loved his baby girl and talked of dreaming about her for several nights in a row. He told my sister to <em>"tell Dianne to be a good baby".</em> I had never thought before about having known Mike, but I did. I had been his baby sister too.<br />
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Sharon says that, over the years, it was just too sad, too difficult, for my sister to talk about Mike very much. After a while, she just quit asking. Now, there are so many questions wanting answers. When Dot and I were working on the McGregor and Haney family histories, she was also working on Mike's family history. Through the archives of Ancestry.Com, I have found some information. Mike's younger sister, now eighty, was able to fill in some of the blanks, but, still, there are so many more unanswered questions.<br />
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We're not giving up. On my next visit South, we'll travel to Clarksdale and to the Mississippi State Archives in Jackson, Mississippi. Hopefully, before then, we'll find some of Mike's father's family members. Right now, it's still a mystery, but the answers are out there. Hopefully, someone will also have photos of Mike's father.<br />
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<em>Sharon does have one small, piece of paper with her Dad's actual signature on it. Amazingly, it bears a striking resemblance to Sharon's...</em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: 85%;">Note: My sister did not remarry until Sharon was in high school, when she married Tom Kemp. He was a wonderful man who loved Dot and her family like his own.</span></em> </div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-64823430330032241682010-08-02T13:43:00.000-07:002010-08-02T14:04:44.714-07:00The Mamie Road Mystery...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog39E0QaojCaON1ArgGLMZV0Smlb0oAgW4Ip0Cvvp9pH-8pl4Xn3SwVAEHmCl5FGF_EzcGZR_O83wcpRu-kJ65rQwwSBoh3JZyjFER5bFF6XuGvA7-Sz2464rZ54UquL4shcwzZJhAR0k/s1600/DianneandSharon50s.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 302px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500913794134424994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog39E0QaojCaON1ArgGLMZV0Smlb0oAgW4Ip0Cvvp9pH-8pl4Xn3SwVAEHmCl5FGF_EzcGZR_O83wcpRu-kJ65rQwwSBoh3JZyjFER5bFF6XuGvA7-Sz2464rZ54UquL4shcwzZJhAR0k/s400/DianneandSharon50s.jpg" /></a> <div></div><div></div><div>It had been fifty-five years since we had lived in that little house on <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/all-too-soon.html">Mamie Road</a>. It was bound to have changed - together with the neighborhood which had been in the countryside when we lived there. During my recent visit home to the South, Sharon and I both wanted to visit that house again and see the neighborhood. We knew, of course, it wouldn't be the same, but we still wanted to see it. We wanted to see where we had lived so many years ago...<br /><br />She reminded me that, <em>now</em>, it isn't the safest neighborhood - definitely not one we'd visit after dark. I still wanted to go and so did she.<br /><br />I can't remember what I bought at the grocery store for supper this week; but, in the recesses of my deepest memory, I found the street address for that little house - 3972. Strange, isn't it? As we drove down Mamie Road, however, nothing looked right. Time had brought so many changes and none for the better. There was a used car lot on the corner now and the little grocery store on the other corner where we used to walk to get things for Mama was now a rundown business of some sort. All too sad. There was some sort of compound behind an elaborate fence where one of the houses used to be and there was one too many houses.<br /></div><div><br />We finally realized that when we lived in that little house, there was a treed <em>vacant</em> lot next door to us. That's why we thought we had such a big yard to play in and that's why there was room for a large garden. Once we realized that, we knew which house was ours. Sharon had a photo (which unfortunately I forgot to scan) that even had the house numbers on it. I was right after all...it was 3972 Mamie Road.