The Crab Chronicles

Let's Hear It For the Little Old Ladies

Since I am now well on the way to becoming a Little Old Lady, I have a confession to make. I find old ladies fascinating, particularly older Southern ladies. We are taught from birth to be sweet and be ladylike but when we get past fifty or thereabouts some of us rebel against that upbringing. When my mom turned 50 she told Dad she was through being nice to people she didn't like and if he insisted she keep going to cocktail parties and events for business reasons, he better brace himself. She wasn't kidding. She was a sweetheart 99% of the time but if she got riled up, God help you if you were the target of her ire.

Most Little Old Ladies have seen some stuff and they don't have time for foolishness, as my memaw would say. [That's her below, in the red dress, next to her sister Hazel in the blue dress] So below, I've included some Little Old Lady quotes you might find interesting. All these books are available on Amazon, just FYI. The links are in the titles.

Ghosts in the Garden City

Synopsis: Leigh Harrington is haunted by a past she cannot remember. One day, walking through a department store, she smells a scent that catapults her back to her childhood, to a trauma she has blocked out. She senses there is far more to the memory than anyone in her family wants her to know. All her attempts to try to retrieve the blocked memories of what happened that long-ago day fail. A short time later, Leigh inherits an old suitcase from her long-dead grandmother, and she discovers a family secret that has long been kept hidden. Eager to learn more, Leigh sets out on an scary but amazing journey.

QUOTE:

To Leigh’s shock, Miss Maudie [age 90] grabs her hand and looks at her intently. “You look a lot like your grandmother, Leigh. Now I’m going to tell you something I’ve learned in my long life. Listen up, Honey. I may be dead before you see me again. Every woman holds secrets, deep in her heart. We have to take care of everybody, all our lives. It’s the burden of Eve, it sure is. But we also have the blessing of being able to love more than any man can even comprehend. We love true and for always. Your grandmother was a loving person, a gentle person. It shone out of her like a light. That’s why I remember her so well, even though we didn’t really know one another. Whoever that little baby belonged to, trust that your grandmother did right by her. I know she did.”

 

Leaf Season

Synopsis: When Wyatt Jamison, a busy lawyer, inherits an antebellum house in the beautiful North Georgia mountains he soon realizes it's not simply a vacation place. Why did his uncle drop dead in the backyard? Why did he build a high brick wall around the place and shut himself off from everyone? Wyatt's wife flees from the house, screaming. Is it haunted?So many questions.Next door to the home, Wyatt meets Sally, a lady he met once before -- an encounter she never forgot. Wyatt finds himself drawn to Sally, and the idea of retiring and living in the mountains, but small town gossip, messy legal problems and a family tragedy keep Wyatt and Sally apart. Can they ever be together in the mountain town that seems so tranquil but actually holds so many secrets?Leaf Season draws the reader in to a world of mystery and heartbreak, love and family, and hard-won peace.

Quote:

“Young man, I am not deaf. My hearing is augmented by a device, allowing me to hear everything with crystal clarity, which is sometimes unfortunate. I will not need your assistance in getting in the house. I am not infirm. However, I will take your arm as I mount the steps, since it looks like nobody has swept them in a while and I don’t want to trip on the debris. Come along then.” [Aunt Catherine is 88 years old and Wyatt had just finished sweeping the steps before she arrived]

 

Dancing in the Wreckage

Synopsis: Dancing in the Wreckage opens with news that wealthy attorney Carson Strickland has died in a plane crash, and his will specifies that his son James Williams inherits everything. The problem is that none of Carson’s colleagues or friends have ever heard of James Williams. Carson’s law partner Jason Barnes sets out to find Williams, and he uncovers a history of bad behavior in Carson’s colorful life.

Zak and Amy -- two individuals who are connected to Carson and yet unknown to each other for years -- meet and recount their life stories, trying to understand their connections to him. When Zak and Amy finally finish sharing their complicated life stories, they realize they love each other -- and more importantly, they realize that understanding the truth about Carson can actually generate healing.

Quote:

“I have to believe there’s a man out there for you, Amelia. Don’t give up the idea. Your mama wants you to find someone and be happy with him. You are a beautiful girl. Beautiful, Amy. Beauty isn’t about looking perfect. When you show your love, you are beautiful. Look at someone with love in your eyes and he will see you, the real you.”

