It's Post Time Once Again!

Oh, what a lovely 2 years I have had since my last posting. Leah got married right across the street from our house at our Brookberry Farm clubhouse and beautiful pavilion back in late fall, 2013. It was small, just as she wanted it to be, and perfect, and we love Ben, our new son-in-law, and his family. Matthew has just finished his second year of law school, and is interning in D.C. for the summer while his girlfriend is in Paris taking law classes. Randy works, which allows me to give back in all kinds of ways with my time and talents to the community that we love.

I have to tell you that I am back because my friend and partner in adventure, Gail,  has recently moved up to the Carolinas and we are reunited once again to experience life on a different plane than most. She came to see me last week and once again, God renewed our continuing saga of life with the church ladies. We were stranded and did not have anything to do but go on her Facebook page, which I will not join, because I would spend all day responding. One does not have to do that with a blog. Anyway, it was fun catching up with our mutual friends, and I thought it would be fun to cue them in as we used to have many stories for them. As you can see, I am somewhat long-winded, and she kept telling me no one would read a long post. "Au contraire," I thought. "Of course they would want to read it. It's FUNNY and REAL! And, it's US!" And what parts would she want me to leave out? I am going to try to figure out how to send that post to my blogspot, so I can expound on the story for closure to those of you awaiting the end. So...stay tuned! THANK YOU, LEAH, for telling me how to get back on after 2 years! Love you all!

Over A Year Later

Goodness, it has been over a year since my last post. I am amazed at how each day flies, then turns into weeks, months, seasons and years wafting into memories like vapor from a tea kettle. I have noticed during my absence, that the little computer mice have changed the format to the point I was not sure of how to even get started, so I hope this works, as my time is very valuable these days.

I am working on the book on Brookberry Farm with a new vengeance. I have found it is more fun to just write from the heart, rather than from reality...and it is also a lot easier. I have beaten myself up repeatedly about not having it finished after all this time, and lo and behold, just when I'm about to fire myself, some new tidbit surfaces that I would not have had in the book had I already had it published. There's a new freedom in allowing God and myself to work in His time, since I figure He is the true Inspirer and Giver of all good and perfect gifts. (James 1:17)

I have been transcribing my last interview with Bowman Gray, IV, all afternoon, and am delighted to re-experience what was said. I am terrified I will not be able to portray these family members in a way that truly exhibits who they really are and their contribution to Winston Salem history. I work from my third-story overlooking one of the three ponds on the property. Our property and the surrounding areas were pastures for the cows not so long ago. We have a wonderful view from our breakfast room of a hill that I have called, "Cow Hill" these past few years. Sweet Bill, their owner, puts them out to pasture there for the summer and we just enjoy them from afar. I wasn't too crazy about our warm winter this past year, but Bill did keep the cows out there in that particular field since he didn't have to brave harsh cold or snow, and I am grateful for that.

Usually I am distracted by the geese playing in the water and pooping weed seeds at the water's edge as I write, but these past few days there is a new, louder distraction. Two of our beautiful oak trees were struck by lightening last March 16, Leah's birthday. We were sitting at the breakfast table overlooking the pond, when all of a sudden there was a bright light and loud pop, which sent us all running to the center of the house. We ran outside as soon as it was safe and saw where the lightening had hit one of our larger oaks, then traveled through the ground to the largest one in the yard. We waited the winter to see if the tree/trees were dead or not. Unfortunately, we found out this spring, they were dying a slow death. Alas, we are in the process of having them taken down.

The tree service people are true North Carolina crackers. They work hard, rest hard and fish hard. One of them brings his 10 year old son, who reminds me of Opie on "Andy of Mayberry," because he comes every day with a fishing rod and empty bucket in tow. He has caught a "mess" of fish these past 3 days, and has no problem putting the worms that he has procured himself, on the hook. He also does everything else required with fishing. I told him yesterday that I thought he should put more water in the bucket, because I thought the fish would die before they got home, and he told me that's the way they like them...dead before they get home. Who am I to change old tried and true habits?

