Virginia Mae Gamble Ard (May 18, 1921-March 31, 2010)

Virginia as a young mother.

Virginia as a girl. I can see my Dad in her face in this pic!

My granny passed away this afternoon. We visited her on Saturday afternoon, and, though she was weak, she was herself, with her, "There ain't no hurry for y'all to leave". That was classic Granny speak.

In the past five years or so, with the onset of dementia, Granny has been sweet to me again. I was a favorite grandchild until about the age of eleven or so, when I scoffed at the fact that she and her best friend were discussing what they were going to make for dinner during our luncheon at a restaurant. I announced that I would be preparing TV dinners when I grew up. Granny was mortally offended, "What about your husband?" "Well, I don't plan on getting married until after I'm 30 years old or so." In her outrage, she threatened to tell my mother what I said, and I fearlessly professed that I had no doubt my mother would be proud and would agree with me. Those words caused Granny's complexion to become dark red, and she was angrier than I had ever seen her. She barely spoke to me for the rest of my stay, and I felt great dismay, as I'd intended the words as light banter, not realizing how they would affect her. There are few words that I've ever regretted more.

I revelled in being Granny's favorite. She would let me stay with her regularly and would take me shopping and out to eat daily, and we'd have a fine time. She was the only truly sympathetic adult ear that I had. I could come and tell her all of the injustices that I endured, and she was unfailingly completely and utterly outraged with me, sometimes becoming so visibly upset that I considered the possibility that perhaps I needed to modify what I told her, even whilst I was still pre-adolescent. She listened and cared and loved me so much.

My privileged and beloved state ended after my declaration of feminist independence. My choice of vegetarianism at age 14 merely cemented my estrangement from her, and she never seemed truly loving again--until her fairly mild dementia set in, that is. She always knew me, despite the dementia.

A couple of years ago, I rode in the back seat of a car with her. She patted my hand lovingly, and she told me that my hair was pretty. She talked about how much I'd grown (clearly assuming I was much younger than I was) and that I'd put on some weight, but it was all said so lovingly that I was fairly melting into the seat. I'd craved her love for so many years!

I have seen Granny a few times over the past few years, and I've always seen her on holidays and such. There's so much to say about her cooking abilities and the way she encouraged everyone to "eat, eat!" at the dinner table. She was observant and secretive and quiet.

I always have thought of her as beautiful, because she was beautiful to me. I loved her smile, her twinkling eyes, her soft, smooth skin. Her skin was so thin and delicate. Granny was the soft, cuddly Granny who bakes pies and soothes my woes...

Granny could hold grudges and show favoritism and be strict. Early to bed, early to rise. No napping in her house! Get out of her kitchen! She didn't yell, though, but you knew clearly what the rules were. She would not tolerate a snooping child, either, and proper behavior was a must.

Neither she nor Grandaddy ever stayed more than a few weeks in a nursing home or hospital, but those times did become occasionally necessary. When Grandaddy was released from the nursing home a couple of years ago after recovering from an operation, she wanted to go out on their regular gad-about the town routine immediately. When he claimed that he was too exhausted to leave home, she told him that he should still be in the nursing home if he wasn't able to behave normally. He went back the next day...

Granny and Grandaddy have been married for 70 years, after a late evening elopement, when Ginny, 18, was supposed to be out with her friend. Emmett, 20, was not approved of by Charles Gamble, Virginia's father, who had threatened Emmett with a shotgun. Years later, on his deathbed, Charles gave Emmett the shotgun with which he had threatened to shoot him.

Granny and Grandaddy have mostly gotten along through those years, and I could tell that Grandaddy loved Granny unconditionally. He has terrible hearing, but he always could hear her soft voice. It seemed contrary to nature, honestly. No matter how I'd shout at him, he would always turn to her to get her soft-spoken translation. So romantic...

Grandaddy has also caught Granny and borne the brunt of her falls several times in the past couple of years. Several years ago, when she refused to wear the uncomfortable support hose the doctor mandated to help her venous return, Grandaddy stretched them out a bit with 2-liter bottles. When she still refused, he told her, "Fine! When your leg has to be amputated, it will be your own damn fault!" She finally gave in and wore the support hose.

Granny always liked to sit on her front porch, in her rocking chair. She would shell beans and peas or do her word finds and watch the passers-by and take careful note of who was up to what. Though she would occasionally whisper a tidbit of information conspiratorially, she would rarely share much of what she knew, and she relished that she knew more than anyone else!

Granny also felt a calling to visit with church folks ailing at home or in the hospital. She spent so much time in the hospital, in fact, and was such a comfort, that the hospital once offered her a job to simply come and sit with folks.

Granny was proud that she lived in a house on the right side of the tracks. They had bought a home that formerly belonged to a town doctor, and she felt quite smug about that.

Granny was a wonderful Granny to me when I was little, and she continued to be the wonderful maker of macaroni pies and butter beans, pecan pie and sweet tea. She did attend my wedding, and she was always the central figure of holiday gatherings and such. I've always loved Granny, and I am sad that I disappointed her. It has been so lovely to once again be loved by her these brief recent years, and I cling to my memories of her and the stories of her long, full 88 years of life.

More Palm Sunday 2010

Alex, Fiona, Nicholas and Elizabeth are spending much of their spring break together. They are having a great time...

Palm Sunday 2010

My Melting Pot Heritage

Aunt Pat's rather 'Asian'-looking school picture.