 

In conclusion, if you have a Little Old Lady in your life, listen to her. Remember her wisdom, and cherish the time you have with her, because she won't be around forever.

#oldladywisdom, #oldladiesunfiltered, #oldsassysouthernladies, #littleoldladyquotes, #grannyisms

Mother Daughter Drama

I don't know why exactly but books with a lot of mother and daughter drama are not appealing to me. They appeal to a lot of women, and I understand that, because the relationship with your mom is a crucial one, and if it's not good you are always going to feel the lack.

I have been very lucky in my life, because my mother and I got along really  well about 95% of the time. She died in 2020. I was a caretaker for her for the last 7 years of her life. We talked about everything.

My mother, Elva Hasty Thompson, was a consummate storyteller and her stories were always really interesting and often funny. I encouraged her to write blogs in her final years, and after she died I compiled them into a sort of memoir, Singing to the Cows. She talked a lot about her childhood and about topics of interest to her, like cooking. When I re-read the book I hear her voice clearly, and it's like she is sitting in the room with me telling the story, which I cherish.

Not all mothers and daughters get along as well, unfortunately.

I had a friend growing up who was constantly fighting with her mother, and I couldn't understand why. I got along great with her mom, and she was always incredibly nice to me. I think she loved her daughter deeply, but she could not figure her out. When I found out the daughter had been diagnosed as bipolar it made perfect sense to me. I always felt sorry for both mother and daughter, and I felt like if they had just gotten some therapy things would have been much better. They were greatly suspicious of any sort of mental health treatment, and one of the hallmarks of being bipolar is a resistance to any sort of therapy.

I digressed. Your mother is your first teacher, your first friend, your confidante, and also your example of what it means to be a woman.

Most of us grow up either emulating our mother or wanting to be the total opposite of our mother. It's always a multi-layered, complex relationship.

I didn't realize until this morning that several of my books prominently feature mother/daughter relationships. Fascinating topic. Below I explain this in more detail.

 

The Garland BellesThis is my newest novel and it centers on the relationship between a mother and a daughter. When Hadley's mother Grace dies, Hadley learns a lot of starting things about her prim and proper mother's life, astonishing things. As a result, Hadley gradually gains a new acceptance of herself, and finds the strength to reassess and reorganize her own life, which looks idyllic on the surface but isn't at all, in reality.

I found when I was writing about Grace that I really liked her, and it was somewhat sad for me to write about the many mistakes she made in her life. She is a bright, dynamic character, who felt constrained by the social etiquette of her small southern hometown.

I don't want to give away the book's ending, but it was deeply satisfying to tie up the loose ends. My mother was a voracious reader and she would get really angry if a book didn't "end up right." There is something emotionally satisfying about resolving conflicts by the end of the book; in fact I think as humans we crave that.

 

Dancing in the WreckageMothers and daughters feature prominently in this novel about a group of characters who all learn new truths about their lives when a freewheeling and somewhat dangerous attorney dies, setting in motion a set of events that change many lives for the better -- eventually.

The main character, Amy, has an awkward and frustrating relationship with her mother because her mother refuses to tell Amy anything about her father, who was never present in her life. There is a distance there that causes Amy a lot of grief, but she is lucky because she has a very close relationship with her aunt who was very prominent in her childhood, in a positive way.

 

Ghosts in the Garden CityThis was my first novel and I started it with the idea that the entire plot would center around the revelations that occur when Leigh inherits an old suitcase that was her grandmother's, and sets out to solve a mystery. As I wrote it I began to realize that I really wanted to make it about Leigh's mother Peggy, too, because she's a very complex woman who tries to lead a very respectable, proper life, but is forced to confront some really awkward truths about herself as her daughter learns more and more about her grandmother.

 

Return to Marietta This book centers around a marriage, but there is a mother/daughter dynamic between the main character, Lillian, and her own mother, Victoria, who feels helpless and frustrated by the Great Depression and its effects on her daughter. Victoria stays awake all night cooking food for her daughter to take on the long car trip that is the centerpiece of the book.

Lillian is based on my grandmother, Wilma Butler Hasty, and Victoria is based on her mother Beulah Butler, a lady I never met but heard a lot about over the years. Below, my grandmother's family around 1921. My grandmother is on the far right, with the big hair. Granny is the older lady with glasses, seated.

 

If you like to read novels that explore the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters, check out these books.

