The Crab Chronicles

A Monumental Quandary

I try to avoid political discussions because they almost inevitably lead to hard feelings and resentment, and sometimes they end friendships, much to my sadness. I am fully capable of saying to someone "I don't agree with your point of view, but I respect your right to have a point of view and express it."

I've used the phrase "Let's agree to disagree" many times in the past year.

Unfortunately, certain of my friends have chosen to exit my life because they disagreed with my presidential choice. This makes me quite sad because they should be more mature. If we can't have civil discourse -- and recent violence makes me really wonder about that -- then we are heading into dangerous waters, as a nation.

I asked my brother not long ago what he thought about taking the Confederate flag down in Columbia, South Carolina, where he lives. My brother is a retired Army major who drives a truck, chews tobacco, and works for a company that sells guns and equipment to police departments. You might think there could be no more conservative guy on the planet.

You'd be wrong.

He answered immediately, "If the flag makes black people uncomfortable, then it should come down. Period."

I didn't argue with him. I feel the same. I look at the Confederate flag and see a historic artifact. What if it was the Nazi flag, though? I would shudder in horror because that flag represents a terrible time in history, and horrific crimes against humanity were committed by people committed to that philosophy. I can imagine, therefore, what a black person might feel, looking at the Confederate flag. I sympathize. Those flags should only be in museums.

I am totally in a quandary over the taking down of Confederate monuments, however.

On the one hand, one can make the same argument about the monument as one would about the flag - it represents a very painful time in history. It's a time long gone. As my friend Tom Lee writes in The Politics of Memory and Marble, which discusses the Alabama Memorial Preservation Act of 2017, "The new law prohibits relocation, removal, alteration, or renaming of any "monument located on public property and has been so situated for 40 or more years." 

I am very uncomfortable with a state forcing its citizens to keep monuments that a lot of its citizens find profoundly disturbing.

However, I also think that monuments are about more. They are about history. They are about art.

For me, too, they are personal.

above, the Butler Marble Works, owned by my great-grandfather Robert Edward Butler

As my cousin Steve Butler wrote about the monument above: This Confederate Memorial is located in Forsyth, Georgia (Monroe County) and was contracted by the Butler Marble and Granite Company of Marietta for a cost of $3,000. The seven-foot soldier was cast by the American Bronze Foundry of Chicago. The memorial was unveiled on June 20, 1908.

I never met my great-grandfather. I love the fact that he was part of history, however. His company supplied the marble for monuments that were placed all over the south.

I have passed the one below many times and never knew that Grandaddy's company supplied the marble until Steve did some research. Steve: "Confederate memorial located in Decatur, Georgia, was created by the Butler Marble and Granite Co. in Marietta for a cost of $2,500. It is located in front of the old courthouse and was dedicated on Confederate Memorial Day, April 25, 1908. 2,000 people attended the dedication."

 

There is also a Confederate monument in Abbeville, South Carolina, made of Butler marble. Ironically, my paternal grandmother Cordelia Henderson Thompson was born in Abbeville and her family had lived there for generations before moving to Georgia in 1900.

 

I cannot say that all the Confederate monuments should be removed. I cannot say they should be left alone. The Historian in me is battling with the humanitarian. Perhaps there is a way to compromise. Perhaps the monuments should not be hidden or destroyed, but they should be located in or on the grounds of museums, because they are historical artifacts.

Regardless of where they are, the Confederacy lost the Civil War. No statue or flag will ever change that.

My ancestors fought in that war. I can celebrate the fact that they fought for their beliefs, even if I don't agree with those beliefs.

If I had lived back then I likely would have had the same prejudices they had. If they could have foreseen me and my friendships with people of all races and ethnicities, and foreseen my mixed-race children, they might be horrified.

It's easy to sit here in 2017 and pass judgment on people who lived a long time ago. Just remember, though, the door swings both ways. One day my great-great grandchildren may look back in horror at things I did or said.

Future generations may judge me harshly. I can live with that. I do want to state for the record, though, that I may never know the correct way to feel about Confederate monuments.

 

Asian Green Beans the Southern Way

When I was a kid, I love my Memaw's green beans. So did my daddy. We would eat the tender, delicious "snap beans" flavored with fatback and cooked until they fell apart. Heavenly.

