The Look of Love - Uncle Paul

This is the new 70!  Get down Uncle Paul!

My father left our home, the first time, when I was about four years old.  I remember it very vividly.  It's kind of like I'm watching a movie scene.  I see little girl me, broken-hearted, tears streaming down my face as my father packed his things into Mr. Jimmy's station wagon.  Over the years he was back and forth. Back for a few months, gone for a few years.

As you know, my mother's family is from Alabama.  It is our 'home'. So like most city kids, I took an annual summer time trip 'down south' and because I was blessed, we actually would make a couple of trips.  See, Aunt Polly and Uncle Paul never left Alabama.  They anchored, and continue to anchor our family here.

Uncle Paul is...everything.  Just a lil ole bundle of lovewrapped up in love.  He and my Aunt Polly married very young, way before I was a thought, so he's always been in my life.  Uncle Paul was so much a father to me, I never missed what I was missing.  I trailed him like ducks trail water.  We laugh about it today but I was probably a big hindrance to his 'good times' back in the day.

Me (love the face), Uncle Paul & my nephew DJ
walking at the Relay for Life event.

Uncle Paul is a quint-essential southern man.  Or at least, my idea (and ideal) of a Southern man.  He worked hard, played hard, loved hard, laughed hard and back in the day, he drank hard.  Oh yeah, and drove hard.  See, in a small town like Rockford that's about all the entertainment there was.  He and Aunt Polly have two daughters.  My cousins say he was hard on them.  You know, discipline wise.  I, on the other hand, they say was spoiled.  Well, perhaps.  I think I just came along at the right time.  See, they are respectively 8 and 10 years older than me and the next cousins after me are respectively 8 and 10 years younger than me. So I had a long stretch as 'the baby' in the family.  (Insert devilish grin)  Also, I was just a good girl all the time.  (Eyes batting innocently)

Another great Christmas.

Maybe because they had him year round he was just their 'Daddy'.  But Lord knows, once I hit Alabama I became Uncle Paul's permanent shadow.  He, like many southern men, always drove a pick up truck.  Once I came to town, that truck couldn't crank without me running out the door trying to catch Uncle Paul.  He could have pulled off and ignored me, but I don't think he ever did.  "I wanna go with you, Uncle Paul." "Come on, Poo."  Now see, Uncle Paul was likely going to hook up with some of his buddies to talk loud, tell lies and drink beer - Budweiser to be exact.  Lil ole me was clearly going to put a dampening on those activities.  But he hardly ever turned me away.  He just postponed the drinking and the loud talking would have to be without the colorful cussing.

Uncle Paul loves his truck and his wife.

Uncle Paul used to fish a lot, so, of course, I wanted to go fishing too.  I remember our first fishing trip as clear as day.  He wouldn't really let me cast off. I was small, he was probably right.  I was gonna hurt one of us and tangle the line.  We were at a pond.  It was hot and sunny.  We had our cooler.  I had Cokes, he had Bud. We caught a few.  He showed me how to loop them on a line secured at the edge of the water so they stayed alive and thus, fresh, until we were ready to head home.  I'm sure it was far from his most pleasurable fishing trip, but it's a memory I treasure.  We fished a few more times until around age 12 when my girl genes kicked in and I suddenly became repulsed by the worms.

Alyssa love her Papa! That's the oldest grand-daughter.

Over the years, we never grew apart as you might expect, we just found new things to share.  For as long as I can remember, Uncle Paul  has had a garden.  I probably got my love of growing things from him.  My freshman year at Auburn, home one weekend in the Fall, Uncle Paul showed me how to pick (or crop) collard greens.  Aunt Polly showed me how to cook them and freeze them.  What they do that for!?  They came home from the mill one night and I had been in the garden picking and in the kitchen freezing up tons of greens to take back to school.  Shoot, with a few inexpensive neckbones and some home made cornbread, me and my roommate could eat GOOD off those free, fresh greens.  Me being in the garden on my own tickled Uncle Paul.  He said, "Poo, you are the countriest city girl I've ever seen!"  He was right and I was proud to be so.

Supporting his bride at the annual Relay for Life event.
Sometimes blurry pics are awesome, they still capture a
person's essence.  See that smile.