#motherdaughternovels, #storiesofmothersanddaughters, #daughtersandmothers, #dramabetweenmothersanddaughters, #familydrama

The Garland Belles

My new novel The Garland Belles is available today on Amazon in either paper or Kindle formats. It's my seventh novel and I am really proud of it. It's completely different from any book I've done before, for a number of reasons.

It's completely set in South Carolina, the state I am most at home in, other than Georgia. I have a lot of family living in small towns in South Carolina. Several chapters take place in Charleston, probably my favorite city in the world besides Atlanta. You can learn so much about history there, while also being right on the water and being able to eat fabulous food everywhere.

I started thinking about the plot of this one not long after my mother died. The precipitating event in the book is when Hadley's mother dies, and Hadley starts to find out a lot of things she never knew about her mother Grace. In her youth, Grace was a wild child. Hadley is a shy conformist, with none of the beauty and boldness of her mother. Grace falls in love with an entirely unsuitable man and pays a very high price for that relationship. So does Hadley, years later, but in a different way.

My mother was absolutely beautiful, as a young woman. I was not. [right, my gorgeous mom] That got me to thinking, plus my mother fell in love with one of her first cousins, in her late teens. She never told him her feelings and they were never more than friends. That interesting fact was unknown to me until I was grown, after my dad had died.

I began to wonder what it would be like to fall in love with a guy who might or might not be your first cousin. How thrilling and scary. All of my male first cousins are attractive guys but I never felt anything but brotherly love for them... fyi -- but then again I knew them growing up. Hadley doesn't meet her cousin Bo until both are in college.

I am in a Facebook group for folks (mostly ladies) who like to read romance novels. I did a post more than a year ago and asked if anyone would be willing to read a book about a young woman falling in love with her first cousin. All the comments were variations of EEEUW, NO! So I had to write a first chapter that made it clear that Hadley and Bo are not first cousins. Hopefully that doesn't spoil things. There are still questions to be answered throughout the book.

Hadley goes through a transformation in the book which I have never undergone, because I've never been married, but I know a thing or two about controlling guys so it wasn't really hard to write those parts. I giggled a bit while writing those scenes.

The mother/daughter dynamics in the book are a central theme. I adored my mother and I miss her greatly but it was also something of a relief when she passed because I don't have to deal with her judgment any more. My mother and I were great friends but she could also be very critical. Most everyone I know has (or had) that kind of relationship with their mother.

The book is also about sisterhood. I have a number of friends and cousins who have the same sisterhood dynamic; serious, traditional wife/mom older sister and rebellious wild younger sister. It's a fascinating dynamic, especially to gals like me with no sisters.

As in all my books, there is a lot about food. I love to eat and I love to write about food and cooking.

There is a lively old lady, who has a lot of wisdom, because I always have an old lady in each of my books who is an important character. Another old lady is a pivotal character and I liked writing her, too. She is named Augusta, after the city of my birth!

I think The Garland Belles will appeal to most any female of any age. There are characters of all ages, and all socio-economic classes. It's about life in a small town, the value of female relationships, love, marriage, motherhood, and more. You can check it out here and read the first few chapters, see if you like it. Just look under the photo of the cover where it says READ SAMPLE.

#forbiddenlove, #motherdaughterbooks, #smalltownromance, #garlandbellesbackstory, #bookssetinthesouth, #sisterhoodbooks, #bookssetinsouthcarolina

 

Love and War

Years ago I saw a movie with Sandra Bullock and Chris O'Donnell, In Love and War. I have always been fascinated by Ernest Hemingway and by World War I, plus I studied Italian for two years so it checked a lot of my boxes. It's an excellent movie. Bullock plays a serious character, and it's a real departure from her comedic roles. My opinion of her skills went up 1,000% when I saw that movie. It got me to thinking recently, about the two big themes we find in most of literature.

Love and War

The two things that fascinate most human beings are, quite simply, Love and War. Those subjects are prominent in many bestselling books.

The book Gone With the Wind proved this in 1936 when it was published and went on to become a huge bestseller. (Yes, I know it has a lot of racism, but I don't condemn writers who had no control over the world they were born into. Mitchell became far less racist later in her life when she observed the disparity between medical care available to black and white folks in Atlanta, and went on the personally fund many scholarships for black doctors at Morehouse School of Medicine, as you can read about here.)