I was in New York City many years ago, a senior in college, and a friend my of dad's had invited me to eat lunch with her at a very chi chi restaurant. I wore pantyhose to the lunch date -- that tells you how long ago it was. I ordered some chicken or fish and it came with green beans on the plate. The beans were just slightly warm, and I tried to eat one and nearly spit it out, in horror. It was barely cooked. It was crunchy. I called the waiter over and told him to please take the beans back to the kitchen and cook them. He looked very puzzled.

It's not my fault that chef had no idea how to cook green beans.

This year I planted a TON of green bean seeds, Blue Lake variety. I didn't realize any were ready to pick until day before yesterday, and then I picked what you see above. Hallelujah!

My brother and I love the green beans we get at Asian restaurants. So he set out to re-create their green beans and I took his ideas and added my own twist. I posted on Facebook about it and I think everyone was sort of amused that me, a born and bred southerner, would go nuts over green beans cooked a very non-southern way. Tasty is tasty, though.

My green beans were not crunchy. Lord no. However, they weren't cooked until they fell apart, like Memaw cooked them. There IS a happy medium

I cleaned these, boiled them for about 15 minutes to soften them up, then in a skillet sauteed two cloves of fresh minced garlic in olive oil. I then threw in the beans, and liberally added soy sauce, sesame oil, a little bit of balsamic vinegar, a pat of Plugra butter, and salt and pepper. You will need to taste and adjust seasonings to your taster. That's the best way to cook.

My brother would have added some hot chili oil. I did not.

I had to restrain myself from eating the entire skillet full of beans.

We've had a lot of rain the last few days so I am hoping my bean plants will continue to keep me in fresh beans all summer. There is no comparison -- fresh from the garden just taste 100% better!

Observations

Sometimes when I badly need a laugh I go on Craigslist and look in the FREE category. This category encompasses stuff that folks want to throw away but they want someone else to come pick it up. They don't want to bother hauling it to the dump or calling the county to come pick it up.

Example:

plastic pots

The ad says "please no emails." Who would email about the pots? What would they ask? "Do you have any lovely hot pink pots?!" "Will you put some plants in them for me?"

What I want to know is why someone is throwing out all their plastic pots. Did everything they tried to grow die? Did they become convinced the pots were politically incorrect? Are only ceramic pots fashionable nowadays? Perhaps these are just the old plastic pots and there are newer, more beautiful pots adorning this person's house. Who knows. I bet someone has already picked them up, though.

Then there's this toilet - I see toilets every time I look in the FREE section.

Notice the artistic play of light and shadow, and the artfully arranged foliage just to the left? I bet a New York City art gallery would pay a fortune just for this photo.

Years ago my brother decided to put a new toilet in his bathroom, so he put the old toilet out in the yard. He thought it would be very funny to sit out there, on the potty, and read the newspaper. He wasn't naked and his pants weren't down. He just thought the neighbors would find it amusing.

Needless to say, he and his wife were never invited to any neighborhood get-togethers...

the ad for the above toilet says Toilet (used) -- in case anyone was wondering if it was pristine or not. I wouldn't want to lift that lid..

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Here are some items listed on Craigslist but the ad posters didn't take photos. Wonder why?! I give my guess as to why the ad was posted.

Free glass beer bottles [somebody had a party and doesn't want to clean up the yard]

Free pigs [again, somebody had a party and doesn't want to clean up the yard]

Free place to dump your cut grass [someone is burying a body?!]

Free firewood [a dead tree fell in my yard and I don't feel like cutting it up and hauling it off]

Free kids and Queen size bed with rails and head board [I understand wanting to get rid of the old bed, but throwing in the kids is rather extreme]

Free Hermit crab [somebody thought this guy would make a great pet but they were mistaken]

Free Apple tree. You cut. Great for smoking! [but what if you're trying to stop smoking?!]

