Special Veteran's Day Tribute - "Let Me Show You Something"

In honor of all our veterans I would like to share a very special chapter from my soon to be released book "Southern Whispers."  This chapter is a tribute to my grandfather "Paw Paw" Rich as well as my sweet daddy and others in our family who served our country with joy and pride.  Special thanks and gratitude to ALL those men and women who give sacrificially of themselves for country and freedom....

(Chapter 8:  "Let Me Show You Something" - excerpt from the book Southern Whispers)

My son Josh just dropped by for a visit.  Goodness how I love seeing that broad grin on his handsome face!  Three months ago my “baby boy” moved into his own apartment with two of his friends.  Though I do enjoy my moments of solitude on the porch and otherwise, I do miss him!  He could’ve moved long before, but because it had been just the two of us for the most part during his growing up years, he felt a responsibility to be around to help me as much as possible.  He grew up early on, it seems.  Yes, he was all boy and still is, but he has always had the most level head of anyone I know - even more so than me at times!  Adversity in a young boy’s life or a young girl’s life has a way of “growing them up” long before it is time.  My Paw Paw Rich was a prime example of this.  What’s a boy to do when he loses both parents at an early age and then is taken hundreds of miles from where he calls home and shuffled around from relative to relative?  Paw Paw learned about grown up ways before he barely had time to enjoy being a child.  He probably had few possessions and even less hope to cling to other than a box or suitcase containing a few trinkets and “memories.”  Something tells me that he most likely held tight to the few things he had by the way I observed him in his elder years.  There was one item in particular that he cherished most of all.

     It was just a box - a simple velvet lined box.  It had been pulled in and out of Paw Paw’s dresser drawer so many times that it was a bit scuffed and tattered - much like him and every other person who served along side of him.  What was in that little box?  It was Paw Paw’s greatest treasure, his most vivid memory and symbol of something larger than what the young boy those many years ago could comprehend, and what the elderly gentlemen proudly displaying it could adequately express.  However, the look in his eyes each time he held that box in his calloused wrinkled hand, told the story magnificently.  Every time we went to visit my grandparents, we knew that at any given moment, Paw Paw would retreat into a world of memories, walk into the bedroom, open a dresser drawer and come back with his treasure - Paw Paw’s Purple Heart.

 

     All you had to do was take a moment to sit still in his lap or sit at his feet and before long, the stories would roll off his tongue, then the light would begin to sparkle in his eyes as he would say “let me show you something.”  Off he would go down the hall, and then in a flash, be back beaming from ear to ear with that velvet lined box.  Slowly, he would open the box and release the sound of gunfire, the dampness of trenches and the excitement and fear on the face of a mere child who found himself across a huge ocean listening to the chatter of languages he was never even able to read.  As I mentioned, Paw Paw had quit school in the third grade due to the family tragedy that took both his parents.  He was not even able to read anything in English nonetheless a foreign language.  One line he learned overseas seemed forever stuck in his brain - “comme ci comme ça.”  We knew each time we spent a few moments with Paw Paw, that we needed to ask him how he was doing.  This gave him that rare opportunity to respond in a foreign language… “just so-so” he would say in French with his own delightful southern mountain man dialect.

     Can you imagine what it felt like to be an orphan of sorts shipped across the ocean and coming face to face with “death?”  Like so many young boys during this time, Paw Paw also lied about his age to have the chance to do something significant with his life and for his country.  At the ripe old age of sixteen, Paw Paw became a “man” in World War I.  The truth be told, from that time until now, there have been scores of boys who left home as a son, a brother, a cousin, a neighbor, a classmate or playmate yet when it was time to return, in their place a man walked down that country road home, or that city sidewalk through town.  Some of them never got to walk that road home.  Some of them rolled their way, while others were sent back in another velvet lined box and carried “home” by the angels. 

     Today, as I think of Paw Paw’s Purple Heart, I think of the hearts of the scores of young men and now women who give everything they have to offer with no expectation of anything in return, simply because of the sound of “freedom’s song” ringing in their ears.  I wish I could sit with each of them like we did Paw Paw through the years and hear their story, see their symbol of freedom, experience the fear and excitement and feel the sense of pride and honor that radiates from the light in each of their eyes.  Since I can’t sit with each of them, I will do what I can to “pay forward” words of hope and encouragement, determination and perseverance - fanning the flame of freedom.  This southern girl is so grateful to be free to enjoy a porch swing on a hot summer afternoon, or the melody ringing from a choir loft on a Sunday morning.  I am thankful for long lines at a concert or movie, and for collective hours waiting in lobbies for a dinner table.  It means I am free to enjoy simple pleasures and so are millions of others.  We are not as oppressed as we want to think we are.  We are blessed.  I am grateful to be able to give thanks to God and to man without fear of harm or censorship.  May we never allow the song of freedom fade from our ears or the story of liberty slip from our hearts and souls.  I, for one, do not want the sacrifices made by scores of men and women through the years to be in vain.  I refuse to bow down to tyranny or give in to selfish oppressors who want to smother our pride and strip away our dignity one liberty at a time.  If freedom is worth fighting for, then freedom is worth standing up for with boldness, gratitude and thanks.  I hope that by the time my grown boy has a “baby boy” of his own, he too will have memories tucked safely away that he can bring out and share.  I hope his children and grandchildren can feel the same joy I have felt each time he might say to them “let me show you something.”