Another favorite book of mine, The Winds of War by Herman Wouk, and its sequel, explore love and war from a male perspective. Excellent books.

In my own writing, I've written a lot about Love, but I've written very little about war. There are some chapters in my book Heart of My Own Heart that are set during the Civil War, but I didn't try to write battle scenes or say much about the war itself.

 

As women, we tend to be far more interested in the small wars that make up life for most of us -- wars with our parents, our boyfriends, lovers, husbands, children, etc. We have to fight personal wars for career advancement, for our right to be creative and nonconformist, for respect as intellectuals and caretakers, and more. We fight to get our children what they need, so they can have better childhoods than we had. We fight for respect if we choose to stay home and take care of our families and not work.

The truth is, most women are quiet warriors.

We have to learn how to get what we want and what we need in a world that so often judges us harshly if we are too beautiful or if we are not beautiful enough -- exactly why the Barbie movie resonates so strongly with so many people. We are supposed to not sacrifice femininity for aggressiveness. We are supposed to be perfect wives, mothers, sisters, friends, etc. and look perfect and work, and do it ALL. In a way, Scarlet O'Hara broke new ground because she is the first woman to express so many things no women expressed publicly in 1936.

In Gone With the Wind, Scarlet represents a strong, flawed female main character. She isn't beautiful -- it says so in the very first sentence of the book. She is manipulative and impulsive and immature, like most 16 year olds. Scarlet is 16 when the book opens. However, she grows up fast when the Civil War gets to Atlanta and she has to deliver a baby and try to get home. Then she takes on the task of trying to farm and make enough money to support herself and her family members. For the first time, readers were shown a world behind the scenes of war, where the fighting was very real, the stakes very high, and courage was displayed by those who had no choice but to be brave -- and yet the main character/hero wore skirts and wasn't "ladylike."

Women could identify with Scarlet because in 1936 women were still struggling to deal with the Great Depression and with trying to hold their families together. They had children to feed. They had to work, though most weren't raised to work away from home. The 19th century view of women was that we were fragile, delicate creatures. By 1936 those stereotypes had to be scrapped and we had to become tough and resilient, like Scarlet.

My grandmothers, Wilma Butler and Cordelia Henderson, came from well-to-do, socially prominent families. They were raised to get married and have children and nothing else. They both had to work hard to keep their families together during some very hard times in the 1930's. Cordelia helped her husband run a store, and then went back to teaching. Memaw [Wilma Butler Hasty] took all kinds of jobs to help support her family. The most compelling family story I heard about my Memaw driving alone to New York in 1933 to get her husband back inspired me to write Return to Marietta.

I don't write about war the way men write about war. Descriptions of battles where people are violently killed don't appeal to me. I much prefer to write about the little "wars" we all fight, as human beings. Women are fighters because we have to fight. I don't know any women who have been raised in the lap of luxury and had easy lives. Every woman I know has had to adapt and learn to fight, whether she wanted to or not.

I am proud to come from a long line of fighters, female warriors who retained their femininity and the respect of folks in their communities. We all live in a world of Love and War, and as God is my witness, I'll never back down from showing that in everything I write. There are all kinds of weapons used in all kinds of wars, and as women we are experts in fighting for ourselves and our families. God Bless us all.

Below left, Mom and me as a baby. Below right, the only photo I have of me and my mother and grandmother [Memaw] -- if you don't see it, click on the number.

#femaleempowerment, #girlpower, #womenwarriors, #strongwomen, #femalerolemodels, #scarletohara, #strongwomen

I Earned This Face

I just read a post on Twitter/X by a young woman who couldn't be more than 35 and she posted on there and said "Do you ever look at photos of your younger self and just want to cry because you don't look like that any more?!" I replied and and said NO! I earned these wrinkles and gray hair. I am glad not to have to worry about my looks any more.

I saw Jodie Foster interviewed on CBS Sunday Morning and she is the same age as me and she looks it. She has gray hair and wrinkles! Good for her! Most Hollyweird actresses over 50 still have long hair and faces that look really weird and unnatural and they creep me out. [Courtney Cox and Julia Roberts, I'm talking to y'all...]

There's only one photo of me that I kinda wish I still looked like:

Then again, I was constantly worried about my hair, my makeup, my earrings, etc. I spent a ton of my life trying to look perfect and attract a husband and it was all a silly waste of time.