His sister came today, and she seems to enjoy catching the turtles. She told me they had them all figured out. I asked in what way and she informed me that you put a stick towards their mouths and they open them to bite the stick, so you pull our your hook and grab them by the tail to turn them away. Makes sense to me, other than I will not touch one of them. (I figured I didn't need to inform her of my childhood knowledge of the dangers of a snapping turtle not letting go until it thunders. She seems to have surmounted that obstacle and proven my wise counsel as not an end in itself.)

I have much more to catch you up with all that has transpired this past year, but I don't want to test your eyes too much, so stay tuned.

I AM the PRESIDENT's MOM

Matthew told us at Christmas he had decided he was not going to run for the SGA presidency in the spring at his university. We breathed a sigh of relief and decided to finally look ahead toward law school. It was short-lived. We got a call at 1:30 in the morning shortly after winter semester had begun, and he told us of how his SGA leaders and supporters really wanted him and another qualified young man named Adam to run for the president and vice president positions, respectively. We told him we'd support him no matter what he decided and he paused and said, "NO, MOM, you don't get it. I know you'll always support me, but I need yours and Dad's advice!" So we stayed on the phone until 2:30 discussing the pros and cons, then told him we'd sleep on it and get back to him the next day. We should have talked until we couldn't talk anymore, as I don't think either of us got any sleep that night.

I don't think he would have made the decision to run had his friends not shouldered a lot of the responsibility of planning and implementing an election on such a huge scale as this was. They came through like no tomorrow and next thing you know, we are on our way down to Florida to help them campaign; at Matthew's request I might add.

Campaigning was from Monday through Wednesday at 5:00. There were areas that were declared neutral and the rest of the school was open to passing out palm cards and give-aways. It was amazing how both sides stepped up to the plate declaring their platforms, colors, and strategies. All four candidates knew each other and were well-qualified to do the jobs. It finally came down to who got the most votes. I know personally, that there were many students who were not going to vote because they just didn't care. That's where experience came in. We knew that voting is a true privilege and a chance for one's voice to be heard. It was so wonderful speaking one-on-one with our future movers and shakers of the world. These kids were so polite and driven to succeed in all their endeavors. I left shaking my head and praying for them...that there will be enough jobs for all the various engineers to have; that those who opt to stay in school because they are afraid to try to get a job in this economy will have chosen wisely, and that those who will take menial jobs until something comes open in their fields, will have no regrets. More than anything, I was impressed with the directness and the politeness of the students. Their parents would be proud to see their dedication...especially those who helped with the campaigns.

The time came for the announcement and someone from the Board of Elections read the referendums that had passed and finally we heard, "With 61% of the votes..." and Matthew and Adam had won! The other side was gracious, as was ours, and now I feel I will be on my knees for the next year, intercessing on their behalf. It's a huge job, but they are certainly up for it. And that's how I became...the First Mom!

The Man of La Mancha...Paul Scofield

With the passing of Elizabeth Taylor who some may not know was born in Great Britain, I am reminded of another great actor who haled from there--Paul Scofield. He is most notably known for starring in the play, "A Man For All Seasons," but there is a long list of other great works he accomplished in the world of theater, or "THE A TUH" as I like to say now. He passed away 3 years ago this month and I feel I should pay a tribute to this shy, kind, man's memory.

My friend Susie and I were in our mid-twenties and fellow teachers out in San Diego back in the late seventies and early eighties. Because we could, we decided to go to Europe for a 3 week tour that started in England and included jaunts to France, Switzerland, Italy, Greece and a tour of a few of the Greek Isles. We flew into Gatwick Airport while the Tube and double decker buses were on strike and had no idea that public transportation played such an important part of life there. Here we are, two Alice in Wonderland's, wondering what in the world do we do next after falling through the rabbit hole? We knew to follow everyone else to get our luggage, then we followed them to the light at the end of the tunnel and bought train tickets, then stood there wondering about which train we should get on. A conductor, who had probably seen just about every kind of tourist there is, picked up our bags and shoved them into a private compartment where we tumbled in, the doors with a red cross on them were slammed shut and off we went.