 

Brave Belles

      

          It is one of those things you just never forget…. I suppose from the outside looking in, it wasn’t at all funny, but to those of us who knew her, it was a hoot!  My friend Mitzi had lost every stitch of hair on her head due to chemo from breast cancer.  She was the “hat diva” and had one for every occasion as well as an adequate supply of wigs of every variety when she chose not to wear one of her flamboyant hats.  I suppose every southern belle secretly wishes to be able to rid herself of the curse of hair spray and southern “big hair,” but Mitzi had a way of causing us to be grateful for even the most annoying of rituals.  On this particular night, she wore a denim smock, fun tennis shoes and a bright pink floppy hat that rested on her head like a lamp shade.  We were attending a singles karaoke night at our church.  We all took our moment of “fame” in the spotlight as we picked the best possible song to make us either look like a star or a “blooming idiot” as my grandmama might’ve said!  No one before or since, however, could top Mitzi’s performance that night.  The music started and all eyes were on her.  She began swaying to the slow country rhythm as “stand by your man” bellowed out of her weathered lips.  Before we knew it, that vivid fuchsia covering for her bald head was snatched off, and she was waving it like a seductive feather scarf dancing on stage, laughing between phrases!  My goodness gracious!!!  That was our crazy, funny brave Mitzi…

            One Sunday morning, I walked passed her on my way to the choir loft – as she sat on the front pew.  She was sporting a new cast from her shoulder and down her arm, and her arm was in a sling.  I spoke to her and asked what happened.  She had rolled over in the night and broken her collar bone.  The cancer had made her bones as brittle as old pine needles.  As she replayed the night’s events, she said “honey you are gonna walk by me one day and have to pick my arm up off the floor!”  If I’ve ever looked courage in the eye, it was each time I caught a glimpse of the sparkle in the eyes of my friend.  It was a sparkle I’ve come to know quite well over the years through other brave belles in my life.  I think about my sweet Aunt Betty, who fought the bravest battle with breast/bone cancer for so many years.  I still see her in my mind... remembering her on a Sunday morning playing an organ and singing for her husband the preacher man when she was really too weak to even sit up.  I picture her driving that long stretch from her country home to visit her husband in the hospital who was also fighting for his life.  She had a devotion and determination that she “came by honest” as we say here in the South, because her mama, my Maw Maw Weeks is another one that is in the “brave belles” hall of fame.  At almost ninety years old, Maw Maw tended to Aunt Betty, her “baby girl” until the day she took her last breath.  Years before, she sat by the bedside of her husband, my sweet Paw Paw for years as he was bed ridden by a stroke and heart disease. 

            Then there’s my Aunt Joyce.  What a jolly woman she was!  She loved to laugh.  One day the irony of life tried to slap that smile off her face as she suffered a massive stroke while only in her fifties.  For over twenty years, she was completely bedridden, but never stopped believing for a miracle.  Of course her “baby girl” was raised a southern belle too, and she understood the value of family; my cousin Cathy took care of her mama through the years all the way to the end like Maw Maw had Aunt Betty.  I’ve seen many faces of what a “brave belle” looks like.   There’s my friend Sharon who lost her husband and one of her children in a split second when lightening struck them on a cloudy beach one day.  Sharon “carried on” as they say, taking care of her other children, working in places most southern belles wouldn’t dare be seen in - like in the transportation industry as a dump truck driver around a bunch of red necks.  To me, my sweet friend has more class in her pinky finger than the biggest socialite in town!  What a brave belle!

            I reckon each of you, my sweet belles can name a few “brave belles” that have been in your life also.  Truth is, I imagine that you just might be in familiar company because being a good wife, a mother, a sister, daughter, employee, neighbor or friend requires a courage that the men folk might not quite understand.  Southern belles are raised to understand the “calling” of sorts that rests on your shoulders just by virtue of being a belle!  Early on, we stand on stools to be tall enough to reach the stove or the kitchen counter; we step into shoes that we know one day, we too, will most likely “walk a mile or two” in.  We study by a candle that often burns at both ends and rest at the feet of “experience”  learning the southern way of doing things – all while donning a smile from a head that is held high because it is proud to be “southern born and southern bred!”  Brave belles breed brave belles, and make their mamas and daddies proud!

Love y'all!
Starla

"County Looking"

          This past weekend was my sweet Daddy’s 81^st birthday.  That man is like the energizer bunny – I do declare!  He’s had three back surgeries, open heart surgery that was a quadruple bypass, and has beat prostate cancer.  Longevity is in my genes for sure.  His mama lived to be 94 and that was just because she was ready to go “home” because she missed Paw Paw and all her friends so much.  She had no serious illness to speak of, and wasn’t in pain.   It was Mother’s Day, as a matter of fact.  By late afternoon, she had talked to everyone in the family.  We all called her – children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  She ate her supper, put her tray to the side, lay down on her bed, folded her arms and went to sleep.  Now that’s the way to do it – where it is a matter of the will and not of health!  I think if she had let her stubborn streak kick in, she would’ve stayed around another twenty years!

            My other grandmother is 92 years old and still lives alone and takes care of herself.  I don’t exactly know what to contribute this longevity in both sides of my family to, but I think it is just pure, simple, good clean living.  Daddy and his family lived in the country where there was plenty of fresh air and where they ate home grown fresh vegetables from their farm. They lived a quiet life surrounded by good friends and neighbors, social activities at their church and in the community.  It was a simple way, a good way.  Daddy proudly calls himself a “country boy.”  I wouldn’t change that about him for all the gold in California!  I am not a “country girl,” but I appreciate all that my Daddy is and has taught me through his upbringing.  Mama and her family lived in many places – often in the country.  Paw Paw was a minister who planted churches and accepted various pastoral assignments through the years, so they moved quite a few times in her early life.  If I could contribute anything to the longevity from that side of the family, I would have to say it was due to their strong faith, their giving spirit and sense of family and community.  Love is the strongest force I know!