Since I've returned home and settled into my own life, Uncle Paul and I have gardened together every season.  He helps and advises me.  I watch and observe him.  Oh sometimes he'll let me into his garden on my own but you've got to know just how to walk through his greens and tomatoes.  My cousins don't fool with him.  They say if  you show any interest in it he will worry you to death about that garden.  This is true.  We debate a lot.  Well, it's never really a debate.  I tell him some new technique I'm trying and he tells me why it won't work.  I don't argue.  The man is 74 years old.  Who am I to tell him anything?  He comes by with something new he's discovered all the time.  Aunt Polly always says, "Paul, leave that girl alone.  She don't wanna hear about your beans!"  Oh but I do.  I enjoy our 'debates'.  Sometimes, when he figures out that while I am listening to him, I'm not doing it how he suggested...he'll just take over in MY garden.  LOL.  I think it used to irk me...then I realised, shoot, Uncle Paul is doing ME a favor.  Besides, he has been gardening for about 60 years, he's probably tried everything I think is so new and exciting.  But honestly, I'm just so happy to have his conversation and company, I don't care what he does or how much he fusses. That's my Uncle Paul.

Uncle Paul with the ladies of the Missionary Circle at church.
Aunt Polly is the President and Uncle Paul is always there to
support.

Uncle Paul is known in the community for his kindness and generosity.  He shares everything he grows.  He plants way more than he and Aunt Polly could ever eat because he likes to bless others with fresh produce. He is the Senior Deacon at our church.  In addition to tending his own house and substantial yard, he maintains the church grounds as well and will get upset if offered money for his services.  He is faithful in everything he does.


Since I have been ill, he has offered to drive me to an from appointments and wait on me just to make sure I'm safe and not alone.  I have a hard time asking for help.  I tend to feel like I'm bothering people or being a burden.  Uncle Paul told me a few days ago that I can't be burdening him, he OFFERED. True.  LOL.

I could sit here and type for days telling stories of my Uncle Paul, how he makes us laugh until we cry.  How he is so spoiled by and devoted to my Aunt Polly, his wife of over 50 years.  How he is so spry and sharp and full of energy at 74.  How I realise how much my husband Phil reminds me of him...I guess I married my 'dad' after all. How he won't eat anybody's cooking but Aunt Polly's.  His daughters' and Aunt Polly's Sis being the ONLY exceptions and only on special occassions...but generally, its Polly's or hungry.  How I know my cousins all think they have a special relationship with him and they are his favorite (though I know for a fact that I am).  What I really wanted to impart here is how much I think of him as a great man.  He would never say so.  He just feels like he did what he was supposed to do in life.  But these days - who is doing what they are supposed to do!? Who is being a man and not complaining about it?  Who is taking time with children making sure they feel special and teaching them life skills?  He has always been a beacon of light in my life. He has taught me with the way he lived, what true love looks like.  For forty years, even when my own Dad was absent, I have always known I was loved.  The family even jokes about it...Nancy and her Uncle Paul.  "You know Paul gonna see about Poo."   Yep, that's MY Uncle and I love him like tomatoes love the sunshine.

Uncle Paul is what love looks like.

With his 'baby' daughter, Paula.   Never too old for Daddy's lap.

Unknown Number

It's Been A Long Time...

I've always had a problem with commitment.  Didn't marry until I was 36 if that tells you anything.  No reason this blog should be any different.  But today is a new day and I'm starting again.  Isn't that the beauty of life - every day, every hour, every minute and second that you yet breathe, is an opportunity to start again.
Miss Pat
This morning I got a call from an unrecognised number.  I usually don't answer these but was feeling frisky so I did.  What a blessing.  It was my friend, Miss Pat.  Miss Pat and I met a few years ago when we started working on the same day at the local Home Depot.  She is still there.  Miss Pat is like no one I've ever met.  She's at least 6 feet tall with prestigious salt and pepper, thick, curly hair, and striking, crystalline blue eyes.  She's soon to be 70 years old and has more energy than most 20 year old men I know.  She's a veteran and has raised Arabian Stallions for competition.  She still has horses though they don't compete.  Now, she just...has them.  I mean, I don't know much about keeping horses other than it's expensive and time consuming.  But I assume that people who have them enjoy riding them or using them to work land or cattle etc.  Miss Pat does none of that.  They are just her horses and need caring for and as she hasn't found anyone she can entrust them to - that's what she does.  She once told me that's why she went back to work - to be able to provide for them.