Free Two cubicle work stations near perimeter. [I'm guessing a couple of employees just got really fed up]

Free Bath tub. cast iron. [the "cast iron" explains why the owner wants YOU to pick it up]

Free Gerbil cage, accessories, exercise balls, and two female gerbils [the dream of breeding gerbils died when it was discovered both were females]

Free black GE fridge [for goths who need kitchen accessories]

Free place to dump dirt [I'm guessing the lady who posted this gave the address of her soon-to-be ex boyfriend]

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and finally, under the "can we be more obvious?!" category, this lovely chair and the brilliant caption:

Overstuffed Chair (needs reupholstering)

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A FINAL THOUGHT

I was in my garden yesterday and found what I consider a really funny-looking tomato. I have named it the Butt Mater. I see nothing wrong with laughing at vegetables.

The Cost of Being a Grownup

I have been thinking a lot about cost benefit analysis and how it applies to real life.

My brother showed up for Memorial Day weekend driving a new car, which really startled me. He only buys new vehicles once every 10 years or so, and then only reluctantly. As I explained to my son, Brother only bought the new SUV because his trusty Toyota truck was having major engine problems and it was going to cost more to fix the car than it was worth. So he started researching new vehicles, and bought a 2008 Toyota Highlander. (I drive a 2003 Highlander. We like Highlanders.) He had to get a loan to buy the new car, which he hated doing, but he isn't spending as much on gas so he can pay the loan back pretty quickly.

I was trying to explain to Michael the other day that most people don't like working in an office 40 hours a week, but they like being able to pay their bills. Most folks live with delayed gratification -- working 5 days a week and doing what they want to do 2 days a week. So it costs time, but the reward is money.

This ties in to a quote I heard years ago which is also a truism: you can either have lots of time or lots of money, but not both. Of course, being the child of a trust department banker I amended that mentally: unless you have inherited wealth or you win the lottery. Then you can do what you want all or most of the time and still pay your bills, if you don't squander the money. Of course, very few of us fall into that "free money" category economically..

 

No one tells you that the hardest part of motherhood is when your kids grow up.

 

My son is not a conformist. He never has been. This has served him well, for the most part. He has had to learn to get along with one hand since he was 5 years old, after his right hand was amputated due to frostbite, in Kazakhstan. Kazakhstan is a very traditional culture, and the assumption was a person with no hand would never be able to work and support himself. When I was in the process of adopting Michael I was told "He can do anything. He can dress himself, play sports, do chores -- whatever." The caretakers were right. The first day I met him I watched him expertly ice skate around a frozen soccer field at the orphanage.

I adopted Michael ten years ago, in 2007. He constantly amazes me in some way.

I never thought he would be able to play baseball. He played for two seasons and was among the top players on the team.

I never thought he'd be able to tie his own shoes. Piece of cake.

I never thought he'd be able to clip his own fingernails. He figured out a way, shortly after his sister left home and she couldn't do it for him any more.

Of course, employers are always skeptical, at first. Michael has been working for several years now, and the hand barely slows him down. He always figures out a way to do whatever is needed and is usually the hardest worker in the business.

The hardest part of being his mother - and I'm sure there are a lot of mothers out there who have had to deal with this -- is that he is SO smart. When you are the smartest person in the room 95% of the time, it's hard accepting that the rules apply to you, too. We've been dealing with that a lot for over a year now but I don't want to violate his privacy so I'll just leave it at that.

Smart people also battle boredom all the time.

I guess what this blog is really about is my angst about trying to teach him this critical life  lesson: how do you decide what is worth it?

When you're 20 or 21 years old you have little frame of reference so deciding what is worth it is usually a trial and error type of thing. Watching that -- watching your grown child make mistakes and knowing that's a necessary thing -- is so hard.

A few years ago I realized that my mother was requiring more and more care from me, with her arthritis, asthma, and mobility issues. For an 83 year old she is remarkable -- mentally sharp as a tack. Physically, though, not so much. She rarely walks more than 10 feet because it's painful for her. So I realized it was incumbent upon me to take care of her, since my kids are grown and don't live here any more. So I work from home, for the time being.

Now, working from home is something I enjoy doing. I would much rather sit here at my desk and look to my right at the peaceful tranquility of my back yard, wearing my pajamas, than drive 30-40 minutes back and forth to an office and sit in a cubicle all day where my time is not my own. However, I have very little extra money. Paying bills is a challenge every month because I don't have steady employment. I haven't been on a vacation in 7 years.

However, I have written several books and I am hopeful one of them soon might land me a publishing contract. I wouldn't have been able to find as much time to write if I had been working a regular job.