            Anyway, I think I strayed from my point.  This past weekend I was with Daddy and the family celebrating his birthday.  Now there’s something you need to know about Daddy.  He says he’s kind of shy, but once you get him going he is quite the talker.  The whole “Rich clan” is actually.  So I guess I come by it naturally.  We were sitting at the table after lunch and Daddy was telling one of his stories.  He has what we call down South a “dry” sense of humor.  It just comes out of his mouth without him even trying to be funny.  He was telling us about a lady that was in the waiting area at the hospital when Mama was having her gallbladder surgery on Friday.  He began to describe her.  He said this “dried up, country looking woman.”  We all doubled over laughing at him – not the lady of course, but him for his description!  My son Josh and I laughed about that all evening.  One thing that we talked about was wondering what in tarnation “country looking” actually looked like!  It’s funny though.  I really didn’t have to ask because I already had a mental image of what it looked like.  Most of the people I know who live or have lived in the country, tend to be hard workers, are out in the sun a lot and tend to dress for comfort, so I knew exactly what Daddy meant!  We all have our certain “looks,” don’t we?  I mean a cowboy or girl has a certain

look, a certain style.  A city slicker tends to dress a certain way and behave in a way unique to their environment.  A “valley girl” another; a mountain man another.  Then of course, southern belles and gents have a look all their own.  Personally, I think that is just marvelous my darlins’!  Why?  Because it is what makes the world so amazing!  When we feel good enough about ourselves, to live authentically, embracing our heritage, our way of life, our values and upbringing, then we are our best selves for those we love and for the world around us.  So the next time you see someone and your first thought of them is that they are “country looking,” I hope you smile and say “you go girl” or “atta boy” because I can almost guarantee that person is a happy person.  They are living the life that they love and not one that others want for them.  And if you see someone that is a complete mess regardless of what their “look” is, please don’t get in a tizzy or fret about it.  Just smile, say “bless your heart” and go on about your business!

Ma Belle

           When I was a little girl we had the strangest contraption on the wall that we called a “phone!” Children today would find its appearance so funny I am sure. But some of you remember the old telephones – a box that had a “rotary” dial on it and the handset itself was attached to the phone with a stretchy, coil like, rubber cord. The rotary dial had a finger hole for each number that you had to physically turn with your finger. If you had a number with a “9” in it, you had to wait forever for the dialing to be complete! In most homes, the telephone was strategically placed on a central wall where it would be convenient for everyone in the house to access. I remember our old black wall phone with the white numbers and letters. It was on the end of the hall wall at the kitchen. One side of the wall was our formal living room; on the other side was the hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. In front of each side of that wall where the phone hung, were the kitchen and the dining room/den. I remember once when my sweet Daddy was “tethered” to the phone. He had that long coil phone cord stretched down the hall and was sitting in one of our old wood dining chairs as he talked on the phone. Unfortunately, he was sitting in the chair that had been glued back together after the wear and tear of my little brother leaning back in it. Daddy was talking to old Mr. Hodge from our church. He was a talker that Mr. Hodge. As Daddy sat and listened, the chair collapsed! Daddy went one way and that old phone receiver went the other - both bouncing down the hallway! Poor Daddy finally scrambled to his feet, picked up the receiver and Mr. Hodge was still talking up a storm! He never knew the difference. My goodness the memories I have of that old phone. I still remember our phone number to this day.
 

          Down South our phone company was South Central Bell but was affectionately called “Ma Bell.” I never really understood why it was called “Ma Bell,” but perhaps it was because “she” was what brought us all together. You could share stories, news, wisdom, express love, and even the latest “gossip” through Ma Bell’s lines. I really think because of that, she should’ve been called Ma “Belle!” Truly I do. There is nothing like a southern belle who just has that nurturing way about her. You know the one that makes everyone feel welcome, loved… the one that has that special way of bringing everybody together. So I suppose my post tonight is for all the “Ma Belle’s” out there. Maybe some of the young belles and beaus see you as an old fashioned box on the wall that isn’t as trendy as their sleek little handheld gadgets. But you know something? Let them have a problem with their boyfriend or husband, or need a perfect recipe for their first dinner party or family supper and you are worth your weight in gold! Let them need some mending on their favorite shirt before a date with that sweet sassy girl next door and you are priceless!

          “Ma Belles,” never underestimate your value to your world. The truth is, you are the glue that holds it all together; you are the foundation and the heart of your world. Whether you are actually a mother or not, you were born with that special “something” that makes you indispensable to those around you. It is a tough yet tender combination. I talk just a bit about that in my book “Journey Within My Heart.” The fact is, belles are created with a resilience that defies human logic. They face the day with a smile on their face, handling monumental tasks with the ease of a professional. They lead their “troop” and take care of their clan with confidence and authority and embrace those under their care with a love only God Himself can equal. They embody what it means to have courage - not an absence of fear, but a relentless determination to never give up. Women are their world’s “constant” in the middle of ever changing circumstances. It is their responsibility to keep themselves and their loved ones balanced in adverse situations. No wonder somebody once stated “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!”
 

           So my sweet belles, I hope you will go take a good long look in the mirror at that beauty of a woman staring back at you. You are fabulous dahhlin’! And for all the young belles out there; I hope you realize what a resource you have in that beautiful belle you call mama, or granny, aunt, “Ms. Neighbor” or teacher. Oh they may not have a clue what a “chat room” is, but if you take a moment to sit face to face and chat with them, you will come away with more wisdom and insight to face anything that comes your way. They may not have a “timeline” where they can “post on a wall,” but they have written more in your life and the lives of others than all your Facebook friends put together. You see my belles, times and methods may change, but life is pretty much the same as it’s always been. Every belle has felt ugly, shy, insecure, lonely, and afraid. Every girl has tried to discover the mysteries in the minds of men and the ways to a man’s heart. There isn’t a belle who hasn’t been heartbroken by a breakup, devastated by a friend’s betrayal, confused by things beyond their control and misunderstood by their folks. It’s kinda funny how the older you get, the more you realize just how little you know and how comforting it is to have those “Ma Belles” in your life. My own mama is now 75 and my Maw Maw is 92 and I am grateful for every day I can pick up my phone and call them when I need someone to listen and understand. And I try my best to be as patient as possible with Mama when I send her a text message or a picture on her cell phone and she is clueless as to how to retrieve it. You gotta laugh when she picks up her “house phone” to ask how to use her cell phone! But I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything…

Bright Belles

           Last week my sweet Daddy was in the hospital as I mentioned in my previous post.  One evening my son Josh and I were heading back to the hospital for a visit.  Josh was chauffeuring his mama as he usually does when we do something together.  Not quite “driving Miss Daisy” though, as I don’t sit in the back seat!  We were in the more “historical” part of town which is an area that Josh doesn’t normally transverse too often.  I was trying to explain to him how the streets run through our city.  Every one of the main streets are pretty much parallel to each other and if you follow side streets from one place to the next, you can complete a full circle by following them from block to block until you get back to the original main thoroughfare you started on.  As I shared my expertise into the secret mind of our traffic engineers with my son, I thought about a trip I had taken with Daddy many years ago. 