In retrospect, Susie and I must have looked like two little children, giggling at what had just transpired and verbally wondering about where we were going to end up by day's end. The man across from us just rattled his paper louder as he held it up disguising his whole upper body. That's all I needed to muster up the courage to say, "Excuse me, sir, are you from here?" He peeked from behind his paper and said, "Why, yes, I am." It didn't take him long to realize he was our new and only source of what to do while we were in Europe. He folded up that paper and sat there in his tweeds and took great joy in telling us all the things we needed to see while we were in England. At one point, I asked him if he was a teacher because he knew so much about EVERYTHING! The twinkle in his eyes made us just warm all over, because he responded, "No, but my father was a teacher," and then he named other family members who were teachers. We kind of felt sorry for him because he hadn't followed in the family's academian path, since he sure looked the part. (In fact, we told him he reminded us of Mr. Chips and later referred to him as that when we talked about our time on the train.)

During the course of our conversation, he narrowed in on the theater. He pronounced it as the English do, "THE A TUH." He knew where we were staying and suggested that we walk to one of the local theatuhs the next day to see one of the many plays being offered at that time. "The Man of La Mancha," the story of Don Quixote, which he pronounced "KWIKSOT" was one that caught our attention, so we asked about that and he just relished answering each and every question. Our destination arrived too fast and by the time we knew it, the train was stopping and we had just enough time to gather our bags, look up and see that our precious Mr. Chips was gone after a quick adieu. At one point in our conversation, I looked at the window and asked if we were in a first aide car. He really twinkled at that and said that the red crosses signified that they were private cars. We hurriedly apologized and asked if he wanted us to leave. By then, we were all having such fun, who would entertain such a thought?

Well, our day went downhill from there. We had to wait in long lines for a taxi and everyone around us was irate to the point of meanness. Susie and I couldn't wait to get to our hotel, which did not have a reservation for us once we did. We were transported away from our tour group and didn't get settled in until bedtime. We were near tears, lying a foot from each other in our cramped room and even more cramped twin beds in the dark, bemoaning our welcome to England, and were reminded that we did have Mr. Chips as a first indicator, so not all was lost upon our arrival. We fantasized about being invited to his house with a straw roof and sitting in front of his fireplace with his family sharing schoolroom stories, while having tea and crumpets. It was a beautiful picture to hold on to at the end of a rough day.

As Scarlett O'Hara says, "tomorrow's another day," and it was. The sun was shining, we were rested, and we decided to take Mr. Chip's advice and walk the forever walk to the theatuh where "The Man of La Mancha" was playing. We allowed ourselves a lot of time so we could eat at a pub and explore en route. We got to the theatuh of choice about 30 minutes ahead of everyone else, so had time to read the playbills of present and future presentations. As I read about Don Quixote, I stared at the lead actor's picture, who was Paul Scofield, one of Britain's leading actors of his time. I called Susie over and said, "Does that look like Mr. Chips to you?" We both looked even harder and burst out laughing. The joke was on us! We could not wait to get into the theatuh to see if it really was our beloved Mr. Chips.

We waited with anticipation as the curtain rose, and who came out on that tall wooden rocking horse, but Mr. Chips himself, beautifully disguised as the windmill tilting Don Quixote. We didn't want the play to end because, up to that point, he was the only good thing about our trip. I told Susie, "Let's go see if we can go backstage and see him." She wasn't too keen on the idea, so I settled with sending him a note from a playbill:

"Dear Mr. Chips...that's what we call you now. We can't thank you enough for referring us to the 'the a tuh' and Don Quixote, pronounced KWISKOT." I wrote a bit more, but to this day, I wish we could have hugged his neck and thanked him personally. We have often wondered if we had been the topic of his dinner conversation with his family, as he had and has been with ours.

Here is a little more information that Susie and I can confirm firsthand, but we are thankful that he shed his private demeanor for two young and crazy school teachers from the USA. His memory is tucked into our hearts in a place that holds him near and dear. (Here are excerpts taken from the his obituary found online.)

Slide Show

A Man for all Seasons

Related

Times Topics: Paul Scofield

By BENEDICT NIGHTINGALE

Published: March 21, 2008

Paul Scofield, the acclaimed British actor who created the indelible role of Sir Thomas More in Robert Bolt’s play “A Man for All Seasons”and then repeated it on film in 1966 in an Oscar-winning performance, died Wednesday near his home in southern England. He was 86. His death, at a hospital, was announced by his agent, Rosalind Chatto. He had leukemia.

