The Crab Chronicles

How to Get A Good Night's Sleep

For most of my adult life I had to battle insomnia. Then I discovered Melatonin. Now, when friends post on Facebook about sleep issues I advise them to at least try Melatonin. I started researching it in 1995, back in the dark ages before the internet. I actually went to the library! Then I went to Oxford Books here in Atlanta and bought an entire book about Melatonin. I didn't find anything disturbing, so I started taking it.

I have now been taking it for 27 years, and it's a miracle drug, for me. Except it's not a drug, it's herbal.

Now, the good thing is that it's not a sedative, so if the house catches on fire you will most likely get out on time. (I only say "most likely" because I have not actually faced that scenario.) When I was a caretaker for my mom, from about 2012-2020, if Mom called out for me in the night I would hear her and go help her. Melatonin also doesn't have the terrible side effects of Ambien -- no shopping online in the middle of the night, no sleepwalking, no late night crazy calls. Ambien is pure evil, IMHO. It's caused bankruptcies and terrible car crashes. It should be banned.

Sorry, didn't mean to meander off down a side rant road there...

Anyway, over the years, even with taking Melatonin, I don't always have an easy time falling asleep, so I wanted to offer some other suggestions.

The best advice I can offer it to get a routine going, and stick to it. The routine signals your body that hey, we're getting ready to go to sleep now. For me, I put on my gown, sit in front of the computer and check messages, and listen to at least a couple of mellow songs. Nothing lively or up tempo. I take my Melatonin, 5 mg. It takes about 30 minutes to work. After 30 minutes I shut off the computer and brush my teeth and tinkle. Then I get into bed.

Once in bed, I close my eyes and go through my mental checklist. I pray for the health and safety of my children and my friends and loved ones. I ask God to let me have a good day tomorrow. Sometimes I add special prayers for friends or acquaintances. Next, I start a self-hypnosis process. I mentally picture myself in a beautiful home, my dream home, and I go through each room arranging furniture and decorating. Usually I fall asleep within a few minutes. You can choose any mental task that's pleasant. When I was in my 20's and 30's I mentally planned my wedding. You could mentally plan a party, or build a sandcastle, or eat a piece of cake -- whatever task is pleasurable for you.

Conscious breathing also helps. I concentrate on breathing in slowly through my nose and slowly exhaling through my mouth. I try to block out all distraction and focus on breathing. It also helps when I am tense or anxious.

MORE TIPS

Make sure that you don't read, eat, or watch TV in bed. Use it only for sleeping. 

When you are ready to sleep, make sure the room is very dark. 

Go to bed at the same time every night. 

Turn off your phone!

Don't workout or exercise within 3 hours of going to sleep.

Skip taking naps!

If you eat dinner early and go to bed late, an empty stomach can sometimes keep you from sleeping. Eat a little snack before bed.

Don't drink alcohol less than an hour before bed because it interferes with your sleep cycle.

If you drink a lot of sodas [Coke, Dr. Pepper, etc.] they have caffeine and that may be what's keeping you awake.

For years, my routine included taking off my makeup and taking out my contacts. I couldn't sleep if I felt dirty.

Try to not get into arguments or do stressful things like balance your checking account right before bed. Try to wind things down mentally, and relax. The more relaxed you are, the easier it is to sleep.

If none of my techniques work, try a small amount of Melatonin. I only buy it from GNC, not the cheap brands. I order it off Amazon. Start with 2 or 3 mg. at first. Some people also find good results with Valerian, but it gave me a headache.

Good luck with good sleep!

#sleeptips, #dealingwithinsomnia, #sleepissues, #howtofallasleepfaster, #melatoninbenefits

Google Gets It Wrong

Fasten your seatbelts -- it's time for a rant. Rarely do I let news items make me really angry but when blatant misrepresentations abound I tend to get upset.

Every morning I peruse the stories on Yahoo.com and I then check my Yahoo email. This morning I was totally puzzled to see:

Naomi Judd Cut Daughters Ashley & Wynonna Out Of $25M Will [LINK]

"Singer Naomi Judd cut her daughters Ashley Judd and Wynonna Judd out of her $25 million dollar will.

Earlier this year, the country music community was shocked and saddened to hear that Naomi had lost her long battle with mental illness and taken her own life at age 76.

In a surprising decision, Naomi left her estate and her fortune, which is reported to be around $25 million dollars, to her husband, Larry Strickland, who she married in May 1989.

The Blast was able to confirm the existence of the court document, which states, “I nominate and appoint my spouse, Larry Strickland, as Executor of my estate.”