<br /></div><div><br />According to the records at the assesor’s office, the house was built in 1947…which meant we either bought it new or not long after<em>. Thankfully</em>, our little house on Mamie Road looked nothing like the current one below. Ours had white clapboard, a dark roof and black shutters. There was no front porch then - just steps. There was no front chain-length fence with a satellite receiver on it. There was an old-fashioned screened door which we'd, no doubt, get in trouble for slamming as we went in and out. There were tall trees and there was grass instead of a front yard of dirt. There was plenty of green grass to do cartwheels on. I do remember that... </div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500911167086764530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmP8EtJ-DOLOTz48kfMoHJMsNtC9wsnJ8PzWl6U3fDVRglYAggBSaY1_THrHum-fY-DXY0e7A7U0jePUObsTKaKtS6c8v_ti_TGyovEy2QDCoWvni2C3Mcw6ErNKHEk-NDxXJkMSJ1SZmj/s400/mamieroad.jpg" />SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-52311053176207056632010-08-01T12:14:00.000-07:002010-08-02T13:00:44.846-07:00Happy Birthday, Sis...<div align="left">Today is my sister's eightieth birthday. She is celebrating with the friends and family who are blessed to be there...I wish I could. Thankfully, I was able to spend time with her during my recent visit home to the South. We had a wonderful time as always. She gave <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/summertime-in-memphis-1950.html">Sharon</a> and me another lesson on how to make her famous Southern cornbread, roast and gravy. Try as I might, mine will never taste as good.<br /><br />I was almost three years old when she and her husband married. We were living in Memphis at the time, and the newlyweds were living in Mississippi. Her husband was working for the railroad at the time. <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/11/four-sisters.html">They would travel by train every weekend</a> so my sister "could come see her baby sister".<br /><br />She has <em>always</em> been there for me and for anyone who needed her. Her heart is made of gold.<br /><br />Happy birthday, Sis. I love you.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO11zS-9UXA0iCiAqyRWT1TME99X9WTvqHIIeswdDyhHUrZ_fmFchPhxKD4d2Vrspvt1tI7hcwEoPeQM3DheakCdySixrToke34gdVbZoa9T1GBE0thiailQQ3tEb3adxUVsxwdHi7evOt/s1600/gerrydotchildren+copy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 278px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500896948936489794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO11zS-9UXA0iCiAqyRWT1TME99X9WTvqHIIeswdDyhHUrZ_fmFchPhxKD4d2Vrspvt1tI7hcwEoPeQM3DheakCdySixrToke34gdVbZoa9T1GBE0thiailQQ3tEb3adxUVsxwdHi7evOt/s400/gerrydotchildren+copy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Left to right: m</em><em>y sister, Gerry, a little friend, and my sister, Dorothy. The photo was made about 1935 in Pontotoc County, Mississippi. I love their dresses which Mama made. Notice the smocking on Gerry's dress and the scalloped collar on Dot's dress.</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><br /> </div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenxG78vnHsXwtHHmf_q4Pxl2vH_HwpVT18NyB9zna6gCqhzup7scepGZ8UgXB1oSGpjVwk3ds_j8dVd9jGqQTuBIEHHLOfQjfTDZotr5IfsONkwmbqXlS2oUdK5VwRyB5LyC24mM-T0Eb/s1600/Gerry18.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500895401331472914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjenxG78vnHsXwtHHmf_q4Pxl2vH_HwpVT18NyB9zna6gCqhzup7scepGZ8UgXB1oSGpjVwk3ds_j8dVd9jGqQTuBIEHHLOfQjfTDZotr5IfsONkwmbqXlS2oUdK5VwRyB5LyC24mM-T0Eb/s400/Gerry18.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> My sister, Gerry, at age eighteen.</span></em></div><div align="left"><br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiez8QDtUkAxNAV05p3Xrk_VqDGCp-PYPB5e_JIOkW7hyphenhyphen1Dz4EGlNQNpvAjx3OzlDfIDAs2qVNE1r18TZQw3imM4D6ZgxFdJBUwWyESoZA8hg_qvDpF0j7vmi8d1dmpsvG8retbDYsknQqi/s1600/DSC03860.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500895091802847650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiez8QDtUkAxNAV05p3Xrk_VqDGCp-PYPB5e_JIOkW7hyphenhyphen1Dz4EGlNQNpvAjx3OzlDfIDAs2qVNE1r18TZQw3imM4D6ZgxFdJBUwWyESoZA8hg_qvDpF0j7vmi8d1dmpsvG8retbDYsknQqi/s400/DSC03860.JPG" /> <p align="center"></a> <em><span style="font-size:85%;">Throughout the years, we've always had a photo of the "four sisters" made at every occasion. This one is one of my favorites and sits on my desk...</span></em><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIb2q9jQzZs380ku7Qx4YgAnvVBXTZIobX7vL3fJx92pQBNP8PzcvTZ9U9_Jo413NrKorEIiRyYD4Dko8XIWskmlyebpM2cBEAuCaA44A3v04jTA1pfN7ObsE9U0APBOyrJZRBzYM4V3e/s1600/Gerryinoxford.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500894647699151858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIb2q9jQzZs380ku7Qx4YgAnvVBXTZIobX7vL3fJx92pQBNP8PzcvTZ9U9_Jo413NrKorEIiRyYD4Dko8XIWskmlyebpM2cBEAuCaA44A3v04jTA1pfN7ObsE9U0APBOyrJZRBzYM4V3e/s400/Gerryinoxford.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em> This photo was made during my visit home to the South last year. </em><em>We were enjoying lunch on the square in Oxford, Mississippi.</em></span></p>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-36377971913325560642010-07-16T08:57:00.000-07:002014-06-18T08:25:49.036-07:00Sweet tea and mysteries...<em><span style="font-size: 85%;">This reflective post was recently featured on my blog, My Southern Heart...</span></em><em><span style="font-size: 85%;">.</span></em><br />