Mr. Scofield was regarded by both critics and his peers as one of the greatest actors in the English-speaking world, one who brought freshness and power to Hamlet, King Lear and many other classic roles. But he might have been better known to the public if he had been less withdrawn. He seldom gave interviews and never appeared on television talk shows, explaining that he hated chatting about himself and found his craft difficult to discuss. A shy, reclusive man, he refused to accept the knighthood that was offered him in the 1960s.

His last stage performance, in Ibsen’s “John Gabriel Borkman” at the National Theater in 1996, was a critical triumph. He then slipped out of public view, going for long walks in the Sussex hills, baking bread at home and occasionally visiting the Scottish island of Mull, where his daughter, Sarah, lived. He said he had come to a point where he found little work that attracted him. And then there was his native caution. “As you get older,” he said, “the more you know, so the more nervous you become. The risks are much bigger.”

He became so used to being described in the press as a private person that he once joked, “I half-expect people to phone me and say, ‘Hello, is that Paul Scofield, the very private person?’ ”

Despite his prodigious gifts and international fame, when the curtain fell, Mr. Scofield simply hopped the commuter train back to his family. He did not often mix socially with his fellow actors. At home, only 10 miles or so from his birthplace, was his wife, the former Joy Parker, an actress he married in 1943; a daughter, Sarah, and a son, Martin. They all survive him.

Spring has SPRUNG!

We went away to Florida for a few days and came home and spring had sprung in Winston Salem, N C. What happened? I don't even remember the tips peeking out from under the leaves and being drawn to watch daily as they grew into flowers. We came home and lo and behold there are full-blown crocus and daffodils everywhere! I feel like I've missed out on something. I can't tell you what I have been doing that I missed those first peeks, but I have gotten back into writing the book about Brookberry Farm. In fact, I went to lunch with Beverly Hamel today, the writer of the historical book on Bethania. We are going to meet monthly and encourage each other to keep on keeping on with our writing. We met at the Olde Salem Tavern and had a lovely meal of quiche and salad, then off we trotted to the Moravian Archives building, where I happily researched the Moravian diaries for information on Matthew Brooks, who was the local tax collector back in the 1700s. He supposedly conducted business from this property we call home and was a friend to the Moravians by all accounts thus far. I've heard differently, but do not have the documentation at this time to refute that comment. The diaries are riddled with comments about Matthew Brooks collecting grain, corn and property taxes. I thought times were simpler then, but taxes are taxes, so I guess it's wise not to assume too much.

I noticed as I sat in my office upstairs, the sound of crows cawing outside my window. It sounds like fall, but the chill is definitely a spring chill as opposed to a fall chill. I think I am the only person in Winston Salem saying, "I'm not ready for spring! We didn't suffer enough!" It truly has been a 3 month summer, fall and winter these past 9 months. We have not had an early spring since we came here 3 years ago, so I am praying that there will not be another snow. I read in the Moravian diaries today that they had a snow in March and all the cherry blossoms were frozen prematurely. We had a late snow last year, but I don't remember it messing up too many plants. Could just be selective memory. Well, happy spring to all of you, and fyi...if you didn't plant your bulbs earlier...then buy the ones flowering in the stores right now and plant them in the ground after the flowers die...then wait until the leaves turn brown before cutting them back, and you will have nice flowers next year. I promise you...it's worth the wait!

Twenty Five Years Ago

The 25th anniversary of the Challenger explosion took place 3 days ago. It's very common for all of us to share what we were doing and where we were when certain incidents happened, either close to home, or affecting the world. I would have to think this one affected the world.

I was teaching 3rd grade in San Diego, California at the time and everyone was talking about the crew of the Challenger and how one special teacher would be chosen to be a part of the NASA Teacher in Space Project . A call for teacher/applicants went out across the nation. I chose not to pursue the trip into space, but my sister-in-law, Connie did. She was even called back for a second interview.

A teacher named Christa McAuliffe was chosen from more than 11,000 applicants to participate and she was scheduled to become the first teacher in space. She was going to teach two classes while out there, and my class and the rest of the school waited in anticipation. The morning of the take-off, there was a dry wind blowing across the playground as the students lined up to come into the room. One of them reached down to pull a Weekly Reader from her leg and brought it over for me to see, as this story had made the front page. I asked her to bring it into the class and we would read it together.