The document continues, “In the event my spouse ceases or fails to serve, then I nominate and appoint my brother-in-law, Reginald Strickland, and Daniel Kris Wiatr as Co-Executors. I direct that no bond shall be required of my Executor.”

As Page Six reported, the document did not state if either of Naomi's two daughters were named as beneficiaries of any of her assets."

 

The people at Yahoo and The Blast and Page 6 are obviously idiots. So is the LA Times! They published the same misleading story.

This article is fundamentally ignorant. Every estate has to have an executor. The executor doesn't get to decide who inherits. The executor has to make sure the estate is settled properly, that's all. The executor has to abide by the Will. This says nothing about who inherits according to the actual Will of Naomi Judd. The fact that this article got published when it is utterly misleading really ticks me off -- AND a bunch of other publications have re-run the basic facts of the story showing they are idiots as well.

I know about executors because when my father died in 1996 he specified my mother was to be the executor.

Folks, any journalist work a nickel should have done 5 minutes of research and they would have realized this story is completely ridiculous.

"An executor (also called a “personal representative” in some states) is a person named in a will to carry out the wishes of the deceased person. An executor typically offers the will for probate, takes action to protect the assets of the estate, makes distributions of property to beneficiaries and pays the debts and taxes of the estate."[Source: Forbes]

What's worse, I googled the basic facts and saw that now Google is treating the story as factual.

Kids THIS IS WHY DOING RESEARCH USING GOOGLE alone is risky! Consider the sources. Never use only one source. Look at other stories printed by the source.

#googleuntrustworthy, #googlemisleading, #googlegetsitwrong

 

My Dangerous Childhood

I was raised by conventional, churchgoing, middle class parents, who -- by today's standards of child raising -- tried to kill me.

Yes, you read that right.

I get so tired of seeing clickbait BS "stories" about how awful my parents were because we were allowed to do things -- like ride bikes without a helmet -- that would never be allowed today. Yes, every generation gets progressively more cautious about raising kids. That's just a fact.

I was never allowed to ride my bicycle outside of my suburban neighborhood. My mother (ages 12-16) was allowed to ride her bike all over midtown Atlanta, and nobody thought anything of it.

I was allowed to walk to the bus stop and wait, alone, as a little kid. Sometimes in Knoxville I would deliberately miss the bus and walk home, on pretty days. Nobody cared.

I drank out of the garden hose, many times. Never thought that was weird. I let my kids drink out of the hose once. They thought it was funny, and walked inside to get bottles of water out of the fridge. What really was awful was drinking out of the hose and getting a mouthful of HOT water because that hose had been sitting in the sun. Ugh.

I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted to see on TV. I watched a lot of reruns, things like the old Dick Van Dyke Show, Gilligan's Island, Green Acres, The Munsters, etc. I learned a lot about comedy timing from watching Hollywood Squares. I learned about small town life from The Andy Griffith Show. TV taught me a lot of things. There was no cussing on those shows, and no nudity. People smoked, but then smoking was not vilified as it is now. (I smoked when I was in my 20's, but I quit after seeing my father dying of cancer.)

I had to tell Mom where I was going but then I recall many afternoons just being outside playing, and not being missed by Mom until it got dark. We had to be home before dark. If Mom wanted us before then she would go outside and yell for us. I don't remember ever having a "playdate."

I wasn't a big team sports person but I remember swimming on the neighborhood swim team for about 3 summers, along with my brother. It wasn't horribly expensive. In contrast, my son only got to play soccer one year because the fees were horrible, like $300 and as a single mom I just couldn't afford that. When I was swimming competitively it wasn't about me getting a college scholarship or going to the Olympics. We swam because we needed to do something constructive and get some exercise and learn how to be part of a team, etc. My parents weren't criticized if they missed one of my meets. My parents didn't have to spend $100 on team snacks, ever. 

We watched TV as a family. We went to the movies as a family. Dad took mama and us to plays and concerts when he could get tickets, and I only realized later how lucky we were. The tickets didn't cost $100 each, of course.

Dad taught me and my brother how to fish and there was no "catch and release" -- unless he deemed the fish too small to eat. We ate 98% of what we caught. I could clean a small fish at the age of 5, with a sharp knife. It never bothered me to behead the fish or pull out the guts. I also watched my mom clean birds Dad had shot while hunting. (My kids would have been horrified.)

My parents never told me what to read. I could read grownup books as soon as I wanted to. Nothing was censored.

I grew up playing board games, not video games. My parents never threatened to revoke game privileges. They didn't have to.

My mother would often click off the TV and yell at me to "Go outside and play!" I played football in the street. I played basketball in the driveway. I played "safari in Africa" -- hiking through the woods all afternoon with my brother.