            Mama was our church’s choir director.  Our little southern hodgepodge choir had been asked to sing at a convention in New Orleans.  Mama being the devoted leader she is, decided that she wanted to ride the bus with the choir members rather than ride in the car with Daddy.  That in itself was a shocker as she is about the most nervous passenger I know!  She has worn out the floorboard of many a car, slamming on brakes on the passenger’s side.  Well anyway, I had ridden the bus on the way over, but had had my fill of sweaty seats, loud conversations, and a bumpy ride that would jar your permanent teeth loose!  So I opted to ride back with Daddy and my cousin Cathy.  It would be fine since we could navigate for him.  Daddy was following the bus through New Orleans but somehow we lost them in traffic.  No problem – we could follow the map and highway signs to get through.  That was all mighty fine in theory, but Daddy had forgotten he was in the car with two southern “Rich family” cousins who had inherited the gift of gab.  After the third time around the Super Dome, Daddy knew we were in trouble!  Finally, he got a word in edgewise and we were able to navigate out of there.     

            Now I consider both myself and my cousin fairly educated and capable southern belles.  We both had a similar upbringing, so for us to allow my poor daddy to play a brutal game of “ring around the rosies” with the Super Dome was shameful!  It wasn’t that we weren’t smart enough to help navigate; it’s just that we weren’t paying attention.  We should’ve been his “beacon” in the dark guiding us home, but instead we were more lost than ever.    To be going round and round in circles was inexcusable!  Belles, this can be just as true when it comes to matters in your life.  Lord knows I’ve found myself not only going round and round but coming “full circle” in ways that I never expected and looking back, could’ve avoided.   Let’s look at our trip to New Orleans for a “road map” so to speak.  We were spitting out directions and “saying” we knew the way, we knew how to read the map and we could help navigate.  The problem is, we got so caught up in girl chatter, that we didn’t actually read the map or the highway signs.  We left it to Daddy – a man who had never traveled this road before and was trying his dead level best to concentrate in the middle of all the noise.  No wonder we got lost! 

            You see, “words” seem like a belle’s best friend, but they can often be her worst enemy.  I don’t know about the rest of the world, but down South there are some smooth talking rascals.  Remember “Gone With The Wind?”  My oh my that Rhett Butler could charm the socks of a gal couldn’t he?  And he did time and time again.  I was re-reading some of the script today where during the war Scarlett talked Rhett into taking her back to her home in Tara.  Midway there, Rhett simply decides to abandon her on the trip and leaves to enlist in the war.  She has to make her way back home with her clan and without his help.  I suppose by now you are wondering where in the world I am heading with this dialogue.  Well my belles, it is simply this.  When your beau loves you, you will know it.  Not because of what he says so much, but what he does.  Y’all know I am not one to reveal all my secrets, but just between us belles, I have been such a sap in the past when a man’s words dripped like honey off his lips.  Maybe it is because my “love language” is just that – language or words.  But dahhlins’ there is a lot to be said about “unspoken words” too.  Y’all know that song that says “you say it best when you say nothing at all” don’t you?  That is the truth sometimes.  If your honey goes the extra mile to make your life better, or does something random just to make you happy, chances are he’s a keeper.  Oh we all know this don’t we belles?  But then the words come and we go weak in the knees again.  Words really are powerful and persuasive.  I’ve heard a phrase that has been used a good bit when it comes to the behavior of parents.  It says “I can’t hear what you are saying because your actions are too loud.”  Well my belles, that is true when it comes to the men folk, to your girlfriends, to your boss, your neighbor or most anyone.  My best belle Laura made a comment the other day.  She said “why is it that we girls don’t believe that ‘love’ is a verb – an action word?”   Why the good book itself teaches that.  For the record, this is good advice for all you beaus out there too! 

            Another thing about words is this.  If you talk more than you listen, then you are less likely to observe the actions behind words.  Hush your mouths every once in a while and you’d be surprised what you can learn!  That little bitty piece of advice was just a bonus on our topic today.  So my bright belles, believe in your own intuition and what that whisper inside is telling you.  Also, don't let smooth talking words, flip the switch off on your brain.  common sense and intuition go a long way ladies!  You have a light that will shine on situations and lead the way.  Don’t just listen with your ears, but your heart and open your eyes as that light shines in your situations.  If you will, you’ll never be stuck on a round trip to no where, but will find your way home!

Love y’all,

Starla   

Daddy's Belle

I spent most of the day and evening yesterday with my first love.  I have been his special “belle” since day one.  Yes I’m talking about my sweet, sweet daddy!  It’s no secret I’m “Daddy’s girl.”  Just take a look into my big brown eyes and then glance at his that are dark as coal and you will see – there is no denying the fact that I’m his girl.  Yesterday, Daddy had back surgery – his third one, in fact.  He has also had a quadruple bypass on his heart, has beat prostate cancer and like the “energizer bunny,” he “takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’!”  There is a lot a southern belle learns from a daddy like mine.  Oh there are things that my mama probably wishes I hadn’t – like what she calls a stubborn streak, but Daddy and I choose to call it strong-willed and tenacious.  I suppose in the long run, Mama would have to admit that it has served us both well during difficult times, because we both have that streak of fire that just flames up and says “I won’t give up!”  Daddy’s that kind of man for sure.  