What do I tell Michael about how to figure the cost/reward of choosing his work, though?

A part of me wants to tell my son "just go be a tattoo artist and don't worry about having a lot of money." However, if he is going to one day have a wife and children he needs a reasonably lucrative career.

My father grew up in a family where there wasn't much money, and he watched his parents struggle through the Depression and World War II and then my grandfather's emphysema, and he had to scramble around to pay for his own college. I think he decided while he was still pretty young that he wanted to work hard and make a lot of money. He never made a LOT of money but we got to a place where our family was upper middle class. However, I remember many nights when my father came home after working 12 hours and he was just wiped out tired. He would make himself a drink and stare at the back yard for an hour before he was ready to eat dinner.

When I was a kid we would visit the home of a relative who had far less money than we did but their home always seemed to be a happy place and there was lots of laughter. Very little money, but a mostly happy place.

We laughed in my family too -- don't get me wrong, I didn't have a terrible childhood -- but watching the toll stress took on my dad had a big influence on me. Work stress can really cast a pall over one's entire life. The older I get the more I want to pare down my possessions and just live as simply as possible.

I think in the big analysis all I can really tell my son is this: figure out what you want, and then figure out what it will cost you to get it. ALL adults have to do that, all the time. It's perhaps the most important thing about growing up and managing your life successfully.

Please feel free to drop me a comment and tell me what you think of this.

I gave Mom my book manuscript to read and Lola decided to use it as a pillow..

Happy Birthday in Heaven

I was very fortunate to be able to spend a lot of time around my grandmother when I was growing up, and she was a big influence on me. I wanted to share some of my memories of her. My mother wrote a wonderful blog about her a few years ago.

My grandmother, Wilma Butler Hasty, was born on June 3rd in approximately 1899. She never really admitted to her exact age. She liked to say she was "born with the century" - 1900 being a nice, round number.

She grew up in Marietta, Georgia, just north of Atlanta. Her father was a business man who owned a marble works, a real estate company, and a drugstore, among other things. The family was wealthy but not "big rich" as my mother would say.

above, Memaw as a young girl - the only photo we have of her wearing pants

below, photos of her with her sisters

Memaw was born into a family of 7 sisters and 4 brothers -- who survived to adulthood. She lost at least one sibling. In those days, nutrition was greatly improved but it was illegal to use birth control. So around the late 19th, early 20th centuries, you find families with more than 6 children, pretty commonly. Each of my grandparents had between 6 and 12 siblings.

Memaw was mostly tutored at home but her father did finally allow some of the kids to go to high school. She finished, and went to Bessie Tift College for a couple of years. She left college to return home and work for her father in his real estate business. In 1923 she married my grandfather Bob Hasty, who was playing for Connie Mack on the Philadelphia Athletics baseball team, and a well-known local celebrity. The big league career didn't last, but throughout the hard times of the Great Depression and World War II, and through many moves and tribulations, Memaw always worked hard and retained her sense of humor.

below, the family in the late 1930's

I always remember Memaw saying to me wistfully "You are so lucky to have a mama and a daddy that fool with you all the time." In her childhood, her father was always working and her mother had her hands full, so no child got much individual attention from the parents.

I was fortunate to have parents who "fooled with" me all the time. Picnics, baseball games, fishing excursions, swimming, roller skating -- we were always doing stuff.

Memaw was a huge influence on my early life. She was always energetic, and always ran the show, whether in her home or elsewhere. She liked to say to me "We're going to clean out your closet today! Won't that be fun?!" Of course, she wasn't going to clean anything, I was, and it was never fun. Or she would say "Let's make your doll a pretty dress!" - which meant I got to watch her sew a dress for my Barbie doll. That was okay. I was always horrible at sewing.

When I was 7 and in second grade I still couldn't read. My parents were getting a bit concerned. Memaw bought a book she knew I'd like, sat down with me, and in an hour I was reading. She was a natural-born teacher.