I think I am part of one of the last generations to be raised by pre-feminist mamas. My mom's youth was spent in the 1950's -- the decade she graduated from high school, graduated from college, got married, and had her first child. She faced a ton of discrimination. SHe was almost an "old maid" at 22! She wasn't allowed to wear pants to school even in college. Women were denied entry to management training programs because they would "just get married and quit." My mother never left the house without putting on lipstick.

So much of her self-worth had to do with what she looked like, and she tried to pass that on to me. I bought into it in my 20's and 30's, what I call The Husband Hunting Years.

When I adopted my daughter I realized she needed a full-time mom who didn't date, who would focus only on her, because that was not true of her birthmom. She deserved a full-time mother so I quit trying to find a husband, quit worrying about my hair and makeup and shifted into Mom Mode. Ditto for when I adopted my son a few years later. I had gained a lot of weight by then, which I regret of course, but the peace of mind I felt from not worrying about my appearance was priceless.

I think some moms are still preaching to their daughters that looks are super important and I don't agree with that. I think a woman should want to eat right and exercise because she wants to be healthy, not because she wants to "catch a man."

I am not against dating or marriage. Far from it. I am open to any guy who likes full-figured ladies with gray hair. I just won't turn myself inside-out to try to fit some idea of what I SHOULD look like.

I have sometimes reflected on the fact that if I had gotten married in my 20's and had biological children I wouldn't have ever met my children, and that would be truly awful. When I turned 60 I started thinking about all my life choices, good and bad, and I decided to forgive my younger self for the mistakes I made.

As my precious Memaw taught me, "Dee, do your best every day, all the time, and then you won't have regrets."

I've done my best. No regrets.

I earned all my wrinkles and gray hair. I earned and more importantly I LEARNED.

I also earned the ability to laugh at all my mistakes and foibles, and that's why I wrote my memoir, Talking Back, Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years.

One of my friends who read an early draft, who chose an entirely different path to career and motherhood, said to me after she finished it:

"Omg so much I can really relate to in my own life growing up and now. And future readers of this work of your will also relate as well."

That meant so much to me, that she could relate.

If you are a woman over age 50 you should be able to relate to a lot of things the book. If you're in the legal profession you should find a lot to relate to, and if you're a Southerner you should find it very relatable. If I've done my job right, though, you can be none of those things and still like the book.

You can click on Read a Sample, and scroll down to page 18, and you will get a good idea of the rest of the book. I try to mainly be positive and share funny stories but I mention some of the negative stuff in my life, not because I want anyone to feel sorry for me, but just because otherwise I think it wouldn't ring true. Check it out.

#memoirsofmoms, #funnymemoirs, #funnyparalegalstories, #storiesfromthesouth

The Christmas That Started It All

In my family we really don't give expensive Christmas presents but ironically, I am here today because of an expensive Christmas present. A diamond. My dad was really bad at selecting Christmas presents unless you told him exactly what you wanted. Mom figured that out right off the bat.

St. Patrick's Day, 1956, Atlanta Georgia

Elva Hasty was a young college graduate in her first year of teaching, living with her parents. Her friend Babs was home from college and she decided to throw a party for St. Patrick's Day, at her parents' home in Atlanta. Babs invited her good friend Elva, who politely declined because she didn't have anyone to go with, but Babs was persistent.

"There will be a guy there with no date, a friend of the family, Tony Thompson. He's a little older than we are but he's nice. Come on to the party and he can be your date," she encouraged young Elva.

Elva thought about it and decided since she had nothing better to do, she would go to Babs' party. She arrived at the house and was greeted by Babs. "Go on back to the kitchen. Tony's in there talking to my dad," Babs told her.

Elva went into the kitchen and Tony was deep in conversation with Babs' father and barely looked at her. Babs' father introduced Elva and Tony. Tony said hello and kept talking to the older man. Elva stood there for a few minutes and then went into the living room and chatted with some of the other party guests, but she felt awkward since she had no date.

Finally, Elva decided it was a boring party and she preferred to just go back to her parents' house where she could read in private. She was a voracious reader.

She found Babs and said "I'm going to call my dad to come pick me up." Suddenly, Tony was there. "I'll be glad to drive you home, Miss Hasty."

Tony was working as an accountant for a chain of grocery stores, the Big Apple Stores. His mother was a retired schoolteacher.