What I love most about my daddy, is that he is the epitome of a “southern gentleman.”  He has taken care of Mama and been the family protector and provider since he married her when she was at the ripe old age of 18.  They both have instilled in me southern grace, strong work ethic, social etiquette, unwavering faith, and most of all, respect for others.  Watching Daddy last night reminded me of just what a southern gentleman he is.  Now mind you, he had major back surgery at 8:00 a.m.  His spine was taped tighter than a drum from top to bottom; he had a drainage tube coming from the back and a catheter coming from… well you know from where!  He was wearing nothing more than a hospital gown barely covering his birthday suit.  Oh and some of those “smiley” hospital socks and his “Roll Tide” slippers!  The nurses would come in and out, and of course, he had to joke around with them no matter how he was feeling.  That’s Daddy.  He always wants others to feel comfortable and bring a smile.  Yes, there is no doubt I’m “Daddy’s belle.”

Mama had left for the evening.  I was still there with my son Josh.  He, too, is one of the finest southern gentlemen I know.  He learned so much from his Paw Paw.  The thing that stuck me most about Daddy last night was his manners.  Men folk down South just know how to treat a lady.  Of course we are all taught early on to say “yes ma’am or sir,” but the little boys learn early how to open doors for the women folk and to always allow them to walk in first while they stay right behind holding the door and making sure their ladies get in or out safely.  Daddy’s nurse came in and asked him if he felt like he could get up and walk a bit.  First, he said he might wait until the next morning since he was kinda sore.  But then she told him if he wanted to get rid of that awful catheter he had to become ambulatory.  That grin that makes my heart smile spread across his face.  “Well you know I think I can try a little walk!”  The Rich stubbornness kicked in mighty fast once Daddy knew he might be set free from that contraption. 

In a few minutes, the nurse came back with an extra hospital gown to wrap around his backside.  Guess she knew Daddy wouldn’t be too thrilled about mooning half the hospital!  He is modest and though his dry sense of humor hides it well, he is actually a bit shy.  Well anyway, the nurse helps him out of bed, drapes the drainage tube and the catheter bag over his arm then takes him by the  hand to start their walk.  Daddy says “well we’re off to the races!”  Then they meander to the door, at which point he tries to reach for the door to open it for her and then waits for her to go out first.  She told him that he needed to go out first since she was holding on to him and needed to get the door so he could be more sure footed.  I laughed and told her she was in the presence of a southern gentleman that had been raised to open doors.  A while later, the two of them came back and once again he steps back to let her in the door first!  She just laughs and tells him to go on in. 

Watching Daddy last night reminded me of how he had taken care of me and also how he had treated Mama my whole life.  It didn’t matter how hard he had worked during the day (or night when he was on night shift), he would take care of “honey do’s” after work without fail.  Each morning he would always be up before the sun to make sure we were up and ready for school.  (How I despised him when he flipped on the overhead light and pulled back the covers on cold mornings!)  The lawn was always like velvet, the house maintained like a well oiled machine and we never had a day in our lives that we did without.  Daddy taught me how to ride my bike (and dried my tears when I fell and skinned my knees on our oyster shell driveway); he sat through scores of boring piano recitals and flashed that handsome smile each day that he would pass through the living room while I practiced for hours on end.  He never asked me to stop when he was napping.  Daddy coaxed me down from a tree swing when my fear of heights took over, spanked the tar out of my little brother when he forgot I was a “girl” and had punched me in the stomach during a siblings fight.  He taught my brother early on the rules of being a southern gentleman, which my brother lives out to perfection with his wife and has taught his grown son as well.  Pretty amazing heritage for our boys I would say!

I guess what I’m most amazed about as I think about Daddy and as I watched him last night, was the fact that I spent a number of years in my life not feeling like a “belle.”  By that I mean not feeling my worth as a girl and a woman.  Lord knows it wasn’t because Daddy didn’t instill it in me.  He was my biggest fan and I was his baby girl!  Oh, sometimes we “butted heads” when my strong-willed streak crossed his, but there was nothing Daddy wouldn’t do for me.  I knew that then and know it even more now because at almost eighty-one years old, he still takes care of me in so many ways.  I don’t know if all of my sweet belles out there have a similar story to tell about your Daddy.  I wish all of you could experience the kind of love my sweet “southern gentleman” gives.  If not though, I know a “gentleman” that looks down on you every day and says “that’s my baby girl and I love her!”  So when you go about your day and some random stranger opens the door for you, or your honey helps get the kids off to school in the morning; when a nice older gentleman reaches down and picks up that item you dropped while standing in the check out line, or when the neighbor puts your garbage can back after the trash truck throws it in the street, look deep into their eyes and I have a suspicion that you might see “Daddy’s” eyes staring back at you.  Never forget what a treasure you are!  You are “Daddy’s belle!” 

Love y'all!
Starla

Me and my sweet Daddy 

when I was about 4 years old..

  

Belles In The Bible Belt

My previous blog post “Belle Of The Ball” sparked so much interest, that I decided I wanted to do a “series” of sorts just for you “belles” out there.  I hope y’all don’t mind too much!  Guess there’s nothing easier to write about than your own life and experiences – and my goodness I’ve had plenty of them!  As I have mentioned, my mama raised me in the traditional “southern way.”  By that I mean, we learned early about the do’s and don’ts of “courting” as the old folks used to say.  Even after all these years, I still find it hard to initiate a phone call even to my sweetie!  I know times have changed, but I am still a “southern belle” through and through and a girly girl on top of that, so I guess I tend to stand on the more traditional way of romance and dating.  Now I know that not every woman is like me and that is perfectly fine.  Some are comfortable asking the man out, initiating the first call and such.  All I can say about that is if you do feel comfortable in doing so, just never compromise who you are or the fact that you are a lady and a treasure, a prize worth the pursuit.  That man is not the prize!     