When she walked out of her room in the morning, Memaw never had on a bathrobe or jeans. She would have on a dress, or skirt and blouse, corset, stockings, jewelry, makeup, and shoes with heels. (I stayed with her once when I was about 12, and saw her struggling into her corset, a sight I've never forgotten.) She got her hair "done" weekly. I never saw her wear pants but one time, after Papaw died, because it was a bitterly cold winter and Mom was worried about her. She tried on the pants but I don't think she ever wore them out of the house. She was tiny [4'11] and had wide hips, a large fanny, and short fat legs. Finding pants to fit would have been difficult. [I know this because I inherited her fanny and short fat legs and finding pants is never fun.]

Memaw always had a crossword puzzle book, sharpened pencil, and Chiclets chewing gum in her purse. Her purse was never far from her. She was never bored. She read the newspaper every day, cover to cover. At one time she had worked as a proofreader for the newspaper, and she could spot an error a mile away.

She was a whiz at crossword puzzles, Chinese checkers, and most any game she played. She didn't take it easy on kids either. She played to win. My brother and I played Monopoly with her one rainy afternoon and by the end of the day she owned everything on the board and we were both broke. (My parents thought it was hilarious.)

I wanted to share a story about my grandmother that perfectly illustrates what a character she was.

We had a family reunion in 1970, at Thanksgiving, in the mountains.  Our family, mom's two brothers and their families, and my grandparents all got together at a big cabin near Amicalola Falls.  My uncle Don brought his new cassette tape recorder and recorded all of us talking about the weekend. Don't laugh - in 1970 most tape recorders were huge, awkward reel to reel contraptions - expensive and not user-friendly. The small cassette recorder Don brought was regarded with awe by the rest of us.

Don recorded Memaw talking about a practical joke she had played on everyone. She said "Before I came up here, I wanted to do something that would be funny, for the children. So I decided I'd dress up like an old woman -- older than I am -- and fool the children, and the grown people too!" She was about 71. I wish you could hear her accent. (I have a copy of that tape, thanks to Uncle Don and Aunt Jane, and I cherish it.)

One night after dinner, she went outside and changed into the old clothes and an old wig of her sister's, trying to look like a homeless person. She put pink bubblegum over her teeth, to look toothless. She changed her voice. Then she knocked on the door of the cabin and asked my 12 year old cousin Robert for a light for her cigarette. He didn't recognize her and said he would have to go get his father, my uncle Bobby. I watched this whole thing because I was curious. I saw the old lady standing there, asking for a light for her cigarette [Memaw didn't smoke] and I thought it was really odd, but I couldn't see her face very well because of the old hat she wore. I didn't realize it was Memaw at first.

My uncle Bobby knew his mother well, knew her love of jokes, and when he saw her, I think he figured it out pretty quickly, but he kept bending down to try and see her face [he was 6'3] and she kept hunching over, and it got really comical. Finally, they both started laughing.

The entire family thought it was very funny, and we laughed about it all the rest of the weekend.

When I feel discouraged or upset, sometimes I play part of that tape. I love hearing her say this phrase: "We have all had a grand time visiting with each other. The children have had a ball. May the Lord bless us and keep us until another Thanksgiving."

One day we will meet again, Memaw, and what a joyful reunion it will be.

above, Memaw and four of her eight grandchildren, in Chicago at my uncle's house, 1973

 

 

Inviting Magic Into Your Life

I was thinking about the power that words have to alter our lives and it occurred to me that perhaps the most powerful word I know, aside from "God" is the word "magic."

Think about it. From the time you were a child and first heard that word, and likely saw a magician on television or on stage, that word, MAGIC, was potent and mysterious, filled with endless possibilities.

It's sad that so often people are very cynical about the word magic, even more so about the possibility that it might actually exist in the world. I feel strongly that magic does exist, and instead of being cynical about that, we should allow for magic to be revealed to us.

When I was a kid I always watched magicians like Doug Henning and David Copperfield with great enjoyment, trying to figure out how they had fooled me. That's all the word magic really meant to me -- illusion. Or fantasy, in a Disney-esque sort of way. Waving a magic wand was one of my favorite games as a child.I made many "wands" out of drinking straws and tinfoil.

As I have grown older and lived through some very difficult times I have been shown, over and over, that magic does, in fact, exist. Just last night I was feeling discouraged and sad about a situation with someone I love, and within minutes the phone rang. That conversation lifted my spirits dramatically. It reminded me that instead of feeling cynical or dismissive about magic, we should instead embrace that word.