I find her fascinating.  She can tell me stories about her childhood in Alabama and how her grandfather owned land and had many sharecroppers.  How they would kill cattle in the winter and provide enough meat for everyone on the land.  She's not afraid of snakes because her grandfather showed her how to hypnotize them by circling them and bop em on the head to kill em.  She builds and repairs fences on her land - by herself!  She can out-smoke the Marlboro man.  I've never heard her cuss. She's had a husband and a son.  She lost her son years ago.  She is what we call, 'good people'. She is honest to a fault.  Like my Aunt Polly, I know that if I ever asked Miss Pat for counsel or advice she is going to have my best interest at heart - she "ain't gon' tell you nothing wrong" as we say down here.  She's a rarity - a genuine person.  She was also a living lesson for me.  She is a Sixty-Something year old white woman raised in the Deep South, yet nothing in my spirit has ever found a note of prejudice in her.  And that's an assumption I still make...that white people (and black for that matter) of a certain age are without a doubt prejudiced.  Maybe as the times have changed, they have learned to cover it up or keep it to themselves - but undoubtedly it shows.  Miss Pat taught me that I was wrong.  She is my genuine, loving friend.

She called me this morning because we haven't spoken for some months.  I've been under the weather and as a result somewhat isolated.  It's hard for me to get around so I stay home a lot.  She's buying a house! Great news.  Wanted to share it with me. Can't wait to have me over for tea and lunch.  Can't wait for us to get together and go eat Chinese again.  She's been meaning to call and check on me but...life.  I was in bed when she called, at an hour when I should have been well out of the bed.  Her call lifted my spirits so much.  I remembered that I do have friends, and I am loved and cared for.  I've been feeling inspired ever since and just wanted to write something.  I couldn't figure out what to write about so I just went with today's events and an ode to Miss Pat who is definitely a gem in my Southern life.

I hope everyone has a Miss Pat in their life.  A friend who makes you feel good about yourself.  Who encourages and supports you, who chastises and corrects you.  I'm so glad I answered my phone.

The Heart of the Matter

This blog was initiated as a way for me to kill time.  I have lots of time on my hands these days.  I am a stay at home wife with no children and at present, limited mobility (back injury).  I’ve always loved writing, and in the past, my writing has brought me accolades.  Straight super A’s in high school and college.  When I need a boost, I sometimes go back and look at old essays I wrote just to see the wonderful comments and compliments my professors gave me.  I’ve won a contest or two and friends often remark on the eloquence or truthful essence of a text or an email.  I should be writing.  I should have been writing.  I should have been a writer.  I’ve always dreamed of being a writer.  And yet, I don’t write. 

I think on some level I’ve been afraid.  We’ve all seen that question, “What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail”. My first response is always, write my life story.  Or any story for that matter.  But really, I feel in my spirit that my life is a testimony I’m supposed to share…but I’ve been afraid.  My life has had a fair amount of pain. So had everyone’s, right?  Right.  No excuse there.  It  is hard to write about painful things because it brings them out of your past into the present.  So, at the most basic level, I have been avoiding pain.  That’s silly and somewhat selfish.  If I truly believe my story can uplift someone, how dare I keep it to myself?  It’s silly because, stuffing my memories, thoughts and feelings in the closet hasn’t lessened the pain. It’s always there when I go to get something out of the closet.  Perhaps, writing it all out will release the feelings I’ve attached to it all. Writing is kind of magical like that.

So, today, I’m feeling some kind of way.  In addition to the regular old chronic back pain I’ve suffered with for almost an entire year, today, there is a new sharper more intense pain.  I’m frustrated and saddened by it.  I want to DO something, so many things.  And new physical pain makes me feel that the chances of doing ANYthing are getting further and further away.  I am determined to stay in hope.  That requires me to refocus my energy and get positive.  I’ve picked up a few hobbies to help me refocus my energy and burn up some of this free time I have.  I have begun to learn how to quilt – by hand, the old-fashioned way. I also garden – my first joy.

My first quilt top. All by hand.

I GREW that watermelon!
Pineapple from Walmart.

I grew ALL this stuff! Can you believe it?
My Zuchini were the size of my forearm!

  I have dogs, four now.  Started with and was happy with one, but she had puppies and I’ve been unwilling to ‘get rid of them’.

My BEST Buddy - Sparkle.  Picking her up from doggie jail (the shelter).
She got picked up by the dog catcher one day.
More about her in future posts.  Love this girl.  What a face!