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My sisters, brothers-in-law, two of my nieces and I were sitting around the table after we finished lunch at my sister’s house in their small town in Mississippi. I was enjoying my second glass of sweet tea and the conversation that I would remember and miss when I returned home to Oregon. As I’ve shared with you before, I’m the youngest of four daughters…born when my parents were forty-one years old.<br />
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My parents bought a farm in the small village of Rena Lara, Mississippi, in 1935. I’ve always thought that I lived on that farm. I’ve heard the stories (I thought from my parents) that I had never been scared of the chickens and would march into the barn and tell them to “shoo”. I was told that I had wandered away from the farm and got stuck in the mud up to my little brown high tops at age two. It was my understanding that my big sisters had pulled me on the cotton sack as they “picked cotton”.<br />
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My sisters are 11 and 15 years older than I. My oldest sister passed away several years ago. SHE is the one who would have remembered all these little details. I sat down at the table with paper and pen and informed my family that we were going to do a “time-line” and to put their thinking caps on. An hour or so later, there was a very detailed timeline right there in front of me…a timeline that spelled out clearly that I had NEVER lived on that farm.<br />
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Evidently, all those stories really pertained to the sister who is eleven years older than I. Maybe my parents memories were a little fuzzy. Maybe they just didn’t want me to feel “left out”. I don’t know. They sold the farm in 1945 and moved to Clarksdale, MS., where I was born. My sister remembers pushing me in the stroller on the sidewalks of Clarksdale. There were no sidewalks on the farm. My niece Sharon was born in Clarksdale in September 1948. Not long after that, we moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I was almost three years old.<br />
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And so, for now, I have a bit of an identity crisis. For 64 years, I’ve thought that…at one time in my life…I was a farm girl. I rather enjoyed that picture. Me with the chickens, horses, cows and the big cotton fields. Evidently, it just didn’t happen.<br />
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<em>Maybe it makes the fact I live on a farm now even more special…</em>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-70215658192463305572010-06-04T10:11:00.000-07:002010-06-04T11:23:57.550-07:00Sweet moment in time...<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 247px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478975694187256914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXEW49q3K9fu_BQ2l6vGoOyDwxde3faqyQR7A2MdpX6huOh6Kd33XIT_exayuU-0Q_pgqjJ98rrvU_bSWRZMajB8TQogjTmrUwQUa-dBtSaBcL7Sn4I0mMMkVmuEagJhE5DQPEIHc6anU/s400/beachcandb.jpg" />I remember the day this picture was taken...just like it was yesterday. Actually it was late June, twelve years ago. Our family had rented a large oceanfront house in the village of Duck, North Carolina, on the Outer Banks. The house was perfect with an almost floor to ceiling bank of windows and a spectacular view of the Atlantic Ocean. We were all there - Bill and I, our older son and his new bride, our daughter, her husband and their 5 month old son (our first grandchild) and our younger son...as well as two good family friends who were there for a few days of our vacation.<br /><br />The weather was perfect...perfect for taking long walks on the beach and playing in the surf. We had spent the morning building sandcastles and playing in the ocean on the day this above moment in time was captured. After lunch, my daughter had tried to get my grandson to take a nap. In the end, they both fell asleep on the over-sized L-shaped sofa in the family room.<br /><br />There's something about seeing your baby with her baby, that tugs at your heartstrings and brings back memories. My grandson in the picture above is now twelve years old. He now has two younger sisters and a baby brother. My daughter was telling me just recently about how children grow up too fast. <em>I know. Oh, how I know</em>.