Yes! I have finally gotten the colorful DNA results that I've always sought! I finally had my father's parents' DNA tested for ancestral heritage. The limitations of the test still exist, of course--due to the fact that they only test the two alleles of 15 markers or so, things can easily be missed. Therefore, my own DNA analysis suggested fairly clear Scotch-Irish heritage. While perfectly fine, this did not tickle my romantic fancies in particular. Also, I had not realized that the East coast Native American populations were not included in the test (still not sure why--perhaps no pure samples?). Anyhow...back to the excitement.
Grandaddy, it turns out, has quite the Native American roots! While of course he had some European connections, the current-day world populations that he matched best with were the Hispanic and Mestizo populations in America. This makes sense, as they are typically a mix of European and Native American, and sometimes African, though there was no hint of African roots in either of my grandparents (which I do think would have been quite cool, by the way).

After all this time of searching, it is wonderful to see this 'proof'! His grandmother Reppie looked Asian in her older pictures (the only ones I have), even though she wasn't full-blood Native American, and my dad and 2 of his 3 siblings all have rather "squinty", Asian-looking eyes. The childhood photos of my Aunt Pat have always been quite the evidence of those roots to me!

It's so very nice to be validated. Those photos were the only 'proof' I had for the longest time, as the family denied it generally in the past. I also performed a test in physics class which matched my hair width more closely with Asian folks than Europeans, which I took to support my Native American suspicions. It's nice to see how people actually can change, though, as the residual shame associated with having Native American heritage seems to have evaporated in the more recent years. My father openly admits what he denied when I was 20!

So, these results don't mean Grandaddy is full-on Comanche or anything. I was also excited to see quite the strong link to Toulouse, France. This area in the SW of France has a very interesting history and is the 'center' of the Occitan culture, as it is called. I only became aware of the colorful history of this region through reading the history-rich novel Labyrinth by Kate Moss. It was initially a bit dull in the political and historical details, but I gradually became aware of my ignorance regarding some very important history. I'm still fairly ignorant, but at least I'm aware of it now! As soon as I finally finished the long book, in which I'd been attentive mainly to the sensational novel aspects, I realized that the history I'd been introduced to was quite amazing and that I should go back and re-read the book with attention to it, after I had some hooks established from the first reading. Now that I see Grandaddy and Granny both had Toulouse, France pop up on their Native Population matches, I will have even more enthusiasm for re-reading the book, so's I can learn about some of my French heritage. :)

No, it's not strange that they both had Toulouse pop up. They both have old roots in the same region of South Carolina, and I'm completely convinced (and have reason to be convinced) that some of the ancestral lines match up a few times.

Granny also had a hint of the Hispanic/mestizo match in her, though it was much weaker. The most interesting surprise in her native population matches was a medium link with Romania, which Michael translated to Gypsies! I'm totally thrilled with that! Michael started singing Hilary Duff's Gypsy Woman song to make me laugh (it's my music, that he's tolerantly put up with!), and I can't wait to watch Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame with the kids again. Puts together the gypsies and the French, actually!

Of course, both of my grandparents had significant ties to Ireland and Britain, with those Norse blips to signify those terrorizing Vikings who invaded and settled the British coast! Seeing all those links really does add to my interest and appreciation of the history associated with those regions, especially if I can see them in a romantic light, which is fairly easy when so many brilliant folks have written great books and movies and songs about them!

I actually do have fictional books and/or movies that I associate to each of these heritage links. The strong Portuguese element in Michael's results left me at a complete loss, and I've actually put a couple of videos about Portugal on hold at the library. I'm totally out of my element with that, but I've got the French, Brits, Scots, Norse, Native American and gypsy stories covered!

Belated Flute

I'd been waiting for this flute to arrive for several days, and finally I saw the tracking information on Tuesday placed the flute in Savannah. I was gone for the day, but I told Michael, 'the flute should be here today!' As we drove home that evening, Michael paused behind the FedEx truck, stopped at an address very similar to our own (Way instead of Court), and said, "I wonder if that's your flute?" Sure enough, the FedEx worker was carrying a flute-shaped package to the porch. I dashed out of the van and rescued my flute, which the worker relinquished with a sheepish look of dismay.
Who in the world had the bright idea to make a 'Court' extend off of a 'Way' and repeat the numbers? This same thing happened when I ordered Alex's first violin. I tracked the package, and on the evening when I saw it had been delivered, I decided to take a stroll up to the 'Way' address, and, behold, there lay a violin-sized package on the porch. I felt like a thief as I approached the porch, verified our name on the package, and sauntered away with it, trying to seem nonchalant as I said, "hello!" to curious-looking neighbors.

Back to my flute... Isn't it pretty? Well, I suppose it just looks like a flute in the pictures, but this is a silver-plated, open-holed French flute with a B foot. It's hard to believe I actually have one! I played flute from 6th thru 10th grades (there was no band in my 11th grade school and at my 12th grade school I did join a flute choir for a bit, though I opted not to enter band at that point...) and was quite the competitor, always aiming for first chair and receiving the solos and such! I played piccolo, even, some of the time, which is a full octave higher than the flute and gave me awful headaches with the ear-piercing shrieks it made! Horrible! It stole the flute's show, though, so of course I wanted to be the one to play it, if it were to be played.

I also played flute through my undergrad years about once monthly with my mother at her church, but I dropped it after moving away to grad school, for the most part. I play perhaps three times annually for my mother's church now, and otherwise I rarely pick it up.