My brother and I would make our own fires and roast hotdogs or marshmallows.

We always had chores. I started vacuuming the house at 8 years old. I cleaned up the kitchen every other night starting about age 9 or 10, and the nights I didn't clean up, my brother did. At our little cabin on the lake there was no dishwasher so we hand washed everything. There, I recall helping Dad put tile on the floors and paint the walls, and mowing the lawn, etc. starting at about age 10.

Chores are good for kids.

During the summers before my brother and I were old enough to work, my mother routinely took us to the big downtown farmer's market to buy bushels of corn, beans, etc. and then we would spend hours shucking corn and peeling tomatoes, peaches, etc.  and freezing everything -- which today would be considered some sort of punishment. I didn't like doing it but I sure loved pulling creamed corn out of the freezer in January. Oh, and when I say farmer's market I mean a huge building like a barn where you'd go choose your produce from the backs of the trucks. There was no air conditioning. No fancy displays. Just people wearing overalls who had actually grown that food on real family farms. Nothing was labeled "organic."

My mother used to get a look on her face when she saw a beautiful peach or tomato, and she would say "Look Dee, how beautiful!" and so I learned to see those through her eyes, the beauty of a peach that tastes like summer. The beauty of a tomato ripened by the sun. The beauty of tiny yellow crookneck squash.

Three of my four grandparents grew up on farms. Growing something in the ground to keep your family alive is a sacred thing, and we've forgotten that.

My mother talked to us about the importance of prayer, and about faith. We went to church regularly. We were NOT super religious or ultra conservative -- it's what everyone did, back then.

We were taught to treat everyone with respect and courtesy, regardless of race. We watched our parents live that lesson, because they were always kind and respectful to everyone.

I survived my childhood, and I'm better for it. It took me years to realize how fortunate I was to grow up the way I did.

 

Dads Defining Beautiful

If you are the father of daughters, I want to tell you something really important: tell your daughter she is beautiful, often. Say it with feeling. It is so critical to her emotional well-being.

I grew up hearing a lot of conflicting voices about myself and what I looked like, and it's only been in the past few years that I have been able to process what I heard and put it all into perspective. As a child, I was a sponge. I had no perspective. I just always felt inferior.

My grandmother told me many times that I looked like Princess Grace. I had no idea who that was or why I supposedly looked like her, but I figured if she was a princess, that she must be beautiful. Mom told me I was beautiful too, on occasion.

I don't remember paying any attention whatsoever to my looks until about first grade, when I realized that I didn't look like all the other little girls. I was taller than everyone else. I looked like a third grader amongst my smaller classmates. It's bad enough feeling like you don't fit in, but feeling like everyone else is pretty and you aren't is pretty devastating to a little girl. Kids at school made me feel awful about my looks.

I don't remember my dad ever telling me I was beautiful. He likely did. I just don't recall the words ever coming out of his mouth unless Mom was standing there goading him, saying things like "Tell Dee how nice she looks!" -- usually after I was dressed for church, or some special occasion.

Meanwhile, my brother told me very often that I was ugly. Little boys at school told me I was ugly and fat. There were very many male voices telling me that I was ugly -- a sea of voices -- and there was no counterbalance telling me I wasn't.

It seemed to me like beautiful girls looked very different than me. They had long hair that their mamas would fix up with hair ribbons. My hair was always short because Mom decided she didn't have the patience to fix my hair every morning before school, so it was cut short, in a pixie cut, until I was old enough to fix my own hair.

Little girls on TV and in movies didn't look like me. They weren't freakishly tall. They didn't wear their cousins' or brother's hand-me-down clothes that didn't quite fit right. I always had skinned knees. My hair was usually a mess. I hated wearing shoes and had to be threatened with spanking to get me to wear shoes when it was warm outside.

I was pretty shy and quiet at school, but at home I was loud and rambunctious and completely different.

My dad appreciated pretty females and was not shy about complimenting a woman and telling her she looked beautiful. He said it to friends, relatives, neighbors, work colleagues, you name it. I don't recall him saying it to my mother very often, however.

To be fair, Dad grew up in a family with two brothers, and a mother who didn't believe in expressing strong emotions in front of her children. She told my mother that she always went in a closet and shut the door when she had to cry. So all three of her sons were freaked out when they got married and saw that their wives would occasionally get overwhelmed and cry. Mom and her two sisters-in-law had to try and educate their husbands that women just cry sometimes, and the best response was not to tell them they were being overly emotional or crazy.

I grew up feeling ugly. No little girl should grow up feeling like that.