Tonight I want to expand a bit on something I mentioned in my post last week.  Here is what I said… “God has better things to do than to find you a man.  If your path in life includes having a man, God gave you everything you need for that man to find you when you stay focused on what truly matters.  Shine bright like a beacon sugar and he’ll find you!”  I hear so many women say “God’s going to find my man for me.”  Well dahlin’, I think we put too much on God and blame to much on Him too.  God doesn’t need to find your man.  He already knows where He is!  :) As a matter of fact, He’s put the task of bringing you two together on that man.  The good book says “He that finds a wife, finds a good thing.”  You may disagree with me, but sitting home at night waiting on God to find you a man, just seems pretty miserable.  Besides, if that man is going to do what he’s supposed to do, he probably will never find you, if you are sitting at home waiting…    Bubba has no idea where you live and I don’t think God is going to pick Him up and drop him at your doorstep.  Even if He did, I doubt Bubba would stay around long at some houses.   Would you if you could stand on your front porch and listen to you chat with your best friend about that “scoundrel” that you went out with last month?  When you met him he was “sent by God,” but then when things didn’t work out, he was just the devil himself.  How could he hurt such a sweet thing like you?  Now before you have a hissy fit and want to tar and feather me for my thoughts on this – think a moment.  Bubba isn’t standing on your front porch but he doesn’t have to.  Our whole world has become a “front porch” through Facebook, Twitter and the like.  Girls, please don’t dog that man on Facebook!  Any chance with Bubba will be “gone with the wind!”   Maybe that ex was a “devil” but by proclaiming it to the world, the main person you are disrespecting is you.  The “devil” could care less if you talk about him.  He’s moved on.  Maybe you remember what I also said in my post last week.  “Be a better woman and like honey is to flies, better men show up or rise up.”   

            So what’s a girl to do?  Be the lady you are!  Use some of that southern charm, wit and energy to get out and enjoy life.  Volunteer at the senior center, take or give dance lessons, join the gym, become a club member, cook meals for the homeless, take up bike riding, learn to play tennis, grow a community organic garden… You might find that while you are so busy living life, that you really aren’t so desperate for Bubba after all.  And goodness gracious “Scarlett,” you might even meet his handsome brother Bo!   If you are in the right places, the right men will be there too!

Should you have a companion - my advice is still the same.  One of the main rules in the “southern belle’s handbook” is to never air your dirty laundry in public!  Oh we may parade our crazies on the front porch and be as proud of Aunt Sybil as we are our own mama’s, but we don’t tell everything we know – even if it is true!  Let that lover’s spat with your man go.  Shaming him through social media won’t exactly “cool his grits.”  Respect breeds respect….   So my sweet belles, single or married – let your words be smooth as molasses.  I guarantee you sweetness in return.  You can never go wrong in being kind.  Sometimes it isn’t so much what you say as how you say it.  I recall one of “those days” when I was feeling the need for some “nurturing.”  You know what I mean?  I am one of those girls who needs a bit of watering through the day like a flower garden.  Sweet words and a minute or two of attention just melt my butter.   Now I could’ve pitched a conniption fit and nagged that poor man to death about how he was too busy to check in and let me know he was thinking of me, but I didn’t do that.  No, instead I simply said “I love it when I hear from you.  I’m like one of those big yellow squash blooms in my vegetable garden after a big rain!”   You know what he said?  He said, “That is the sweetest way I’ve ever been told I needed to do something.”   Now that was a big ole’ win win wasn’t  it? 

          So if you want Bubba to find you, or desire your “Rhett” to never leave you, just remember it really is more in your hands than it is his or God’s.  Be sweet my belles and have a great week.  I hope to share more real soon with y’all.  Should you have thoughts or questions for the next discussion, I would love to hear from you!   Feel free to comment or to write. 

Love y’all! 

Starla

Belle Of The Ball

          This morning I got up and began my daily ritual “fixing up” for Sunday morning services. My ritual was a little more detailed than my work day routine, but still involved much of the same daily practices we ladies subject ourselves to in order to look and feel beautiful.  Goodness gracious what we go through!  Fellas, I think if you had to spend time each day applying makeup, brushing on mascara, styling your hair and the such, you would give it up after a week.  And Lord have mercy if you had to wear panty hose!  Well as far as the ladies… I won’t pass judgment on whether it’s right or wrong.  If putting on make up and highs heels helps a woman feel better about herself or if refusing to do such helps her, it’s all good darlin’!  Every girl has to choose her own path on what helps her be her best self.
 
          Now I try not to dabble in other folks business, and certainly try to be discreet when it comes to my own.  We southern belles were raised not to air dirty laundry in public for all to see.  We learn all about etiquette and decorum early on. Lately though, I have about had my fill of certain things that I see on social media from my sisters.  Girls, I want the best for y’all… honestly I do.  I want you to be treasured as a woman, admired as a mother or daughter.  I want you to know how beautiful you are inside and out.  Here’s the thing though.  If you are feeling as though that isn’t the case and wondering why, maybe the answer can be found no further than your own dressing mirror.  Oh I don’t mean whether or not you have freckles or a crooked nose.  I certainly don’t mean whether you are shaped like an hour glass or a looking glass. No ma’am.  If you aren’t feeling so beautiful or treasured, valued or respected, you might have to look a tiny bit deeper than that face in the mirror.

          Oh I know we all want to look like Scarlett O’Hara and be admired and courted by scores of handsome mavericks.  We want to be looked up to like Princess Di and we want to acquire the life of Cinderella or Belle living “happily ever after,” but if you think it is all because of how long your lashes are, how curvy your hips, how lush your lips or bright your eyes, then all I can say is “bless your heart!”  Girls, I don’t pretend to be an expert on men – goodness knows I’ve made plenty of mistakes concerning those creatures we can’t seem to live with or without.  So rather than giving my unsolicited advice about them, I’d like to say something about what I do know about – women. You know, it took me awhile, but I finally talked myself out and when I did, I learned a thing or two.  It’s amazing what all you can hear in silence.  If you don’t believe me “hush a minute” and see what I mean!  Here are some things I learned…

*It isn’t necessary to search the world over to find a good man, nor is it necessary to nag and aggravate the tar out of the men you know to become better men.  Be a better woman and like honey is to flies, better men show up or rise up.