Given the rarity of playing, I haven't felt justified in making the expensive purchase of a nice flute. However, I have increasingly begrudged the fact that I was playing a basic student model flute, whose tin-alloy finish was worn away in many areas due to such heavy use. I never liked the flute, but I was simply glad to have one at all.

This past school year, I have re-entered the world of daily flute-like practicing with Fiona. We have been practicing the recorder together, and she is quite the musical gal. I find music with duets, and we harmonize and sound absolutely lovely (to my ears, at least!). I can understand why my mother always claimed that she liked to play with her daughter, as perhaps I'm experiencing that as well. Fiona can really hold her own! Her music/recorder teacher has already pegged her as a future flute player, and Fiona has asked to start learning flute.

Of course, this is the opportunity and excuse I needed! Finally! I can't teach her and we can't play together if I don't actually have two flutes. We figure my basic student flute will be a perfectly fine beginner flute for her, and we can upgrade later. Besides, I would be reluctant for her to carry around an expensive flute to leave lying around at school. My old one will be fine for daily school practice.

Michael took me to the music store, where I actually was allowed to try out the display models. I did opt for the expensive, solid silver Gemeinhardt French flute with a golden mouthpiece. Silver flutes have better tone quality than the tin-alloy flutes, and the gold actually does warm and enrich the tone quality, even if it does sound frivolous!

The salesman struck $600 or so from the price and quoted me $1900, plus a $108 annual maintenance fee. Hmm...I'd have to think about that.

We then visited other music stores, and we looked at inexpensive student models for around the $200 level. We visited the pawn shop, where they tried to sell me a dented and tarnished French flute that I swear smelled of smoke for the lovely price of $399. No thanks.

Back to e-bay, where I discovered again a smorgasbord of instruments. I was highly, highly tempted by the same model of Gemeinhardt for a mere $850. Nice! However, while I weighed the incredibly inexpensive basic student flutes for just over $100, I spotted a new Venus silver-plated French flute for $240. No, not solid silver, nor the gold mouthpiece. But the price was nice! It was tempting, and they had a 'make an offer' feature, which I'd never used before. I impulsively threw out an offer of $190, and it was accepted by the next morning!

Wow! I couldn't believe I'd done it! After actually making the bid, I'd gone on to actually research a little about this brand, and I did squirm upon seeing it bashed by serious flautists. One disparager said, "If you're not playing anything too technical, and you just want to look pretty, the Venus flute might be fine for you..." I lit up...okay! That sounds about right! Though she went on to advise the budget-bound girl considering the Venus French flute to spend her dollars getting her student model flute tweaked and livened up with an ornamental cap, I still couldn't help but think, "well, I never play anything too technical these days, and I DO so want a pretty flute--this might be just the thing." I am as smug as anything now that I have compared the flutes. My pretty Venus flute blows away the old student model for tone quality, and the B foot allows it to play another note below C, which solo flute music often includes (as any flautist worthy of the name should have advanced to a B foot). The tone is gorgeous and full, warm and rich! The open holes have removable caps in them, and I know from experience that it will take some work for me to graduate to the open holes, but they should improve sound quality even more if and when I do.

Of course, if I were a professional flautist with a symphony, it might be wise to heed the advice to invest in a top-quality instrument, but seriously, this does seem just the thing for me, and I just pray the flute maintains its integrity. If it does, I'm a happy flautist! Really, two years of payments on the maintenance plan of the Gemeinhardt cover the cost of my new flute, so I haven't lost too much with this 'risky' investment. Besides, the Gemeinhardt was only the best that the store offered, and is still only an intermediate level flute. Advanced flutes run over $5000!

A little smile...

Took this pic a couple of days ago...there's a hint of a smile. Big smiles still have to wait, but I'll try to make a point of taking a pic when I have on make-up someday!

Huge egg!

I found this enormous egg in the nesting box today. Did a turkey sneak in? Seriously, though...only one Australorp laid yesterday, so we're wondering if it's one of the so-called "double yolk" eggs. We'll find out this morning...otherwise, I don't know what to think!

P.S. Yes, it was a double-yolk egg!

Pullet Pics!

Seven months old and all three of our chickens are laying eggs!

Ikebana Artist!

I felt like a Japanese ikebana artist with these blooms from our ornamental plum tree!

Personal Pics sans Smiles Caveat

No smiles from me until braces come off. Yes, I've taken them, but it's truly not a sight that you want to see! At least, it's not one I care to see... They should be off late this year, and then let's hope that I want to post lots of big, toothy smiles! (That is, we may not hope that I do--just that I want to!...i.e., the teeth look nice).