They dated for a few months, then broke up during the summer of 1956. They got back together in September.

In late November, Tony arrived at Elva's parents' home late on a Sunday afternoon, and Elva was furious. He had promised to be there hours earlier, and Elva had carefully dressed and fixed her hair and makeup, then then just sat, waiting on Tony. She didn't have a way to call him. He had moved back to Augusta and was just in Atlanta for a weekend visit. She didn't know the name of the aunt he was staying with, or the phone number. She figured he had probably forgotten he was going to see her, so she re-dressed, not caring how she looked.

Tony finally arrived, late in the afternoon. He found Elva wearing old dungarees and a tee shirt of her brothers, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was surprised because she had never looked so sloppy before. He quickly realized she was furious.

"OK so listen up," she said curtly.  "I'm almost 23 years old and I'm not getting any younger. [Her aunt Miriam actually had her Sunday School class praying every Sunday that Elva would find a husband before it was too late!] I'm ready to get married and settle down. I want four kids and a dog, and I plan to stay home. If you aren't interested in getting married, that's fine, I won't waste any more time on you. If you are interested in getting married and starting a family, tell me now. I'm tired of waiting."

She basically gave him an ultimatum.

There was no dramatic proposal with him on one knee. No ardent declarations of love. Elva was ready to get married and he could either fish or cut bait. [Keep in mind that in those days, nice girls didn't sleep with anyone unless they were married and Elva was a nice girl.]

Tony agreed, but Elva wasn't done.

"I've been seeing another guy all summer and he says he's in love with me. I told him if he wants to marry me he needs to bring me a diamond. Same goes for you. The first guy who gives me a proposal AND a diamond, I'll marry."

[Many years later, I asked Tony if he had loved her at first sight and he said YES! Elva told me she didn't feel the same; he was really skinny and not very good at communicating. Eventually, they became great friends. One of my best childhood memories is hearing them talking and laughing together at night, when I was supposed to be in bed asleep.]

On Christmas Day, 1956, Tony Thompson showed up at Elva's parents' house with a diamond ring and a proposal. She agreed to marry him. He casually said "I want to get married right away, and I want a BIG wedding!" Six weeks later, they were married at First Baptist Church in Atlanta.

That proposal and that lovely diamond ring are why my father's name was Tony Thompson, not Tom Bell.

 

left, Tony and Elva's engagement photo

right, a few years later, Elva with her children Bruce and Dee [me]

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you like interesting and/or funny stories, check out my latest book, Talking Back, Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years, available on Amazon

For Evil to Flourish

I flinch when I turn on the news now. I flinch and I feel myself grimacing as I watch people in Israel, and Gaza, and sometimes I get big tears in my eyes. Like others around the world, I am mesmerized by what I'm seeing on the television.

It seems like something out of a horror movie, incomprehensible.

"For evil to flourish it only requires good men to do nothing." - Simon Wiesenthal

Only once in my life have I ever witnessed someone seriously hurt by other human beings and it shocked me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I made two trips to Kazakhstan to adopt my son in 2007. On the first trip I went to the orphanage every day for several weeks and visited Michael and got to know him, then there was the adoption hearing on April 3, then a wait of several more weeks before everything was legally finalized. I flew home during that time, so I could work and save my leave time for when Michael got home. When I returned in early May 2007, I took a flight to Frankfurt, then another flight to Astana.

I got off the plane in Astana and had to go to the customs line and show my passport so I could get into the country. I was standing at the end of the line and I heard a noise behind me and turned around. A very large Russian man was being led over to the customs area in handcuffs. Clearly, he was a prisoner. The small Asian men who were guarding him looked like elves escorting a gorilla. When the Russian man saw a way to run out of the airport -- we were near the doors -- he bolted, but he didn't get but a few feet away before the small Kazakh guards tackled him to the ground.

For several minutes, the guards savagely beat the big man, hitting and kicking him as he screamed HELP ME HELP ME, in Russian. I had studied Russian and learned those words. I stood there frozen in horror, unable to not look. Finally, the big man fell silent. The guards finally pulled away, and I saw a huge pool of blood spilling out from the Russian man's head. A stretcher was brought in and he was carried away. The pool of blood remained.

There is a vast difference between watching a movie -- or even a documentary -- and seeing someone beaten, and watching it in real life.