*If you don’t think you are the “belle of the ball” then most likely that man won’t either.

*If you don’t take care of the package God gave you, then don’t complain if a man doesn’t appreciate it or admire it. Take care of yourself!

*God has better things to do than to find you a man.  If your path in life includes having a man, God gave you everything you need for that man to find you when you stay focused on what truly matters.  Shine bright like a beacon sugar and he’ll find you!

*When boys are born, they have a woman they call mother.  When they are young, they have girls who are either their sisters or playmates.  When they become a man ready to settle down – trying to be their mother, sister or playmate NEVER works!  A woman ready for a man learns how she can both compliment and complement him.

*If you don’t like to hunt – stay out of the woods!  You are the prize, not the bait.

*If you want others to hush their mouths about your man or your lack of a man, hush yours first!  Some things are better left unsaid.  Trust is not given but earned.

*Superman might be sitting right next to you, but you’ll never know if you don’t give a man what he wants most – and no it isn’t what you think!  RESPECT him and there’s nothing that a man won’t do for a woman he is pining over.  Oh and on that subject of respect… It begins and ends with you.  Respect breeds respect.

*If you don’t want to live a lonely life, then quit telling everyone how lonely you are!  Love yourself and your life because love isn’t meant to be looked for or solicited.  It only comes when it is an overflow given freely from your own heart.

           So today my sweet belles…. go to your mirror and fuss over yourself a little bit – not with makeup or perfume, but with that beautiful stuff that’s inside of you.  That is what you want everybody to see.  Carry yourself with class, ruffle the feathers of those who treat you like less than a lady, hold your tongue and let “bless your heart” cover a multitude of sins.  Even if you can’t put on your best dress, always put on your best smile and mean it.  All Cinderella had to do to be the “belle of the ball” was clean up, look up, show up and never give up.  You too can be the “belle of the ball!” 

Love y'all!!!

I'm Just Resting!

Well, well, well.  This past month was the busiest month  for me!  I think I met myself at the door a few times actually.  I tried to smile at myself in passing as best I could!  After all a southern belle prides herself on a million dollar smile.  We are raised to appear calm, cool and collected regardless of what stirs up our dander.  I must confess, the month was a  bit of a challenge for me in maintaining all the southern charm with the level of work that was on my "to do" list.  As of late, if anyone in my family saw me sit down for a minute or two they would ask if I wasn't feeling well. 

           I suppose all this comes natural for me as I come from a long line of hardworking folks on both sides of my family.   My mama's parents were in the coal business early in their marriage until my Paw Paw "accepted the call" to preach.  Then they were busier than ever with his congregations, planting and overseeing new churches.  Not to mention raising six children!  My daddy's parents were farmers. When my grandfather was a small boy he lived with his family in Texas. In the span of a day both of his parents died from an epidemic that swept the area where he lived. He and his siblings were shuffled around from relative to relative until Paw Paw ended up in Alabama and more or less took care of himself from the time he was eight years old. He only had a third grade education and by the time he was sixteen he lied about his age so he could go into the military. He fought and was wounded in World War I. Each time we would visit he would proudly pull out his “Purple Heart” and recount his war stories; and each time they were just as exciting as the first time. What was so amazing about Paw Paw is that even with little education (he could not even read!) he worked a full-time job, harvested massive crops for extra income and successfully raised five children. “It can’t be done” or “I can’t do it” was NEVER in his vocabulary. He continued to grow those huge gardens on into his early eighties. He was a hardworking man that didn’t really sit still very often. 

          One day Paw Paw had been outside working as usual. When the time came for him to take a break for lunch he was no where to be found. My grandmother called for him but he didn’t come. She looked out the kitchen window and at the other end of the meadow she spotted him. He was lying motionless in the grass! Well in a panic, Mama Rich (that’s what we called her as our family name is “Rich”) picked up the phone and called my cousin who lived across the street and was home from work that day. My cousin hopped in his truck, darted across the highway and sped up the driveway like it was the Indy 500. He jumped out of the truck and started running to where Paw Paw was as Mama Rich met him halfway. Just as they both got there, all the “commotion” stirred Paw Paw from his unconscious state. Thinking he had passed out or had a stroke or heart attack they both reluctantly edged closer to him. By that time Paw Paw was alert, he jumped up and said “My God Lee (that was my grandmother’s middle name) I am NOT dead I was just resting!”  I think at that point in time Paw Paw was lucky to stay alive as he had scared poor Mama Rich half to death herself.  I can relate to  my sweet Paw Paw - God rest his soul.  (Don't worry it didn't happen for many years after the day of this incident.)  Lately if I take a moment to just "sit still" it is "all she wrote" as they say down here in the South.  I will be asleep in no time flat.  I suppose we have to take a moment to rest where ever and whenever we can.  My son has walked through the house this last month and saw me actually sitting or napping on the sofa and has interrupted my sleep to ask if I was okay.  I've wanted to shout "don't worry I'm not dead I'm just resting!"  Goodness gracious alive - yes alive!  This is not the laid back South that I love being this busy.  So I think I may just have to find my  own grassy spot to lay in the sun and listen to the sound of nature - well amidst the neighbor's dog barking and the airplanes flying over!  Right now it is a rare quiet moment.  I've just stepped out on my back screened in porch and I hear a bird chirping, a whippoorwill calling out and the sound of a gentle breeze in the trees.  So maybe I will go lay out in the grass for a bit.  If you don't hear from me again real soon, please don't worry "I'm not dead, I'm just resting!"

Bye Bye Y'all!