Dads, tell your girls they are beautiful. Tell them daily. Say it with feeling, meaningfully. Tell them what makes a girl or a woman beautiful has nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with the look in her eyes, and her smile, and how she treats others. Help your daughter to understand that it's best to ignore what the world says is beautiful, because most often they will always feel inferior if that's their measurement.

Point out examples of beauty that defy convention. Make sure they see you admiring females who are not conventionally beautiful, like an older woman, or a heavy woman. Point out beauty elsewhere in the world too -- a beautifully ripe melon, a beautifully polished piece of wood, a beautiful sky after a storm, a beautiful piece of music.

Dads, you are your daughter's North Star. She will always look to you for guidance. Help her to understand  and be confident in a standard of beauty that's real and healthy.

Seven Sisters

My Memaw, Wilma Butler Hasty, was one of 7 sisters. Memaw was right in the middle. For her entire life, she was a force to be reckoned with on her own, but among her sisters she was just one of many forces. I was only ever around a few of them at a time. My mom said that when she was around all 7 of them they would all talk at once and yet later, they would all know exactly what the others said.

I heard a lot about aunt Miriam growing up because she had two daughters that Mom used to play with. I also heard a lot about Hazel because Mom adored her and went to visit her a lot in Acworth, and Hazel was really funny. My mom knew all the aunts well.

left, standing Miriam, Dot, Hazel, Jenny, Wilma / Sitting, Marcel [in chair] and Barbara

From my mother Elva Hasty's memoir Singing to the Cows, here are some of her recollections:

Mother and her siblings, six sisters and three living brothers, and all their families got together for almost all holidays and most birthdays.

Gifts were a big part of Christmas for Mother and her six sisters, but nothing expensive. Either Mother or my Aunt Jennie sewed all the aprons for the sisters. Sometimes, they would make cute potholders to match the aprons. The sisters all gave each other Christmas presents and birthday presents and most often, each received one or two new aprons as well as other gifts.

My Aunt Miriam didn’t sew. She always gave panties. She and her family lived in an apartment, on the corner of Peachtree Place and Peachtree St. On the opposite corner was a quite nice ladies’ clothing shop, called Jean’s Shop. Miss Jean was a friend of my aunt. Miriam knew the correct size, style, fabric etc. for each of her sisters and me. Before a birthday, she’d call and order her panties present, have it gift wrapped, charged to her husband, and delivered across the street. Mother thought it was funny but I loved receiving the beautiful undies. (Wonder what she’d think about the tiny, band aide size panties that girls wear now! Hardly worth the bother of wearing them, seems like.)

Right, late 1940's, in line by height! From left, Barbara, Marcel, Miriam, Wilma, Dot, Hazel, Jenny

Her younger sister, Miriam, began college with her. Mother wrote all of Miriam’s homework essays and any writing homework. They laughed about it for years because with one particular professor, Miriam made an A and Mother made a B.

Mother and her sister Hazel were characters, even as kids. Mother started driving at a young age. She would drive all over town, with Hazel working the pedals. That was before you needed a license to drive. Once Hazel was locked up in the smokehouse because she had been so bad. Must have been the end of summer because the entire watermelon crop was there, a lot of melons. Hazel took a crowbar and stabbed and ruined every melon in the building.

The seven sisters and three sisters in law had a well-practiced routine when it came to get-togethers. There was no pussyfooting around when it came to what they were to bring either. One aunt was a sorry cook so she most often was told to bring something “bought” or paper products etc. When you count it up, there were twenty adults and about seventeen kids. Also, Granny had two unmarried sisters who lived in Acworth and they often joined us. It was quite a crowd and we ate at the big, round dining room table plus the very big kitchen table and the men often carried their food out to one of the three porches. Granny had the place of honor at the dining room table and the women sat with her. Sometimes, my aunt’s cook, Oradee, was there and she mostly stayed in the kitchen, riding herd on all the kids. Oradee was lots stricter than the aunts and we had to mind our manners when she was supervising and wielding her long handled wooden spoon.

Anyway, they were all characters, all the Butler sisters!

Above: Dot, Hazel, Wilma [seated] Marcel stands in the back

 

My new novel, Return to Marietta, has several characters based on the sisters. You can order it HERE.

Help Kids to Love History

You know why so many kids hate History? It's dry, boring facts. There are no compelling visuals, and kids today want great visuals and videos. You can't touch it, unlike science. Kids don't see the relevance of History to life today.

I was a lucky kid because my father loved History and we visited museums and battlefields and he explained everything to me and my brother in a way that was vivid and compelling. When you're walking on the ground where soldiers fought listening to an account of the battle by someone who spoke as though he were there, it makes History really come alive.

Dad's gone now but there are other options.