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 396px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478977319741679906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkZ1Qti3VcbYMl-MsU9HCg3aUQbFkBAVEYnCShgwyulTMeu4sj2nQUtupDoniLMDSpA7EC_5uvSL96SMNiZKSGIrZtuqyplIG_fTkiKUgLY3-Z3ghENpwa9sBDTVtZi6V4j6sKOUSsCw3/s400/diannechristy2months.jpg" />SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-73958207938433423412010-05-24T14:13:00.000-07:002010-05-24T19:35:38.765-07:00Mama and the violets...<em>The post below was featured today on my other blog, </em><a href="http://www.patacakebabies.com/wordpress"><em>Thinking About it</em></a><em>... I hope you enjoy it!</em><br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474951381973913202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1yzvHTrTHOsA9FUsjZsxwOt69UX-0yFviLNP6w4A3kD77xICNXnBknAvzFp_Jb_I7SYYv-onhN5BM_7-RhRo7CorMjkRB4PbJDbv7RcgMBA0u27TIcZHvRqAwI70nivT2QNP6WYfZkCQW/s400/violets1.jpg" /><br />African violets will always remind me of Mama. She loved them. She loved growing them...along with her peonies, daylilies, daisies, roses, their large vegetable garden and several varieties of fruit trees. She loved taking a "cutting" (a leaf at the steam) and creating a whole new plant - or propagating them. Mama never took a botany class or a horticulture class, but she grew up on a farm in Mississippi. Maybe that explains her amazing touch and love of all growing things.<br /><br />The first time Mama started growing african violets, that I recall, was after Daddy retired and she and Daddy moved to Mississippi. There, they built a new house in the country, next door to my sister's house on the hill. There was a large laundry room with a nice sunny window and that's where the african violets lived. All colors and varieties lived happily side by side and thrived. Mama would mix up the special blue food for the violets, which she kept in a gallon milk container beneath the cabinet, and would feed the beautiful african violets regularly with it. I don't know how she knew what to do, but she did.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNvCKFfJGbfIpmtSFJq3AnCfoyAK_6IUj06rdrTu9UB5Bk2ySS1TLASjPTnWpqJ_S0a5r147VLzAkN9R6e2lh06v5Ym0lKgfP0VVHXXyz25M9omGf_0dRAWOJZda8RUGap_2jeWoklRiZ/s1600/violets2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474951679080364450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuNvCKFfJGbfIpmtSFJq3AnCfoyAK_6IUj06rdrTu9UB5Bk2ySS1TLASjPTnWpqJ_S0a5r147VLzAkN9R6e2lh06v5Ym0lKgfP0VVHXXyz25M9omGf_0dRAWOJZda8RUGap_2jeWoklRiZ/s400/violets2.jpg" /></a> </p><p>Several months ago, my husband, the macho logger tree farmer, came home with two small african violets for me. They were potted in the tiniest little green plastic pots and were beautiful. Totally different but each one exquisite. One had dark purple blooms and the other one white lacy blooms edged in purple. I sighed and shuddered at my next thought - I was afraid I'd kill them.<br /><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpKLVdUiof-GGPGOAyRJqvnTfcHwwXRmTv7KVg3nKaVKxDl9j_DNDCgZjiEelCLys4fE2C59M3-8Asu4UmWQJRkP4NPLFu70OZN6fqdG9EL_WUOrN1LlenkmWLSPRs6RPwfZ0x9iXo7OB/s1600/violets3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474952113800331410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpKLVdUiof-GGPGOAyRJqvnTfcHwwXRmTv7KVg3nKaVKxDl9j_DNDCgZjiEelCLys4fE2C59M3-8Asu4UmWQJRkP4NPLFu70OZN6fqdG9EL_WUOrN1LlenkmWLSPRs6RPwfZ0x9iXo7OB/s400/violets3.jpg" /></a><br />I tried to remember just what Mama had done and then I googled african violets. Come to find out, even without Google, Mama had been right all along. <a href="http://www.gardenguides.com/675-african-violets.html">African violets</a> need to repotted right away in a special soil mixture just for african violets. I purchased the special soil and two larger pots made of a lovely green glazed pottery. The tree farmer repotted them for me. I cautioned him that "they don't like to be touched", which they don't. Somehow, he managed to get them carefully in the pot.<br /></p><p><a href="http://www.gardenguides.com/675-african-violets.html">African violets</a> don't like to be too hot or too cold. Basically, they like the same temperatures that people do. They don't like to be too dry to too wet. They don't like water on their leaves! They need enough indirect light but not too much. Come to think of it, they're just downright finicky, but they reward you for your effort with the most beautiful blossoms.