Fiona Charms in Vain

A young girl visited our house yesterday, while her father did some necessary maintenance on our piano. She is a rather sweet-looking, but rather quaint 9-year-old girl. Long brown hair, long skirt, round face, blue eyes...very polite and quiet.
Fiona was utterly enchanted with this girl, and she spent the entire couple of hours trying to charm her. The girl, on the other hand, charmed Fiona with her quiet demeanor, her crochet, and her reading, but, of course, that was by default, as the girl charmed effortlessly! Fiona chatted with her most lively conversation. She brought up nearly everything she could think of to talk about...activities, school, instruments, etc. She brought her two precious dolls downstairs. She even brought a chicken in the house to show her, and she gathered a new warm egg from the coop and showed it to the girl. All for naught...
After the father and daughter left, Fiona began thinking of ways to get together. Could we invite the girl over for a play date? How about her birthday party?
My heart went out to Fiona. I, too, found the quaint girl to be fascinating, but it seemed fairly apparent that the little girl did not share Fiona's desire to befriend. In fact, she rather looked as though she would rather be left alone to read and crochet, though of course she was very polite and sweet.
In discussing the situation with Michael last night, he suggested that perhaps it wasn't disinterest on the girl's part so much as feeling overwhelmed and shy. I, on the other hand, had rather decided that it was just one of those situations that we can't help...the person is no less fascinating or sweet, but they simply aren't that interested in a friendship. Regardless, there's not much more Fiona could have done, from my limited perspective, at least. In fact, I even suggested to the girl's dad that perhaps the girls could have a playdate, to which he replied, "that's so nice of you!", which of course means they'll never get together again... What more can we do? Oh, and yes, I was nearly as enchanted with the young girl as Fiona was!

Chloe laid her egg!

Chloe, our Salmon Faverolle pullet, finally laid her first egg! I'm tickled that I posted about the chickens laying their eggs on the blog just the day before they did--'coincidence' again! Anyhow, you can't quite tell it from the picture, but her egg has a slight pink sheen to it. The egg next to hers is an Australorp egg.

Refugee pic

Hmm, here is a little more real shot of me, also sans makeup, I believe! It really catches that trendy hollow-eyed refugee look, doesn't it? Honestly, though, I don't hate it--I'm kinda fond of it, actually, even if it's not terribly flattering.

Vanity, vanity...I actually am not typically very photogenic, so a decent shot surprises both Michael and me! There's a rather funny story, actually...

When Michael and I were first dating, he went with me to pick up our cap-and-gown photos from the studio. The photos were so awful that both he and the photo shop owner flipped right past them, in search of mine. I recognized them, but I was so horror-stricken that I hoped nobody else would and they'd think the pics were lost! They only spotted the pics after both going through the stack a couple of times. Michael slowly fingered the photo package and asked, hesitantly, "Is this you?", which I miserably admitted. He wisely said not another word.

Magical pic sans makeup

Yes, there is a reason I never post pics of me. I don't like them, generally! I'll turn the camera on me and snap them randomly, but then I'm horrified at how I look! Somehow, this up-close shot, completely without makeup, managed to make me look young and blemish-free! I suppose it just manages to cut off the forehead wrinkle and double chin:). Okay, from now on--zoom in, no forehead or chin, got it?

Spring Yard Novelties

For just a couple of days, the yellow jessamine has been blooming on our front porch.

We bought this reading fairy at Tuesday Morning. Fiona and I love her! She's lying in front of some mint I put in the planting box last summer, hoping it would take over, as they say it does!

My mother bought me this crystal vase many years ago. I don't use it often enough, but I plan to start keeping a lookout for all the gorgeous flowers that bloom in our yard and put it to better use this year. Yellow jessamine is the state flower of South Carolina, my birthplace.

Spring Activities and Repairs

Hello to Spring! What a relief... Somehow, with the warmer weather and that income-tax return comes a renewed enthusiasm for activities...and shopping!

I believe the warmer weather ends the period of deeper contemplation that sets in during the winter. It's time to get busy with projects.

I've restarted my conversational French program, and I just re-finished lesson 7 today. I will keep encouraging myself by imagining that one day we're going to be French tourists! In fact, Michael has been talking about sending me to lease a room for a whole month--all on my own! (Not sure he's that keen on France, but of course it would be hard for him to take that much time off.) The thought of being alone in a foreign country is surely good motivation to learn the language, isn't it?

Michael and I set out some early pea seeds yesterday. We have had absolutely no success in past years with our gardening efforts, which have without any doubt had an environmentally negative impact, given the supplies, fuel, and water used. We apparently are gardening optimists, though, as we envisioned our new productive pea crop with enthusiasm!

Funny, no one really eats peas that much here. I think I could sneak them in some Indian dishes, though...

Perhaps part of our optimism has to do with the fact that we are getting a few eggs now from our two Australorp pullets. Chloe, the Faverolle, is still not producing, and she's our biggest eater. She's pushing our good graces! It's fun, though, to gather eggs, usually at least one, daily.

Michael's been particularly busy with fixing things all over the house and yard. He repaired a massage cushion with a blown fuse last night. This morning, I felt enthused and connected when I heard about a Fixer's Cooperative via Grist magazine (on-line), and I am inspired with this idea.

In fact, I think you sort of need to be inspired by the idea in order to appreciate the joys of repairing and reusing. We live in such a disposable society. What an amazing reality we have, that we buy drinks and meals in plastic containers that are thrown away after ONE use!

Thus, when it comes to stuff that takes real effort and actually can be replaced fairly inexpensively, it takes a certain desire to conserve in order to put forth that effort.

Not that everyone knows how to replace and sodder on new fuses, as with the massage cushion!

My espresso maker, though, is a good example of a simple fix. When I first used it, my machine became 'plugged up' as I had not rinsed and vented the frothing tube while I still had steam in the machine. I was highly inclined to throw the machine away, as it was inexpensive and I didn't want to waste Michael's time on it. However, he spent a bit of time clearing the tube (with a long acupuncture needle!), and it started functioning again. I actually managed to plug it up at least two more times before I began remembering to vent and rinse the tube at the appropriate point. Anyhow, I would have replaced the machine at least once, and I may not have a machine now, if Michael had not put the effort into it.