You know a great way to get kids fascinated by History? Take them to the cemetery. Oakland Cemetery. Kids really learn better when they are standing in the virtual shoes of people who made history, and there are lots of those folks in Oakland.

"Discover the history, the period gardens, and the art and architecture that give Oakland its distinctive character. Oakland is an outdoor museum of Atlanta’s history with over 70,000 stories to tell; stories filled with both stunning victories and heart-wrenching tragedies." [from the website]

Oakland Cemetery first started burying people in 1854, and today it's a public park, free to visit. You can show kids where Civil War soldiers are buried, and walk a short distance and show them the graves of Atlanta's first black mayor, Maynard Jackson, or golf legend Bobby Jones. There are elaborate mausoleums constructed by the wealthy and prominent, and tiny stone markers over the graves of those with no money or fame. 

Kids can actually touch graves, headstones, and the many varieties of exotic plants. This page offers information for those looking to do a school tour. This page offers suggestions on different types of lessons for kids.

History is not the only subject you can teach while walking around Oakland.

Here are some fun facts you may not know about Oakland:

• It's a public park so admission is free
• Oakland is a Victorian garden cemetery and your child who loves plants and gardening will delight in the huge variety of plant life, including a huge variety of flowers, trees and shrubs. "Oakland’s tree canopy includes over 1600 trees and hundreds of species. Some are saplings, while others are close to 200 years old." [Source]
• Architecture aficionados will learn all about the unique offerings at Oakland: "People have sought to honor the memory of departed loved ones since ancient times, but the 19th century ushered in a new era of funerary art. Innovative building materials came available and styles changed to reflect the popular architecture of the day, such as Egyptian and Gothic Revival. New money meant bigger and bolder memorials to reflect the social status and power of prominent families." [Source]
• Most kids nowadays know the meaning of the word "diversity." Oakland Cemetery in downtown Atlanta has graves of people from all races and religions.
• If you want to visit during one of the many fun events, you can create a lasting memory for your child. Oakland hosts many fun events during the year, such as the Tunes from the Tombs, Run Like Hell, and Capturing the Spirit Halloween tours

"It might seem strange, at first, to hang out in a cemetery, but recreation in cemeteries is nothing new. In fact, picturesque cemeteries like Oakland were designed as public spaces, and in the second half of the 19th century, city dwellers visited them when they needed to get away from the hustle and bustle. They were popular spots for picnics, walks, and more." [Source]

 

My friend David Moore was head of Historic Oakland Foundation until recently, and now he is the Director Emeritus. A few years ago I was privileged to get a personal tour of Oakland, riding in a golf cart with David. He was such a fun tour guide, and knew so many great facts and anecdotes.

If you want to visit Oakland you can take a guided tour, either with a volunteer or listening to a recording. The tours are free if you're a member of Historic Oakland.

If you think of cemeteries as sad and boring, I invite you to re-think that idea. Oakland is a place bustling with life.

 

My friend David Moore is raising funds to improve Oakland, as he explains:

"The Living History Campaign is our first ever capital campaign and we are trying to raise 12 million to build a visitors center outside the gates for us and the community to use for large gatherings, symposiums, etc. - a real facility we've never had before. We're also rehabbing the Bell Tower Building and a huge undertaking of restoring the east side of the cemetery. We hope these projects will increase revenue, increase visitors, etc. and folks can come learn about the past, and more." - David Moore

You can learn more HERE.

 

 

 

 

Looking for a great summer read? Check out my newest novel, Return to Marietta! LINK

The Female Conundrum

"I applied for the management training program at Sears and was told despite all my experience I would never be chosen for it because after I was trained I'd just get married and they would have wasted all that time and money training me." - Elva Hasty Thompson

My mother told me a lot of stories the last 15 years of her life because we lived together and she loved to reminisce. I loved to hear the stories. She didn't realize that some of her stories fueled my anger at how unfairly women were treated in the working world for a long time. I was always angry at how she was treated. The quote above is just one of many provocative things she said over the years.

She thought seriously about law school but her Uncle Harry, who was a lawyer, told her it would be a waste of time because she would just get married and quit, and would never work as a lawyer. [He was probably right, as Ruth Bader Ginsberg faced that issue herself, and wound up teaching law rather than practicing.]

When she got pregnant with my brother Mom was teaching school and she was forced to quit because in South Carolina visibly pregnant teachers were routinely kicked out of their jobs. Mom told me she cried for months when that happened because she loved teaching.

I was watching a story on CBS Sunday Morning about a new documentary about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward and Woodward was quoted as saying when she was home with her kids she felt like she should be working and when she was working she felt like she should be at home working as a Mom.

That is the conundrum all working moms face.I know it well.