I had never seen something so terrible, and it shook me up very much. I don't know what the big Russian man had done, what crime he had committed, but I know how I felt watching that beating. I felt terrified, and horrified, and I have never forgotten what I saw. I will never forget what I witnessed.

I cannot watch very violent movies, even though I know the violence is not real. I flinch. I grimace. I usually pull out my phone and stare at the screen.

I tell this story because I feel utterly helpless regarding the situation in Israel and Gaza, and that worries me.

I don't ever want to feel nothing, in the face of human suffering. If we are insensitive to horror then we lose our humanity.

I am descended from mostly British and Irish ancestors [88%, according to 23andMe] and many of my ancient ancestors were the barbarians who brought down the Roman empire.

My Scottish ancestors [there were many] were/are fierce fighters.

I descend also from a Civil War sharpshooter. I am the granddaughter of a professional soldier and the sister of an Army major.

I am not a violent person but to protect my family, particularly my children, I would call upon the spirits of my fighting ancestors and ask them to help me protect those I love. I am talking about an extreme, and unlikely situation, though. I hope and pray I will never have to defend myself or my family.

What I cannot understand is WHY. We live in an amazing age of technology unsurpassed in human history, so why are we still savagely killing each other?

I condemn anyone who would kill another human being not for self-defense or protection of family, but simply for land, or a political ideology.

The older I get the more I believe that the power and energy of human love is the most powerful energy in the world. We have to somehow harness that power to defeat hate. Hate is the ultimate Evil, the direct opposite of Love.

If we focus love and healing energies to places like the Middle East and Ukraine, where Evil is winning, I think we can change things. What else can those of us who are old and/or powerless physically actually do?

I have started to pray constantly for Love to win. I leave the "how" of that up to God.

 

Working Hard

As a child, I was bad about blurting out inappropriate or odd things at inopportune moments. Sometimes it was funny. Oftentimes, it was not. I liked to push the envelope and was often accused of "talking back" -- in other words, saying rude and/or disrespectful things. My parents had a very low threshold of tolerance for backtalk from me and my brother. I was thinking of that recently while listening to an audiotape of a long-ago Hasty family get-together. My 8 year old voice can clearly be heard saying to my grandmother "But you all were rich Memaw, Mommy said you were rich growing up!"

My grandmother, Wilma Butler Hasty, ignored me and went on with what she was saying. When I heard myself years later I cringed, because I could imagine the awkwardness of how my beloved grandmother must have felt. She grew up in a wealthy family, yes, but in the 1920's her family lost their money. My grandfather lost his major league baseball job in 1924 and went out west and played for minor league teams for years, before coming back east, and then in 1929 everyone lost everything.

We can all complain now about inflation and high prices but the Great Depression was far worse.

At that point in my life I had no idea what the Great Depression was, or how hard my grandmother had to work, for years, first to keep food on the table when times were tough, then to put her children through college. Finally, in her 60's, she stopped working a regular job but she worked hard as a seamstress, sewing dresses for me and my mother, and other family members. Memaw made all of my school clothes, for years. Little girls had to wear dresses back then, and children's clothing wasn't cheap. Memaw had 5 granddaughters, 2 daughters-in-law, and many siblings and nieces, nephews, etc.

I was blessed that Mom told me many stories about the remarkable lady I called "Memaw." She was an amazing person. Smart, funny, energetic.

I wanted to share three anecdotes about my grandmother, that made a big impression on me.

When I was  about 7, Memaw said to me: "Always do your VERY BEST, every day, Dee. Always. Then at the end of the day, FORGET IT. Then you can sleep." She was right. If you always give every task 100%, you don't have to worry about regrets. I'm sure there were things in life she regretted, but she didn't dwell on them. She just did her best and got on with it.

VERY valuable life lesson, there.

Memaw may have grown up rich, but she lived through The Great Depression of 1929-39 and she had three kids to feed and a husband who restlessly changed jobs about every year. They didn't always live in places with indoor plumbing. There wasn't always any family around to help.

During the Great Depression, Mom told me, hobos [homeless men] would often come to the back door of the house asking for a handout. Memaw never just gave them handouts. She would ask them to do something, and then give them some food before sending them on their way. The chore might be pulling weeds, or sweeping the porch, or whatever they could do, but she never turned anyone away hungry. Of course, most of those men were just out of work, not alcoholics or mentally ill. They were usually just good people who were trying not to starve. Mom said the hobos would carve symbols or numbers into a tree or fence or somewhere in front of the house to signal that it was a place with kind people who might give a person a meal.