Our habit was for the children to put their things away, then come and sit at my feet on a rug in front of the room and we would talk about our plans for the day after taking roll, saying the Pledge of Allegiance, and singing a patriotic song. This day was no different up to that point. I showed them the picture of Mrs. McAuliffe in her space suit and one of the children asked me why I hadn't applied. I looked at them and laughed and said, "Because I knew I'd win!" They didn't understand what I was talking about, but I did get a smile out of them nonetheless.

We started the day with our reading groups and we were about halfway through when the reading specialist walked through the door with a handful of papers with a single sentence typed on it: "We regret to announce that the Space Shuttle Challenger has exploded and there are no survivors." Everything went into slow motion from there. The children were watching me and I was doing everything I could to keep from crying. I knew I had to say something, so I read the note I had just been handed. I heard a snicker in the back of the room, and it upset me. I then told them all, "Before you say anything...just remember that someone has just lost their mother, father, sister, or brother." It probably wasn't the best thing to say to a group of 3rd graders, but it was all I could think of. My heart was breaking for those families who had to have watched their loved one's last moments.

I don't know how I got through the rest of the reading groups. I rushed to the teacher's lounge once the children went out to recess, and there I saw the explosion being replayed over and over. It brought tears to my eyes and a sadness to my heart that I had never known before and have not had since. It stayed with me the whole day and I can honestly say that was the worst day of my life up to that point.

I know there were other members on that shuttle and recently learned that one of the astronauts, Ronald McNair, graduated from NC A & T University in Greensboro, NC. My heart goes out to those who have to relive the sadness every anniversary, but even more so because it was so public. I hope that people console those left by letting them know it touched many of us and that our hearts broke with theirs that day.

A Season of HAPPINESS

I have had such a blessed Christmas, and those blessings just keep producing a great big Happy Ball inside of me just like when it snows and you take a little bit of snow and start rolling it in the snow and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. I feel so blessed to have the children we have. They made me proud as we headed over to the Moravian Home Church in downtown Winston Salem an hour and a half early and not complaining one drop. Aunt Connie was up....Randy's sister from Florida whom I love dearly, and whose husband was in Africa but was here is spirit. He sent red beautiful roses to remind us that his love was sent from afar and he was thinking of us. We missed him, but were comforted by our early Christmas with him, tree and all, right before Thanksgiving here in Winston Salem.

The Moravian Love Feast service was so beautiful. (Thanks, Bo.) We got the very last seats for 4 and sat 5 at the very back of the church. We sat on wooden school chairs with one cheek on each chair and loved it. They obviously still have the hanging of the greens, an olde English tradition, and fresh greenery was strung in huge clusters from the walls to the center of the ceilings, as was the front of the pulpit area. I felt like a veteran this year at the feast. I didn't look down, feeling guilty because I was eating and drinking in church, and I made it a point to savor every sip of that sweet coffee and sweet roll in the Name of the Lord. I felt loved, LOVED, and wanted to just hug everyone I saw on the way out...until I saw what I thought were carolers outside. Church members were explaining what had just taken place and my first thought was, "I wish they'd quit talking to the carolers so they would sing." It was snowing and the church bells were ringing and I felt like I was in the movie, "It's a Wonderful Life." As I walked by "the carolers" I realized they were Quakers or Amish and for whatever reason, had found their way to this little piece of history in the center of Winston Salem on a cold snowy night. What blessed my heart even more was to look over at the kids and see them singing the traditional hymns of their past. (We are not a musically inclined family, so this was huge to me, as I always tell them, "You'd better learn all the church songs down here as we will probably be singing them in heaven.")

I cannot believe that I got to make so many wonderful gifts this year. I made boxwood wreathes from Brookberry Farm English boxwood....really from England, but not exactly from the farm...it worked; homemade gift enclosures and cards; food and I even painted a Brookberry Farm ornament for the ornament exchange at the clubhouse right before Christmas. It only took me a year to paint, and I had to take a picture of it and the person who "WON" it. She was a new resident and she was so happy to commemorate her first Christmas here with a hand-painted ornament. It was just another thing that made me HAPPY! There's so much more. I really am once again reminded that "the simplest things remind us of all that we have to be thankful for."

Happy New Year! May you be blessed with Happiness the year through!