Most young women today have no idea the terrible "choice" women of my mother's generation were forced to make: career or family. Not both. You had to choose. Even Hollywood actresses faced the terrible choice. Many actresses, like Katharine Hepburn, chose career, and forever after had to endure questions about why they didn't have children. Jennifer Anniston gets the same treatment today. Men don't get grilled like that. They aren't considered pariahs if they choose career and decide not to be dads. 

I am not going to say whether any woman should choose career or should choose motherhood. Every woman has to make that choice, or choose to do both in a way she can live with, whether it's hiring a nanny or getting help from babysitters or family members.

I asked Mom once why she didn't purse a singing career -- she had an incredible voice and sang professionally before marriage. She said she was told she simply couldn't have a music career and be a mother. I pointed out that it wasn't true. She wasn't strong enough as a young woman to swim against the tide though. She didn't have the self-confidence, which she understood later.

My mother always said she was glad she chose to be a mother. She didn't regret that.

My parents worked out a system of parenting that was pretty unconventional for the 1960's. I had no idea about until just a few years ago, and I was flabbergasted when Mom told me about it. Dad worked a full time job as a banker. Mom stayed home. However, when Dad got home at night he was in charge, not Mom. On weekends, he was in charge, not Mom. That meant Dad came home from work, changed clothes, and immediately stepped into Dad mode. He would give baths, change diapers, read stories, etc. Mom was then free to cook dinner. [We did go to bed very early, 7:30 or 8 for many years] On weekends [unless he was working, which sometimes happened] he was in charge. Mom was around, but other than preparing meals she was able to do what she wanted -- usually reading a book or gardening, or possibly church activities or visits with friends. Weekends were her time to regroup and have what today we'd call "me time."

The funny consequence of that policy is that because I spent all weekend hanging out with Daddy, I went to many many shows: gun shows, boat shows, RV shows, etc. I helped Dad with yard work. I went to the hardware store [in those pre Home Depot days]. I watched Dad play tennis or shoot skeet.I knew my father pretty well and that's as it should be. I loved dressing up and playing with dolls but I was totally comfortable with "boy stuff" also.

Dad stopped playing golf because it took too much time away from us on weekends.

Now, many men would have balked at that. They wouldn't have wanted to give their wives breaks like that. Dad was smart enough to realize Mom needed that break, though. She was a brilliant woman. She needed intellectual stimulation. She needed time with friends.

Dad always regretted that from 1959 until 1971 although he was a very present weekend father there were many times when his job demanded he work until late in the evening or on a weekend. He knew Mom had the biggest burden of caring for us. One Christmas Day, Mom had the flu and was really sick. Christmas dinner was canned Campbell's soup. We survived, and laughed about it later.

I was lucky to have two actual co-parents at a time when that was not typical.

I wish Mom had been given the choice to raise a family and have a career. I know she would have been an phenomenal singer/actress.

Celebrate Courage

As you celebrate July 4th tomorrow, take a moment sometime during the day and be grateful that your ancestors thought it was worth risking death to become an American. Be grateful that in 1776 there were men willing to sacrifice everything to be free from the tyranny of Great Britain.

One of my ancestors, Major John McConnell, came close to being hanged for treason by the British. I wrote about him here.

The men who signed the Declaration of Independence risked EVERYTHING for a concept. The idea of people ruling themselves was unheard-of at that time. It was considered bizarre and radical and dangerous. It had never been done before.If the colonists had lost the war, those men would have been hanged for treason. During the course of the Revolutionary War many of the signers endured hardships like the loss of homes, and the deaths of family members. (for more, see here.)

Great Britain was a powerful nation. Their soldiers were highly skilled, well-trained. When Great Britain claimed a country as its own, they were usually met with little or no resistance.

Our troops didn't have great food or supplies. When I visited Valley Forge PA some years ago and went to the museum in the Visitors Center I was fascinated and saddened to see what our men went through. Illness killed many men. They were starving some of the time. They didn't always get paid. The sacrifices made by those men and their families were enormous and terrible.

But they thought it was worth it, to be free.

It makes me sad to know that our country is deeply divided right now. But think about this: we can have differences of opinion without killing each other. We can take to the streets in protest. We can observe patriotic displays or not. We can choose what to do tomorrow.

We have choices, and we have information. Elsewhere in the world that isn't true.People in China who didn't quarantine during Covid were taken from their homes and beaten, and they didn't care what the world thought. (LINK) That's what it looks like to live in an oppressive society where the individual is not free. People in North Korea live at the mercy of a dictator and they don't even know about the outside world. People in Russia are being told the war in Ukraine is the result of fascism in Ukraine.