What's the point? I think that we can see things as transitory and disposable in our society of cheap, instant goods. Just because they are cheap does not mean they should be treated as though they are worthless, though, in point of fact, that is often how we perceive them.

Clothes are treated the same way. Fiona has a pair of fuzzy boots we call her 'muk-luks'. Perhaps that's actually a word, but I'm not familiar with it. These boots cost only $20 or so, and when a seam came apart on the side, I fully intended to dispose of them. However, Fiona loved the boots and kept wearing them, and she wanted to keep them, so I sewed the thick material together and she is still wearing them all the time. I was relieved today to see that she put on her regular school shoes instead, what with the warmer weather and all!

Somehow, after repairing an item, I somehow have increased affection for it. I put some of my own energy into it, or Michael does, with successful results. Now, when Fiona wears her boots or I use my espresso maker, I feel attached to a certain extent, as though we have a connection with those items. I feel the same way about clothes I have mended and even about the eggs we gather.

I'm not really arguing for the immediate economic benefits of repairing and re-using, as time and materials may be worth more than the monetary value of the items themselves. I can make some argument for the long-term monetary benefits, given the savings to be had when a satisfied little girl does not ask for repeated unsatisfactory boot replacements, when her brother learns to fix and adapt toys, when the mom doesn't resort back to Starbucks mochas several times per week! In the long run, I believe we do generally save gas and time and a little bit of money by repairing items. We also develop a deeper appreciation for those items and their functions, and perhaps we take greater care with them and our other goods in the future, when we take some ownership regarding their maintenance and don't simply regard all as disposable.

As superficial as these small items may sound in the scheme of things, I do wonder how damaging it is to view so many things as disposable. Does it affect our view of our friends? Does it affect our view of our families? Does it contribute to the high rates of divorce?

Hmm, that's a pretty major tangent. Fact is that sometimes broken things and/or relationships do need to be discarded. However, perhaps they only need to be tweaked sometimes. And, after tweaking, perhaps we'll appreciate them even more.

Fun Spring Sick Day

Alex felt ill on Tuesday evening, so we cut short taekwondo and he sat in the car--during which time he made silly faces for me as I snapped pics of him. He truly was ill with a stomach bug--but what a sport!

Alex stayed home from school yesterday, due to the Tuesday evening illness, but he seemed to be over it and feel fabulous. We played Wii Fit Plus at home, but as I was riding the Wii fit 'bicycle' along a scenic path, I realized how absolutely gorgeous it was outside. So, Alex and I took a lovely bicycle ride through our suburban community. It couldn't have been nicer. The weather was perfect and no bugs were out. We stopped to look at ducks, and Alex clambered onto a log over a canal, deciding halfway through that perhaps he'd better get off before he fell in. I just watched with a bemused smile as he climbed, wondering if he'd fall in the muck. If only all sick days were so fun!

'Once Upon a Child' and my car

'Once Upon a Child'... Have you ever heard of a better child's consignment store name? I love it!

I must start stopping by this shop more often. It's only a small shop next to Kroger on Hodgson Memorial. I wouldn't go there with anything very specific in mind, though they do have a limited school uniform section now, so it's a good place to periodically peruse for my children's sizes.

I ran by there last week and scanned my children's sizes for any new good stuff. I found some great striped Izod polos for Alex, which we're fairly sure are brand new, and I bought Fiona an Old Navy pair of jeans and three cute tops. All this for only $27!

I get very tickled by good deals, and the clothing there is generally of fairly high quality. For adult clothing, Plato's Closet near Bed, Bath & Beyond is a similar sort of place. Higher quality...many brand-new items.

I give myself big bonus points for shopping at consignment stores. I used to actually order fairly expensive, beautiful organic clothing for the kids quite a bit. The rationale was to support an industry which respected the environment and to reduce toxic chemical exposures on my children. I still believe that, but I haven't ordered from those catalogs for years. My favorite catalog, full of absolutely gorgeous European organic clothing for children, went out of business, and it was truly my primary source. Also, most of the reasonably-priced children's organic clothing are only available in small sizes, which my children are too big for now.

There are, of course, a few websites with adult organic clothing, and Patagonia is a clothing manufacturer who makes quite a nice selection of sporty adult-sized clothing made of organic and eco-friendly materials. Truth be told, I feel like I have to try on my clothing, as I discard the majority of things I select on the hangers, so I'm a bit loathe to order some expensive item only to not like it on me. Also, the selection was frankly not so great last time I looked--at least, not as good as the kids' selection! Not to dissuade anyone from seeking organic clothing...that would be optimal!

Consignment shops, however, fit my requirements very well. Environmental impact? I consider it negated fairly well, in general, since the first owner paid for that. No additional environmental harm came from it being passed on. If it is a new item, then at least the company probably hasn't profitted from any environmental damage incurred...meaning that I'm not directly supporting that environmental damage, even though it did occur.

Also, about a quarter-pound of chemicals go into making a single t-shirt. If the consignment item has actually been worn and washed a few times, then the chemical level is reduced for my kids. This is a really important point, actually...it's as though the item has been 'broken in' by someone else, who washed out many of the chemicals which would have effects on my kids or me. My skin and Fiona's skin will sometimes even react to certain new clothing items, and we rarely see this with used clothing.