When we allow for possibility of magic, we allow for faith, and for healing.

 

Proof

When I was in college one of my favorite classes was Logic. I was awful at traditional math but I loved Logic. I could take word problems and construct beautiful, airtight proofs using my favorite tools -- words. So I was thinking, could I construct some sort of proof regarding magic? The result is below. Simple, yes, but that's okay. Sometimes the most simple things are the most powerful things.

Love = Magic

God = Love

Therefore, God = Magic

I know my very traditional friends and relatives who read that last part might be taken aback, particularly if they have a rigid mindset about God. Many folks I know would consider it disrespectful or perhaps even blasphemous to say God equals magic but think about the bible. Over and over, there are stories of miracles. What is a miracle if it's not evidence of magic? Moses parted the Red Sea. Think about Jesus feeding the multitudes with only 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.What about Jesus rising from the dead? Doesn't get any more magic than that..

 

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” [Gandhi]

A few years ago I had to have a hysterectomy because some cancer cells were found in my uterus. I am fine now, but the word "cancer" is certainly a wake-up call. I saw cancer ravage my father. I knew it's terrible power. I also knew that it's a word that can change a person for the better. You don't really appreciate simple beauty like a flower, or the song of as bird, or a baby's smile, until you realize that life is finite, and we should enjoy life while we are still here. So cancer is not always a closing off. Sometimes it's an opening up, a way to fully appreciate the beauty all around us. So now I try to actually live as if I am going to die tomorrow. Who knows? I might. I am not afraid of it, though.

Life = Magic

I figured out a while back that if I stop learning, I will be a miserable person. I learn all the time, for the joy of it, not for a grade. As children we so often lose the love of learning, bogged down with homework and tests and obligations. That's unfortunate. As adults, we are blessed if we can re-discover the joy of learning. The energy of learning is its own kind of magic.

Lately I have been learning about how to think about my life in a way that helps me to be more satisfied, and at times even happy.

What we think becomes our truth. I forget who said that originally, but it's a powerful idea. I have been trying to re-order my thoughts. I tend to worry too much. Worry accomplishes nothing except to make me mentally weary, afraid and discouraged. Instead of worry, I try to just pray. I think about the person or situation that worries me, and I ask God to handle it. Sometimes the answer is that there's something I need to do, of course, to assist that process. I am always given that knowledge of what to do, and of course it feels good to be part of the process. Sometimes, though, the best thing is to mentally step aside and let God handle it.

If you think about it, there's a lot of energy in our thoughts. What are we, really, except intelligent animals, separated [perhaps] from other animals by our ability to reason? Our minds are the engines that drive us.

Learning = Magic

 

“Faith is not something to grasp, it is a state to grow into.” [Gandhi]

Faith has to be the greatest fuel of the mind. Faith, at its core, is the ability to trust in something unseen.

Faith = Magic

I interviewed a lady for my blog not long ago and one of the twenty questions I ask interviewees is "Do you believe in God?" About 99% of the time when I ask folks that question, I hear "Yes." This lady didn't say anything. I said "It's okay to say no. I have no issue with that." So she explained that her mindset was geared toward science. I asked her if she believed in love, and she said yes. (Just FYI, she is one of the kindest, most loving people I've ever met.) I just said "Well, in my book, then, you do believe in God, because God IS love." She didn't argue about it. I wasn't trying to convert her to anything. I just wanted her to give that idea some thought.

 

So Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.” [John, 4:48]

Jesus knew the power of miracles was twofold: the miracle itself, and its power to turn doubters into believers. Most of us tend towards cynicism and doubt. How easy it is to doubt. How difficult it is to look at a scary situation and have faith that God can and will work some magic -- and perhaps even go so far as produce a miracle -- to help us out.

Miracles happen every day. Ask any nurse or doctor. Ask almost anyone over the age of 70. Ask anyone who survived the Holocaust.

 

The final thought I want to leave you with is this: get out of your own way. Stop thinking too much. Over-thinking an issue has always been my downfall but I am determined now to generate new thoughts, new energy, renewed faith -- all so that life will retain it's sweetness, and worry won't be the overwhelming sickness I generate on my own. Faith is sometimes only possible when God reveals to us his magic, and that's okay.

  photo courtesy of Linda Hasty Harris