<br /><br /><em>I'm beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I have inherited a tiny speck of Mama's african violet gene...</em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48epO3f82GV86YmYdf5FAehHdyEQAc-_LtZnSjzMs5dkNC5TAuyjJAyMliIvVWm07UBfuzZlp3lXB0nk5S_uR83x3-UHDxnfaeKJT2fUT77B8EPufPn1DTzsiyzfOT0SPttatPRWlBFls/s1600/violets4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474952519032517266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48epO3f82GV86YmYdf5FAehHdyEQAc-_LtZnSjzMs5dkNC5TAuyjJAyMliIvVWm07UBfuzZlp3lXB0nk5S_uR83x3-UHDxnfaeKJT2fUT77B8EPufPn1DTzsiyzfOT0SPttatPRWlBFls/s400/violets4.jpg" /></a><br /></p>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-1176028127827350102010-05-23T12:01:00.000-07:002010-05-23T22:38:06.610-07:00Reflections...<div align="left">One afternoon during <a href="http://patacakebabies.com/wordpress/?p=2592">my granddaughters' recent visit</a>, I was sitting at the dining room table with them. The table was covered with fabric, thread, patterns and my portable Singer sewing machine. I was teaching my eight and almost ten year old granddaughters the basics of sewing - how to find the grain of the fabric, the selvages, laying out and cutting a pattern and safely operating the sewing machine.<br /><br />In the midst of all of this, I mentioned that I wish I'd had a grandmother to teach me to sew and bake as I love to teach my grandchildren. It surprised them to learn that I had not known my grandparents. My father's parents died before I was born. My mother's mother passed away on June 10, 1951 and her father on June 15, 1952. I was five and six years old at the time of their respective deaths. I don't remember them. I don't remember what I called them. As I was growing up, my three older sisters talked about them...about how truly kind and good they were. Sadly, I don't have those memories. Consequently, all my life, I've been drawn to old people...kind, old people. Perhaps that's one reason I love being a grandmother so much...I know that I'm making memories for MY grandchildren.<br /><br />Perhaps this is also why I'm so interested in my family's history. There are volumes of information and geneological history that I have collected thus far...my late sister Dorothy and I. I've loved finding nuggets of information during the course of searching through census records, ordering birth and death certificates and traveling to courthouses in several states. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />I remember finding great++ grandparents...and realizing that <em>had I been</em> researching my family's history earlier in my life, my children might have had different names! I loved many of the family names I found. Some, not so much. There was a "John Benjamin", "Mahalley", "Matilda Caroline", "Octavia Caldonia" (with Caldonia, I knew her ancestors were from Scotland), "Silas", "Samuel Edward" and "Emmarella" to name a few.<br /></div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 272px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474635613403581730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJIAPipq03qFULUrw1MPfod4H-7KQYvKZ309iOhJs2o3lNKSFomDawd22Rh5MREUz5ObfeRfbvHoq1XtqfgZkdshuWgbIgdsto4km99ESwvNWBNU_oaUKtgNuZd095BDMFjJ42WMxFG1E/s400/mamaabout1922.jpg" /><br /><p align="center">I love the above photo of Mama. She was about eighteen here I believe.<br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><p></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 382px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474633201846807826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4XFOnC3QhHi-4f-ltoDJosTozfNXLPmpsQVjhONynCpavRDoJqarIg9M4nDzcNKtmk1B3tZkAuVDLVlPXbp9-5Anh5p7iYRNHou3u8Robeb7TcCWqhs7GgxRt45l4gyFFFIWnFT6x_r9I/s400/modeanaemmarellahaney.jpg" />My maternal grandmother, Mama's Mama...Modena Emmarella Seals Haney (1872-1951). She was most likely in her early twenties here. </p><p><br /><em>I wonder what my sons would have thought about being named Benjamin and Samuel? And my daughter could have been Emma Caroline. Hmmm....</em> </p>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-65588816346450416812010-04-15T21:26:00.000-07:002010-04-27T08:27:40.141-07:00Music and memories...When I was growing up, my older sisters (11, 15 and 18 years older) were playing the music of the fifties. I grew up listening to the sounds featured on the first youtube video below. My sisters were wonderful dancers. By the time I was ten and Sharon was eight, <em>we</em> could dance. I don't know...maybe we had watched my sisters enough. I don't remember that part. Neither Mama nor Daddy ever owned up to where (from which one of them) we all got the rhythm we had, but we could dance.