This concept even extends to cars, actually. The off-gassing of chemicals used to make the interiors of cars occurs hugely in the first year after production, so it seems ideal to buy a one-year-old model of car for health reasons. Already off-gassed and most of the life of the vehicle ahead of it...plus the price of the car has generally dropped by over 1/3. We did this with my Mercury Sable.

Speaking of Sable, she's getting on in years. For financial reasons, I hope to drive her until she putters out of old age. I recently had a bit of trouble with her, which turns out would probably have been avoided by sticking to the scheduled maintenance plan. It was simply a clogged fuel filter, due to be changed only 2 months prior, but, given the car's age, I was suddenly gripped with the conviction that it had come time to seek out a new car when she began the troubles. Michael seems to have straightened her all out, though, and I'm hugely relieved that she seems okay for the time being.

Have you ever just LOVED your car? Sable has historically been very reliable. She's rather sporty for a full-sized family car and gets optimal gas mileage on the interstate running about 80 miles per hour. She has a powerful V6 engine and handles extremely well. Michael has always bought me super-deluxe tires, too, in the interest of safety (they do have a negative impact on gas mileage, but I figure if they save me from an accident and having to buy a new vehicle, then they're an environmental plus). I love my power seat, too.

So...when gripped with that 'conviction', I spent time researching more environmentally-friendly vehicles, such as the Prius, which would still be my replacement car of choice at this time, though test drives and more research might change my mind. It was so depressing, though, to read in consumer reports that the Prius doesn't handle as smoothly and has a more sluggish get-up-and-go. (Goodness, hope I'm not talking anyone out of a Prius!) I was so bummed...trade my beloved sporty, peppy, well-handling comfy car for one without those features PLUS get a big monthly car payment PLUS have to pay for full insurance coverage. The new car excitement faded very quickly!

I'm so happy that Sable is doing better now. She's an old dame, though, from last century--a 1999 model. So long as she's not a safety hazard, I want to hold on to her. I'm sure that at some point I'll need to give her up, but I hope that point doesn't arrive for at least a couple more years!

Father-Daughter Dance

Michael and Fiona went to the Charles Ellis Montessori Father-Daughter dance last night. Fiona has been very excited about this, and Michael says that she wore him out with all her dancing! While many little girls formed little packs and danced in circles with their friends, Fiona viewed the evening entirely as a special time with her Daddy, and, though she spoke with her friends, she took full advantage of the music and her Daddy's dipping and twirling abilities! Both seemed to have had a wonderful time!

Cursive Handwriting Styles

http://www.drawyourworld.com/dnealian.html

Which handwriting style did you learn? I love my old-fashioned but unusual P's and R's, and this website confirms it's the late 19th/early 20th century Palmer Cursive that I was taught. I always wondered where those ornate capital letters came from!

My third grade teacher, Ms. Robin Avelis, who read my class The Chronicles of Prydain, told us that we were learning a more old-fashioned cursive, which she preferred, and I believe she may have presented the 'standard' letters as well, but I adored the fancy P's and R's, particularly. (As you may have guessed, Ms. Avelis qualifies as my all-time favorite school teacher. I do believe she was the brightest elementary school teacher I had. She liked to say 'groovy' all the time, which I thought was funny!)

Despite my love of the Palmer Cursive method, I've discovered it's a slight challenge trying to help the kids with their modern cursive, as I'm always questioning whether those strange characters are perhaps the 'new' way! Now I have a reference!

Fiona's been signing her name in many different artistic ways lately, and she's just learning cursive, which she loves, as I did. I suspect that she will develop a 'fair hand', as they used to say!

Poor Alex seems to have inherited the chicken-scratch of his dad and Gramps--must be a Y-chromosome thing--but it's slowly improving. He's in fifth grade, and only extremely recently have we managed to adjust his cursive 'o' to not look like an 'a'. What an improvement! And in time for a big creative writing test in school. Yay!

Taran Wanderer

I have been listening to the Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander, a series of 5 fantasy books, with the children. I originally listened to my 3rd grade teacher read them aloud, to which I was riveted. The torturous only-one-chapter-per-day kept me in perfect attendance and begrudging of weekends, but I believe it allowed full appreciation of the books, word-for-word, due to the slowness of the process.

The fourth book, Taran Wanderer, is the one we are currently finishing. I had always believed that I had not liked Taran Wanderer as much as I had the other books, primarily because it does not contain the beautiful and clever Princess Eilonwy at all. I was gratified, years later, to discover that Taran Wanderer had been added to the other 4 books only after the entire series had been written, to pull loose ends together and allow for Taran's greater growth.

Given this 'least favorite' position of this book in the series, imagine my surprise to find myself wondering if this particular volume had the most long-lasting influence upon me. I had been an impressionable 8-year-old at the time, and I re-read the books when I was 10, on my own.


Taran is in a quest for his blood lineage. Where does he come from? Who were his people? Where? How? Why? Lloyd Alexander sweeps us up in Taran's desire to find out and discover his own genetic history, with grand and vain hopes for noble lineage.

Though I didn't draw the correlation, I began my own research into genealogy at the age of 12. I can't say what triggered my interest, though this, my far-and-above childhood favorite collection of books by my very favorite author, seems a reasonable culprit.

I noticed a couple of other interesting tweaks in the story that 'explained' a few things about my own life path. It seems this book, ironically, seemed to influence me more than the more cherished other four books in the collection.

I read a pertinent quote today, written by some other on-line blogger, I believe. Her life theory said, "I am a part of all that I have met. I can no more remember the books I have read than the meals I have eaten, yet each is a part of all that I am. " I was struck by this, and, I suppose, inspired to write this blog.