I love to cook and try new recipes.  I’m starting to travel with my camera at all times to document the beauty of my life here in Alabama.  I recently completed my first scrapbook as a gift for a friend.  A couple summers’ ago, I taught myself how to make jellies and preserves.

My first pear preserves.  They were yummy!

The back issues obstruct a good few of these hobbies, but I press on and today – I write.  Back pain should not interfere with that.

So I debate now where to begin - the present, the past, the beginning?  Who’s to say what is the beginning and if anything is ever at an end?  I figure, I’ll just go on topic, the topic most pressing on my heart any given day.  I have so  much to talk about: my mom, my dad, my sisters, my glorious, beautiful husband (a favorite topic of mine), my gifts, my curses, my successes, my failures, holidays, holy days.  It’s actually a bit overwhelming.  Blogging is a day by day thing and I'm hoping this format will ease the pressure of say, ‘writing a book’.  If it turns into a book, fine.  I'm not putting any pressure or labels on it.  I'm just writing.  That’s been the friggin’ challenge from the jump – to just do it as you know who says. (No commercial plugs here)

My glorious, beautiful husband, Phil, and his equally amazing nephew, Roman!
All the kids love Uncle Phil.  It's crazy.

I've shared this blog with friends.  I hope you all will continue to read it, and comment because I treasure your feedback.  It is always edifying and leads to growth.  I don’t intend to tell y’all all my business but I intend to be as honest as I can.  For my sake.  And if it blesses someone else, whew, all the better.  I need to empty some space in my brain.  I speculate that my continued limitations may be the universe’s way of saying, “SIT DOWN AND WRITE YOU STUPID HARD-HEADED GIRL!”  Maybe once I do it, my back will miraculously improve.  Hey, I'm a believer. You’ll find that out too if you keep reading.

Some days I may just talk about planting vegetables or walking Sparkle.  Some days I may share the pain of losing my mostly absent parents before age 24.  Every post won’t be heavy or fluff.  Letting the spirit lead me. 

Uh, I guess that’s it for now.  Just a little, hold on to your seats preparation.  Might be a bumpy ride.  But I’m all in.  Hope you are too.

Hugs!
N.

Welcome to Rockford

I became a 'Transplanted Yankee' about six years ago.  I am a native New Yorker - a fact of which I'm very proud.  Born in Harlem Hospital, raised in Harlem, NY and as an adult I lived on my own in Harlem, the Bed-Stuy section of Brooklyn, and right before my departure in the city suburb of Jersey City.  (Every New Yorker knows north Jersey is really New York City's backyard).  While I loved most things about the city - access to culture and cultures, wonderful friends, great restaurants, walking, public transportation, bright lights - I felt I was ready for a kindler, simpler life.  So I packed up and moved to Atlanta, GA.  NOT! I didn't find the warm Southern Hospitality I was looking for.  It's a mini rat race in Atlanta, filled with lots of rats.  And I dont mean subway rats - city mouse/country mouse RATS!  I stayed there for a bout 2 years when Providence took over and I was led to my mother's childhood home of Rockford, AL. 

The Welcome sign on State Highway 231

A view of 'Main Street'.  It's really State Highway 231 which
runs through the center of town.  The brown bldg is the County
Courthouse.  The Exxon station sits across from it on the other
side of Highway 22.  Notice our fabulous four-way stop. Blink
and you might miss us!

Rockford, AL is a place New Yorkers wouldn't believe still exists.  It is located in Central Alabama, about 1.5 hours ride South of Birmingham and 45 mins north of Montgomery.  A sweet hamlet in the middle of Coosa County, a county with a area of 666 square miles, and a total population of about 10, 000.  More about Coosa County  Rockford, with it's one traffic light - a blinking red 4-way stop - is the county seat!  (Imagine that) Yep, this is where all the action takes place!

The now deserted and defunct Avondale Mill which used to
employs hundreds of residents. It sitsabout 3 miles north
of town on Highway 231.