When I sing the national anthem I don't think about how America is today a troubled place. I take the long view, and think about the sacrifices made by those who have fought and died in every war since the American Revolution. Three of my four uncles risked death in WWII. My grandfather Thompson fought in France in World War I. My brother went to Iraq but he came home. Other families were not so lucky.

Despite the divisions and the issues I still think America is the greatest country on earth and I am proud to be American. God Bless our great nation!

Return to Marietta (My New Novel)

Most of us in my generation grew up with grandparents who were little old ladies and men. White-haired and slow-moving, they were hopelessly old-fashioned and epitomized the word “elderly.” We spoke to them respectfully. We had to “mind our manners” around them. They didn’t drink, smoke, or cuss. They had full authority over us whether Mom and Dad were around or not.

Nowadays, I have friends in their 60’s who are grandparents but cut from a completely different mold. I know grandmas, mimis, pop-pops, etc. who take the grandchildren on hikes and bike rides. They say 70 is the new 50, or some such folderol.

My grandparents were cut from the old-school model, born at the end of the 19^th century, to Victorian parents who had lived through Reconstruction. My grandparents didn’t smoke or drink or cuss. They went to church every Sunday. I knew I would be held to a higher standard of good behavior around them and that was okay.

I called my mother’s parents Memaw and Pepaw or Papa, and I spent a lot of time around them as a child. I adored them, and they adored me, and made me feel very loved and secure. I had literally no idea about the hard times they endured in their first ten years of marriage.

My latest novel, Return to Marietta, was inspired by my grandparents’ lives, and it’s available on Amazon in Kindle, paperback, or hardback. You can order it here.

Sometime around 1990 (the year my grandmother died, after 14 years in a nursing home, incapacitated by a massive stroke in 1976) I asked my mother why my grandfather had stopped playing baseball. She told me shortly after he married Memaw, he and several other men were accused of being part of a KKK mob that beat up a woman. Although he was innocent and that was proven in court, Connie Mack benched him for an entire season [1924] and then sold his contract to a minor league team in Oregon, and effectively blackballed him from playing major league baseball. I was shocked. Anyone who knew my grandfather would have known he was a very upright, decent man. He didn’t smoke, drink, or curse, and he taught Sunday School for years. He was the most gentle soul in the world. People would often assume since he was so big [6’4, 220] that he was a brute, but nothing was further from the truth.

I was very blessed to have had a mother who had an astonishingly vivid and accurate memory. Over the next twenty years we spent hours talking about her childhood and about what happened between 1923 and 1933. My grandmother was raised in a wealthy family, and she was anticipating an easy life, married to a handsome and famous baseball player, a celebrity. When he was arrested six months after they married, she must have realized that her privileged life was not going to happen. She loved him and she stuck by him, though. When Mom told me the story of what had happened I was struck by how strong she was, and how hard she fought to keep her family together.

After the trial, Papa spent years in the minor leagues, first out west – where there were no major league baseball teams in the 1920’s – and then in Birmingham with the Barons and in Atlanta with the Crackers. He went to New Jersey in 1933 and the minor league team he was supposed to play on and manage went under due to the Depression. He didn't return home. He stopped writing my grandmother. My grandmother somehow learned where he was, packed up her car and her two little boys [my 4- and 6-year-old uncles] and set off driving to New York while very pregnant with my mom. She told Mom about it years later. I can only surmise that Papa was very depressed at that time. Nonetheless, he returned home with her and started working for companies that wanted him to manage and play on their company baseball teams.

I cannot imagine packing up two small boys and driving, while nearly 8 months pregnant, to New York City. There were no interstates. There was no GPS. There were no McDonald’s and nice hotels every 20 miles. The car was likely unheated. Cars often got flat tires. It was the darkest part of the Great Depression so there were undoubtedly families on the road, homeless and broke. My grandmother was 4’10 and always had to sit on cushions to see over the steering wheel and drive.

She was a crack shot, however, and she always carried food on trips.

I had to fictionalize their story because my research failed to turn up exactly WHY my grandfather was accused of a crime in 1923. My book is filled with details I learned from my mother about my grandparents during that 1923-33 time period. They were young people, in love, trying to raise a family. As I wrote, they became Lillian and Will, not Memaw and Papa. That’s okay. That’s as it should be.

It's a rare honor to be able to learn so much about one's grandparents and to appreciate the many hardships and sacrifices they made before they became the little old Memaws and Papas we knew.

My book honors them in spirit, even though it's fiction.