Of Racial Interest (cont.)

I have been immersed in Sam's world of the later 1830's and early 1840's for the past day or two, and I find Sam to be charming, eloquent, fun, and kind. He is a dapper young man who strives to be considerate and has an ability to laugh at himself. However, I am realizing that as Sam grows older, his desire for camaraderie with his chums is having quite a negative impact. There are a couple of specific examples involving other white folks who have been insulted and mistreated by his friends. Sam stands by his friends devoutly and even helps them in their missions, even though he has no personal ill feeling towards the recipients of the abuse. He relates the stories as funny anecdotes, with no hint of a troubled spirit about it.



However, I am completely drawn in by Sam and his sanguine view of life, which I now realize is part of how the whole system of slavery was able to perpetuate for so long. Sam is likeable and decent, and I am sure that he did treat slaves with consideration and charm. Heck, if I had to choose a 'master', I am fairly certain Sam would have been a fine choice.



Again, I don't believe Sam has a ton of blame here. Sam was born into the system, and he was lucky enough to land a very privileged position. Later, when he is briefly a medical doctor, he is traumatized when he believes his ardent treatment of an ill slave had killed the man. He retreated to his room and was, for the first time in the entire book, overcome with a turmoil of emotion. He was extremely distraught and thought himself a 'murderer' and feared being arrested for manslaughter and even hung.



However, his thoughts, again, were more about himself and less about the other man's experience. I am realizing that, excepting an initial introduction in Sam's earliest years to some of his plantations' slaves, Sam seems to give less and less attention to the slaves as complex people. He generally, completely without malice, will refer to them as 'negro men' and rarely calls them by name.



Two slaves who are mentioned by name are a father and son, on nearby plantations, who are excellent fiddlers. These men provide the music for their respective plantation's social gatherings and dances. Sam happily describes how the younger one obviously enjoys the music, as he sways and seems so lively as he plays.



See how it seduces? The happy slaves...the slave men 'commuting' to work...receiving 'equal' servings of turkey and alcohol... Sam has chosen to create a world view which works for him and does not disturb his placid state of privilege. When he does confront their humanity on a one-to-one basis, as when he treats ill patients, he does completely regard them as people and treats them with humanity.



Truth be told, this same world view was likely adopted by many of the slaves themselves. It does help to get along and make the most of the world, doesn't it? Perhaps the fiddling son looked forward to his wonderful Friday nights, when he felt the center of attention and admired by even the owners. He improved his position and received privileges and frankly enjoyed the whole affair.



However, just for the sake of argument, perhaps his father would have preferred to have his Friday evenings quiet or with his own family...for I am sure he had probably worked during the day as well. Perhaps the old father dreaded the loud and obnoxious crowd and resented not having any choice in the matter. Perhaps, in his advancing age, he really did need to go to bed at a reasonable hour and didn't really like staying up into the wee hours partying every weekend.



The fiddling father was probably a more fortunate slave than most, and even his own situation was not necessarily palatable. Sam, however, did not let these concerns bother him. He did not take on or even identify injustices, in general.



Reading Sam's reminiscences helps me to understand how masses of truly decent-seeming folks were able to justify and abide slavery. I adore Sam. Sam has a kind and happy heart and bears no ill will towards mankind of any race. His failure, though, was to perpetuate the system by participating in it without question, and, undoubtedly, to defend it in the Civil War, though we haven't gotten to that point in his very consecutive account.



Are we pompously judging the slaveholders? Is it obvious that they 'should' have questioned the system? I maintain that an equally horrifying condition exists in our country today and affects an even more vulnerable, voiceless group.



I am speaking of factory farms, where animals are packed in, overfed, grown quickly with hormones which cause physical problems and pains...the conditions are frankly unspeakable for me at this point, and I will leave those descriptors for your own perusal (http://www.peta.org/ is one resource) or perhaps will delve into them at another time. No, I don't assert that animals are 'equal' to humans, but I do maintain that they feel pain and confinement just as we do. In fact, in our own confinement, we can employ our distinctive abilities of philosophy and imagination to entertain ourselves, but factory farm animals, in their more instinctive and primal way, are likely suffering to a greater degree without those reliefs.



Those factory farms are hidden from our view, much more so than the injustices of slavery were. It seems a smaller issue at first glance, but it is far more pervasive. Our entire country is involved, and at least 90% of the population participates in the system on a daily basis. More than 90% of the people I know do, at least. They, like Sam, happily buy their delicious dinner items without a care in the world about the factory farm conditions. Sam accepted his position of privilege without scrutinizing too closely who the system was harming, and so do most folks in today's world. The system is even more difficult today, as the abuses are even more hidden and pervasive.



As judgmental and negative as we might be about the injustices of slavery, we should keep in mind that at least in Sam's day there were no 'factory farms' and the farm animals had far more decent and natural lives than they do today, in general.



Yes, this is my unpopular soapbox, and I hope that I would have likewise had a similar soapbox against slavery, even from a 'privileged' position. However, I do very little about it and regret that. I may have freed my own slaves, but I wouldn't have been above enjoying visiting friends with slaves and enjoying their fine meals and entertainment.



I used to bring up this factory farm subject with friends in my more impassioned youth, but, after discovering that it generally offended them and made them feel judged, I now tend to mostly keep my mouth shut, especially around more casual acquaintances and those I feel would be offended. I'm truly not an activist in deed--only at heart. My quiet is in the interest of self-preservation and enjoying a sanguine and privileged life, like Sam.