Rockford and Coosa are not without their problems.  Like everywhere else, there is heavy unemployment due to the recession and the closure of two major cotton manufacturing plants.  Monthly there are stories about the Sheriff's Dept busting up a meth ring.  I dont know what the murder rate is.  But I do know a local club was not given a new license because it had been the scene of two murders in six years - way more than the Sheriff and citizens could stand.  Not two murders in a day, a week, or a month (or a half hour in NYC) - SIX YEARS!  I guess the best example of Rockford is this:  a couple of days ago, as my husband prepared to leave for work at 6:30am, he went out front and our door was WIDE OPEN!  We were both a little freaked, but I realized I must not have locked it when I brought the dog in the previous night and at some point the wind must have blown it open.  Where else can you sleep through the night with your front door wide open and not wake up d as the next story for the Discovery ID channel?!  Only in Rockford, baby.

I think this picture really captures the smallness of Rockford. 
This one building houses the Town Hall, the Police Dept,
the Fire Dept AND the Library.  (FYI - we have one cop.)

This is the type of community where you are identified by your family.  Having not grown up here, people are clearly searching my face when introduced.  Before long I say something like,

"I'm Polly and Paul Burton's neice.  Polly and my mom were sisters.  My mom was Bernice." 

Then I get a big,

"Ohhhhhhh!!! You're Bernice's baby!  (Mind you I'm 38)  My goodness.  How's your brother Tony?  I used to ride the school bus with your mom when we were kids.  She was SOOOO nice."

Or if they're an older person,

"Oh...I remember your grandfather Mr. Willie!  He was always a gentleman and so handsome.  Your mother used to play with my daughter so and so."  

Or if they're even older,

"OK, so Massey Hoyett is your grand-daddy?"  I say, "No, he was my great-grandfather, my mother's grandfather."  "Ok. That's right.  So Erie Lee is your aunt?  Uh huh, she goes to my church. Yeah I knew all your aunties and uncles coming up." 

 And that's all it takes.  Now, you're in.  It's a beautiful thing that NEVER happens in a place like New York.  Oh - and more times than I care to relay - the response is:

"Oh yeah!  We're COUSINS!"

Rockford is a place where people still trust one another.  I can't tell you how many times my husband has gone to the convenience store and realized his debit card was in another pants pocket at home.  He's gotten gas, beer, and other sundries with a simple, "I'll be right back."
I've left the check book at home going to the local town drug store (where you can still get an old fashioned milk shake or ice cream float made with that old machine with the stick hanging down - love it) and told them, "I'll be back" and totally come home with all my prescriptions.  There is only one mechanic in town and Phil has run down there for a part and simply walked in, got what he needed and hollered back to the owner, "I'll be back, Jim."
Obviously, this works because we and all our friends and neighbors - always go back. 

Crew's Drug store on Main Street.  No idea how long it's been
there...for all of my life at least.

Rockford is a town where people share what they have:  their food, their homes, their talents, their wisdom, their time.  If a family is known for Sunday dinner, undoubtedly they always cook enough for unexpected drop-in visitors.  Sometimes it's annoying, but no one ever calls and asks, "Is this a good time to come visit?"  Nope, they find out when they show up at your door - and of course, you're gonna make it a good time to visit.  Older people who still do such arts and crafts like quilting are more than happy to show you the technique.  My uncle who has worked the land for all of his 70-something years LOVES to come help me work my little garden.  And if anyone is sick or in need, you better believe folks have ORGANIZED who is going to support the family with fully cooked meals this or that day.  Who is going to go sit with Mr. or Mrs. So and So to give the spouse or children a break.  When will we go to the nursing home to visit. People care and get INVOLVED in one another's lives. 

There is a strong sense of community here.  And I'm glad I came 'home' to be a part of it.  As I said, my mother was born and raised here.  So even while growing up in NYC, I had a strong connection to Alabama as the family up north always referred to it as 'home' and when we went to visit, we were going 'home'.  So, I must say, I was not completely foreign to this type of living.  I spent many a summer and holiday down here and I always had the best feeling while here and pined for it when I was back home in NY.  I loved the excruciating heat.  And back then, ACs weren't as prevalent.  Lots of times as teens, we had to make due with a box fan just blowing humid air on you.  But at least that air was moving.  I liked the slower pace and the familiarity amongst people I knew I didn't know.  Fond memories of sitting on the porch in the heat, shelling peas from my uncle's garden.  Fond memories of Vacation Bible School at church.  So, I came back, hoping to find those feelings and comforts.  For the most part, I did.  I also realized I had to create some of them for myself.  So I did.  These are the things I hope to share with the blog.

I hope you enjoy my slice of life as a Transplanted Yankee!

See Coosa - Almost dead center.  Green box.