<br /><br />On the weekends, my sisters would occasionally go dancing. They would get all dressed up in the wonderful 1950's fashions with high heels and go dancing with their boyfriend/husband/fiance. <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/summertime-in-memphis-1950.html">Sharon</a> and I were, of course, much too young, so we'd get in the hallway of the house on <a href="http://mysouthernheart.blogspot.com/2008/10/moving-to-victor-drive.html">Victor Drive</a> with the polished hardwood floors, turn the music up and "bop" (the swing music or boogie-woogie today). I don't remember Mama ever complaining that the music was too loud or that we were under foot. Most of the time, she and Daddy would be laughing at us. <em>Eventually</em>, we would get tired.<br /><br />I was listening to some great fifties music this afternoon. Those mellow sounds of the wonderful saxophone of Ace Cannon were coming across the built-in speakers all throughout the house. I was dancing to Alley Cat as I cooked supper. I couldn't help it. The memories were tumbling in and I was a very young teenager again...dancing in the hallway of a little house in Memphis.<br /><br />Of course, the music of the <em>sixties</em> brings back a whole new "set" of memories: high school, college, falling in love, being a young newlywed and, later, having two small children fifteen and a half months apart. Amazing, isn't it...?<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">*Remember to scroll down and pause the blog playlist music before you listen to the videos.</span></em><br /></strong><br /><div align="left"><em>This is a neat youtube video with snippets of all the top songs of the fifties. </em></div><div align="left"><em>If you remember this time, you'll enjoy it. </em></div><div align="left"><em>If you don't remember it, you should enjoy it anyway!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></em><object style="width: 450px; height: 353px;" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="353" width="450"><param name="_cx" value="11906"><param name="_cy" value="9339"><param name="FlashVars" value=""><param name="Movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UDlrXVqPz3g&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1"><param name="Src" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UDlrXVqPz3g&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1"><param name="WMode" value="Window"><param name="Play" value="0"><param name="Loop" value="-1"><param name="Quality" value="High"><param name="SAlign" value="LT"><param name="Menu" value="-1"><param name="Base" value=""><param name="AllowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="Scale" value="NoScale"><param name="DeviceFont" value="0"><param name="EmbedMovie" value="0"><param name="BGColor" value=""><param name="SWRemote" value=""><param name="MovieData" value=""><param name="SeamlessTabbing" value="1"><param name="Profile" value="0"><param name="ProfileAddress" value=""><param name="ProfilePort" value="0"><param name="AllowNetworking" value="all"><param name="AllowFullScreen" value="true"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UDlrXVqPz3g&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="405" width="500"></embed></object></div><p align="center"></p><div align="left"><em></em></div><div align="left"><em>These dancers are doing "the swing" but it looks a whole lot like "bop" to me!</em><object style="width: 422px; height: 339px;" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="339" width="422"><param name="_cx" value="11165"><param name="_cy" value="8969"><param name="FlashVars" value=""><param name="Movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y3U4mFO2xxs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"><param name="Src" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y3U4mFO2xxs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"><param name="WMode" value="Window"><param name="Play" value="-1"><param name="Loop" value="-1"><param name="Quality" value="High"><param name="SAlign" value=""><param name="Menu" value="-1"><param name="Base" value=""><param name="AllowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="Scale" value="ShowAll"><param name="DeviceFont" value="0"><param name="EmbedMovie" value="0"><param name="BGColor" value=""><param name="SWRemote" value=""><param name="MovieData" value=""><param name="SeamlessTabbing" value="1"><param name="Profile" value="0"><param name="ProfileAddress" value=""><param name="ProfilePort" value="0"><param name="AllowNetworking" value="all"><param name="AllowFullScreen" value="true"><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Y3U4mFO2xxs&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="405" width="500"></embed></object></div><div align="left"><br /><em></em></div><div align="left"><em>After all these years, this is still fun...wonder if I could get my non-dancing husband to take "swing" lessons?!