Of Historical Racial Interest

I just finished Bessie's book and am also reading the more dense recollections of Sam McGill, both writings about their memories of Williamsburg County, SC. Roughly, you might say that they were written about times one and two centuries ago, respectively. Bessie regales us with a couple of Civil War anecdotes while Sam unravels yarns regarding Revolutionary War veterans.

Both frequently refer to 'Colored' or 'Negro' folks in the stories, which was not meant to be offensive in the slightest. In fact, I was impressed with how unprejudiced they seemed to be.

Societal conditions seemed fairly accepted by them, and Sam and Bessie were fairly privileged, but they both seemed to regard their black neighbors and slaves, in Sam's case, with a respect for human dignity.

Sam recounts a story of being out late and alone one night, in some fear of robbers he believed he had seen hiding just off the road. He tells of riding up to a wonderful home and being greeted by a man, who urges him, if he has time, to stay there for the night. Sam gushes, "Yes sir! thank you, sir! thank you, sir!" Only later does he relay that the man was 'Colored' and was a house servant. Perhaps it was common in the time, but I hadn't expected that the white upper class would term black slaves as 'sir'. It also seemed surprising that he didn't mention the man's skin color from the beginning, as I believe I expected white slaveholders to view black slaves as rather sub-human, and would therefore always precede 'man' with the important descriptor. Sam may have been particularly progressive, though, as he does relate that the master of the house referred to the slave as 'Son' when he instructed him to take care of Sam's things. Hmm, perhaps he was literally the master's 'son'--since we know about the common occurence of mulatto and quadroon house servants? Wouldn't be unheard of, though I wouldn't expect them to be so transparent about it--so probably not. I expect and initially perceived it to simply be a term of condescending endearment (and more what I initially expected from Sam himself).

Of racial interest in the same tale, Sam tells of how there was little traffic on the roads at the time between the self-sustaining plantations, then mentions offhandedly, "except for the Negro men with wives and families on other plantations". The separation of slave families is one of the horrors of slavery of which I have always been appalled, and I felt that horror subside greatly at the idea that this seemed to be very similar to the idea of 'commuting' to work. The white men of the time would also leave their families to go into town for a while to take care of business matters for part of the year.

I'm not trying to belittle the atrocities of slavery, but I was impressed that Sam would term a slave 'sir' and assume that of course the men slaves would head home to their families 'after work'. Sam seems to have a very human regard for slaves as people. Earlier in his book, he relates the distribution of the turkeys on Christmas, and the slaves received what sounded like an equal portion of both turkey and liquors, though of course we don't know if that was completely technically true, or if 'equal' meant that the Sam's own nuclear family received the exact same amount as dozens of slaves, perhaps? He seems to see them much as family, though any unfairness inherent in their slave condition seems to escape him (thus far in my readings, at least).

Bessie doesn't surprise me quite as much, but I did notice that when she related a tale about playing near some horses, that she named the other girls to include a black girl named Lula. Bessie also related a tale of a deranged black man named Ed, who was loved by her family and Gaynelle's family. Ed considered Bessie's and Gaynelle's family 'blood kin', and he took to patrolling the back alleys as part of the 'police force', which did keep them safe, in large part...until Ed lost his temper with someone and killed him. When Ed was committed to an asylum, Bessie's husband (a state senator) and Gaynelle's husband (the police chief) both visited the asylum to petition that poor Ed be granted some liberties beyond his room 'cell'. I could see no reason for this effort excepting their affection for poor Ed. Hmm...was he really 'blood kin'? Perhaps, but even so the warmth and affection seem real and pertinent to relate.

Bessie's Wonderful Book

I mentioned earlier that I had ordered the book Remembering Kingstree: the Collected Writings of Bessie Swann Britton, after discovering that it mentions Aunt Gaynelle and Caroline Cox (my ancestresses?). It turns out that Caroline Cox was Bessie's first cousin, making Bessie my first cousin, four times removed (perhaps)! Sort of fun to read such fabulous writing and think that it was written by my suspected blood kin.

The book is a compilation of Bessie's personal historical anecdotes, which she wrote for Kingstree's newspaper in the '50's and '70's. Bessie was born in 1894 near Kingstree and primarily recounts stories of her childhood and of many town characters. For residents of Williamsburg County, SC (and the county seat of Kingstree), the preponderance of familiar landmarks and surnames should add pleasure to the reading. Most of the stories are humorous, for everyone's pleasure.

Bessie declares herself a bit of a tomboy, and she has an older, studious sister named Mary. With the similar setting, there is a strong hint of Little House on the Prairie energy to a couple of the stories about Bessie's school days, and it's entirely possible that she was influenced by Laura Ingalls Wilder, whose books were popular well before Bessie wrote her recollections. I even read a couple of her childhood stories to my children for bedtime, and they loved them!

Unfortunately, I didn't actually discover too much more about Caroline Cox or Aunt Gaynelle. Aunt Gaynelle's husband, George Hammet, had apparently been somewhat of a scamp in his youth, though, along with the other local boys, but he was later police chief.

Getting in Order

Yesterday was a full moon in Virgo. Michael and I focused on projects wrapped around getting things in order a bit. As Michael worked on the chicken coop, he was surprised by Rachel getting things in order, too...from her roost perch, from which she was preening his hair for him!