"Southern Star"

Editor's Note:  The following blog post was originally featured through my community outreach and site "Encouragement Enterprises."  If you enjoy reading material to encourage and brighten your day, visit EE sometime as well.  I would love to have y'all!  The link to the EE blog is:  ncourage1.blogspot.com  Click here for our official site:  Encouragement Enterprises

Master Of The Rodeo

     When my son was about five years old we lived far out in the country. It was one of those places were a southerner might say they had to “pipe in” sunshine!  It wasn't my favorite location as I am a "city girl" (a southern city girl!), but it was just this side of heaven for a pre-schooler.  I remember waking up one morning to find a cow standing next to my car!  Oh my goodness, that was a sight to see for this southern belle!!!  I had never been that close to a cow in my life!  That's a story for another day though.  Anyway, we had acres of land, trees for climbing, woods for exploring, a huge deep ditch to ride a bike in and then there was Boomer.  Boomer was my son's golden lab. I watched the two of them day in and day out perform the strangest ritual.  My little man would hop on Boomer's back and ride him like a horse.  Boomer knew better though and was determined to let Josh know that he was NOT a horse!  Every time Josh would hop up on Boomer’s back, Boomer would walk just enough to tease him, and then would stand up on his hind legs and buck Josh off, throwing him gently to the ground. Boomer thought he was teaching Josh a lesson, but my smart baby boy was teaching him.  He was teaching a dog how to behave like a bucking horse!  Sometimes life is just that way. We hop on ready to go full steam ahead but “life” wants to show us who’s in charge and that it isn’t what we thought it was.  We get thrown to the ground time and time again.  But a determined man or woman will brush themselves off, hop right back on and keep riding!  Especially a southern hand full like myself.  I may struggle sometimes but you'll never see me quit!  Stubbornness is a family trait that I come by honestly.  When you refuse to quit, when you hop back on after being thrown off again and again, before long something changes. Life isn’t controlling you, you are controlling it!  It is doing tricks for you that it doesn’t even realize. So my advice today is this.  If you get thrown to the ground today or tomorrow - next week, month or year, hop back on.  You are master of this rodeo.  Hold on and keep riding!

Diaper Daze

      There are three things most sacred in southern society - faith, family and football... sometimes not necessarily in that order!  If you happen to have grown up in the South, you understand the importance of religion in southern culture.  The South isn't called the "Bible Belt" for nothing.  Most southerners "cut their teeth" on church pews!  Between Sunday services, church socials, mid-week Bible studies and revival meetings, most southern children spent half their childhood on old wooden church pews.  I know I did.  Our church services weren't limited to an hour or two like most modern schedules - not at all!  We "tarried until"  many a night.  For what, I wasn't always certain, but I soon learned to  fall asleep on cedar planks or pine boards  just as easily as my big old comfy poster bed at home.  Think of sleeping on a two by four - you'll get the idea.  There isn't much I haven't seen in church.  People rarely let inconveniences stop them from participating in church activities, so you never knew what might be "brought" into the church house or what you might see, hear or experience.  Sometimes, people came to church just so folks wouldn't talk about them.  News of heathen ways spread faster than an epidemic, so church attendance was a sure fire way not to be the talk of the town.  Of course that "talk" was always prefaced with "we need to pray for them - bless their hearts."  I never could understand how gossip coupled with prayer seemed to make it okay somehow.  Well nonetheless, church folks weren't just acquaintances in the community, they were family and you know how that goes. "I can talk about my family, but you'd better not even think about talking about them" as they say. 

        I came from a long line of church going family.  My grandfather was a minister, two of my uncles were ministers, a cousin... and I won't even mention my ex's!  That topic is something that a southern lady keeps to herself - well and between her close girlfriends.  As for the family ministers.  My oh my, the stories they've shared over the years.  Once, my uncle was scheduled to speak at a visiting church.  He wasn't feeling well at all, but couldn't cancel the preaching engagement.  You see, we could never use the excuse that we were sick.  After all, the Bible talked about healing and even how folks were raised from the dead, so, no sir, there weren't any excuses!  Just before the service that night, my uncle's sickness got the best of him in the worst possible way.  He felt the urge to find a bathroom and fast!  Unfortunately, his stomach was faster than his legs and he ended up in quite a "mess" literally.  He stripped down, removed his soiled underpants, disposed of them and freshened himself up the best he could.  A men's restroom in an old country church was a far cry from a gentleman's lounge at the country club.  There were no little bottles of sweet smelling soap or lotion, no warm cloths or towels.  Uncle dressed himself, regained his composure, tried to settle his nervous stomach the best he could, and found his way to the sanctuary, where he sat on the front pew waiting for his time at the podium.  Soon, the service began and the choir began to sing.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a lady at the other end of the front pew where he sat.  She was holding a small baby.  She began a strange ritual of "sniffing."  Only a mother knows about such a ritual.  She would sniff, pull back the baby's diaper for a quick peek and then rub the baby on the stomach.  This went on for several minutes in intervals. What this poor young mother did not realize was that the "diaper daze" she was experiencing with her baby wasn't her baby at all.  It was my smelly old uncle!  Soon enough, he was summoned to the pulpit for the evening sermon.  I imagine it was his shortest sermon ever, but to add insult to injury, he was one not to stay behind the pulpit.  He was a "walker."  He would walk along the front of the sanctuary as he preached.  Each time he passed by the lady on the front pew, she would start her "sniffing" ritual all over again.  Poor baby.  Hopefully, the little darling wasn't given caster oil when they got home!

       Now I am not sure if I would've been nearly as devoted as my uncle that night.  I am quite certain that there is much to be said about ridding oneself of smelly situations and rising to the occasion no matter what, but as for me, I've spent more than enough time on church pews to know that it's better to deal with smelly situations before they become a mess.  Airing "dirty laundry" in public is a "no no" in the southern book of etiquette!  Folks won't have a reason to "sniff" if we don't give them one! 

Editor's note:  On a serious note, I am most grateful for my heritage of faith and the devotion to God, family and community that my family has displayed and instilled in me over the years.  It is the very reason I do what I do!  Thank each of you for your shining example.