</em></div><div align="left"><object style="width: 423px; height: 344px;" height="344" width="423"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1yry980XFdw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1yry980XFdw&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="405" width="500"></embed></object></div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1696608172102489718.post-55902530561725724112010-03-29T14:17:00.000-07:002010-03-30T12:18:47.471-07:00All those questions...I was born when my parents were forty-one years old...the last of four daughters. Daddy was the youngest of seven children, born when his parents were older. I never knew my Daddy's parents. They both died before I was born. My mother's parents died when I was very young, so I really never knew them.<br /><div></div><br /><div>I was almost twenty-one when I married. Life was busy as we had children and our family grew. Searching my family's history was the last thing on my mind at that time. I was simply busy with life. By the time my sister Dot and I seriously began researching our family history, our mother had suffered a stroke and lost her speech. Not long after that, Daddy passed away. Since Dot was the oldest, she remembered a lot...still, there were answers she just didn't have.<br /><br />Now, I want to know more. I want to find answers for <em>all those questions</em> I have. I wish there were more photographs...</div><br />In the circa 1911 photograph below, Daddy appears to have been about five or six years old, maybe? It appears he was holding something under his right arm. I wish I knew what it was. My firstborn grandchild has the same coloring as the great-grandfather he never met...the same dark brown eyes, dark brown hair and beautiful olive complexion (no other grandparent or great-grandparent has the olive skin). <br /><div></div><br /><br /><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 128px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454180838932653890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgp4BMHjeG3c0QfFM8z2P9wd8mFU8SpHBF8gBlyVvpcv4PRC1vD-7J7Z9C6b82xy7t6cEZB6NZCeSHgqNHHJ6AjiyMc6aZzspncKqxZnsrM3EXHWQmUBmbxG8fMfTXt-PLL8pJLNDxRua/s400/daddyaschild.jpg" width="128" height="400" /></div><br /><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRxu4mOSJkGjjkd3zqzcN-qDk0Z4zHXgI-_m68ABsLZNN3QzmAGBp04ZD9MimxFIx7GTkEJK8co6z-ceGInM9kqo7afvUkaKEBKiD5egKB4yY2ZbDuoH0Qq5KFNl6I-x-w7RL6AIwoj2e/s1600/grandmomandbryce.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJRxu4mOSJkGjjkd3zqzcN-qDk0Z4zHXgI-_m68ABsLZNN3QzmAGBp04ZD9MimxFIx7GTkEJK8co6z-ceGInM9kqo7afvUkaKEBKiD5egKB4yY2ZbDuoH0Qq5KFNl6I-x-w7RL6AIwoj2e/s320/grandmomandbryce.jpg" nt="true" /></a></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><em>My firstborn grandchild and me...</em></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><br /></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><strong>Just a few of the questions I would ask now if only I could...</strong></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"><br /></div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator">How tall were your parents?</div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"> </div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator">What color were their hair and eyes?</div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"> </div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator">What were your grandparents like? Were they musical...artistic?</div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"> </div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator">What was Mary Frances Cooper's father's name?! Mary Frances Cooper was my mother's grandmother. Mama would have known the answer, if I had only known to ask the question!</div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator"> </div><div style="BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; CLEAR: both; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none" class="separator">Did your parents or great grandparents ever talk about Scotland or Ireland?</div>SouthernHearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570700924252634215noreply@blogger.com3