My book is not simply a love story or a sports story or Bookclub Fiction. It could easily fall under all those categories, but it’s much more than that, too. It’s a story about faith, courage, and family. It’s my attempt to honor two people I loved very much. I hope you will read it and enjoy it.

left, my grandmother Wilma Butler, in her youth. Middle, her and Papa [Bob Hasty] when they were "courting." Above right, Memaw and four of her grandchildren in 1974. We all adored her. She was cute and funny - a real character.

 

Formerly the Queen of the Uptight

I used to be a person that freaked out quite easily. I was the opposite of laid back. I was the Queen of the Perpetually Uptight. That's not a good thing, trust me.

Everything is energy. It took me years to really grasp that but that's one of the benefits of getting older. If you're lucky, and you keep an open mind, you will accumulate knowledge that will help you cope. My hard-won knowledge of energy is as comforting to me as religion is to a lot of folks. 

One of my cousins posted a long essay about vibrational energy on Facebook. Below is a quote from it:

7 things that affect your vibrational frequency from the point of view of quantum physics.

Vibration in quantum physics means that everything is energy. We are vibrating beings on certain frequencies. Every vibration equals a feeling and in the "vibrational" world, there are only two kinds of vibration, positive and negative. Every feeling makes you emit a vibration that can be positive or negative.

 

Every thought emits a frequency out to the universe and that frequency goes back to the source, so in case if you have negative thoughts, discouragement, sadness, anger, fear, it all comes back to you. This is why it is so important that you take care of the quality of your thoughts and learn to cultivate more positive thoughts.

 

So true. When I was younger my head was filled with a lot of negative thoughts. School stressed me out because I was always wanting to make top grades and when I didn't immediately grasp the material I panicked. I also got bullied at school because I was chubby. At home, I was a constant source of annoyance to my older brother because I was walking around breathing in the same house, so he liked to tease me mercilessly.

 

I grew up and became a paralegal, mainly because my dad thought it was a good idea. I really never wanted to be a paralegal. It took me years to make peace with it. I felt obsolete in my last paralegal position -- lots of negative energies. (Thanks be to God I now have a job I love where I can use my legal background but I get to write all day, a huge blessing.)

 

I have told my son many times, we can control our thoughts. He is only slowly coming around to accepting this idea. It's true, though. Once he really understands that and puts it into practice, life will get easier. I have noticed this in my own life. It can be very tricky to do, though.

 

I have a relative who is a big strong guy but he is the most fearful person I know. He constantly worries about everything, and as a result those fears control him. My last few conversations with him have been very strained so I have decided to distance myself from him for the time being. If I told this guy that the key to inner peace lies in thought control he would snort with contempt. [I've seen that many times! He is the Snort King!] He cannot do what I do so often in life and simply turn it over to God. He knows the concept, but he cannot do it. Turning it over to God is just a mental exercise. It's the act of saying to God [or the Universe, or whatever deity you believe in] that you feel completely frustrated and unable to handle a problem, but you are going to turn your thoughts elsewhere and trust God/The Universe/Buddha/whoever to handle the problem. Taking a mental vacation from your thoughts can be very difficult to do because you stop trying to control the situation. It's absolutely necessary, though, to avoid all the worry and feelings of inadequacy and anxiety.

 

I think sometimes people cling to their negative thoughts because letting go of them would feel like a betrayal, or an acknowledgement that they aren't always right.

 

When you focus on the positive, though, it changes things. Let's say you don't believe in God. You know the happiness you feel when you express love? That's positive energy and that's a healing energy. Pet your dog or cat for a few minutes. Play with your child. Take a walk by a lake or river. Close your eyes and listen to a favorite song. Take a friend out to lunch. Put those positive vibes into yourself and see what happens.

 

I don't want to get into a political argument here but I was reminded of this yesterday as I watched the news coverage of the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Half of the people in America are in deep despair over that Supreme Court ruling. The other half are rejoicing and celebrating -- but also quite anxious about the possible backlash. The same can be said for the gun control bill just passed by Congress. Some rejoice, some despair.

 

The entire country feels awash in negative energy. We all need to walk that back -- and we can. All the negative energy accomplishes nothing. It's really wasted energy. Roll up your sleeves and work for the side you believe in, and keep focusing on the result you want. Protest peacefully if you like. Don't riot because that does nothing good. Express loving feelings through acts of kindness.

 

My dad had a very stressful job. He was a bank vice president. His days were often long and very stressful. When he got home from work, though, he would always change clothes and spend time with his children, usually playing with us. He really played -- on the floor, playing with toys, singing songs, playing games. He told Mom it was his favorite part of the day because he could forget about all the stress of the day.

 

We all need to remember that. You want to change the world? Fine. Go play. Go love. Go sing your song. Fill yourself with positive energy and wait for the blessings to roll in, as inevitably as the tide.