When Mom was small, at one place where they lived, there was a tiny school but there was no cafeteria. Every day at noon the kids were given an hour to walk home and eat lunch and walk back. A lot of those kids had no lunch waiting for them at home. Memaw got together with other mothers and worked out a plan so each mother would take a turn every week or two, and bring food to the school and serve it to the kids. It might be only a sandwich and an apple, or a plate of beans and cornbread, but each child [in the entire school] got fed, each day of the school year.

My mother was a wonderful storyteller, and I was so lucky that she told me many stories about Memaw. I am thankful I knew her, and she spent a lot of time with me when I was a child.

Memaw worked hard, but she also laughed a lot, and she raised her children to be hard workers, but also to hold onto their sense of humor and to not dwell on past mistakes or misfortunes.

Most importantly, she had an abiding faith in God, and she passed that along to us all. She didn't just talk the talk, though. She was kind and generous to everyone, and although she could be a bit demanding in restaurants she was never rude, and I never heard her raise her voice.

The older I get the more I appreciate her profound influence on me. I wish I could have a visit with her. I have an audio clip of her telling a funny story and occasionally I listen to it, just to hear her voice. I played it for Michael yesterday and he listened thoughtfully and said "She sounds a little bit like Granny." So true. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

I still talk back, and still occasionally put my foot in my mouth, but I apologize and I don't lose sleep over it.

The Legacy of Tina Turner

I remember seeing Tina Turner on the Ed Sullivan Show when I was a little girl and loving seeing her dance. She looked incredibly strong and powerful. I had no idea when she was with Ike Turner he was beating her up constantly. I was shocked to find out years later that she had to literally flee from him, in fear for her life, to get out of that marriage, as she wrote about in I,Tina.

Here's a bit of truth that makes people very uncomfortable: in the old days, which many people refer to with great fondness as "the good old days" women getting hit by their husbands or boyfriends wasn't discussed. It was considered nobody's business. The mantra "mind your own business" covered a multitude of sins, from domestic violence to child abuse, to child molestation, etc.

Tina's courage in walking away from Ike signaled a change in society, a huge shift in how women allowed themselves to be treated.

My mother told me when I was a teenager and starting to date "Never, ever let a man hit you and get away with it. If it happens once and you take it, it will happen over and over. Get away from him. If you're married, walk out, and take your children. NEVER put up with it, not for a minute."

It seemed obvious to me.

Skip ahead a few years and I am a Freshman in college. One of my friends returns from a weekend at home with a black eye where her boyfriend hit her. She was a cute little blonde, very funny and feisty. I was shocked. I told her she had to break up with that boyfriend "But he said he was sorry and it wouldn't happen again!" I got so frustrated with her. Several of us told her to break off that relationship, but I don't know if she did. I don't know what happened to her because I transferred schools.

My dad had a cousin who was a beautiful lady, very smart, a prominent businesswoman in her small hometown, and her husband beat her. She told no-one except a close friend, and that friend also had an abusive husband. The small town where they lived was [probably still is] very old-fashioned and judgmental.

What many young women don't realize nowadays is that abuse still happens, and shame and embarrassment keep many women from talking about it or doing something about it. I've told my own daughter she must never put up with abuse.

God Bless Tina Turner for taking something so personal and painful out of the shadows, and holding herself up as an example of strength. NO WOMAN should put up with abuse, not even one time.

There is a National Domestic Violence hotline and the number is 800-799-7233 -- if you are being abused, call it. There are women's shelters everywhere, and there's no shame in asking for help.

Labels for Children

As a child, I was a female nerd, long before I ever heard that word. I was also a tomboy, a bookworm, Miss Priss [Mama's nickname for me], The Dee Dee [Dad's nickname for me], Doll [my grandfather's nickname for me] and An Early Bloomer. My mother and my memaw were constantly on my case about being a Little Lady, but eventually they gave up on that. I preferred playing in the dirt to being ladylike, any day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We love to label children. My teachers told Mom and Dad I was precocious, conscientious, creative, and sometimes my attention wandered. Newsflash: my wandering attention was a result of me not being challenged in school. (I learned by 4th grade to always take a book to school so when I finished my classwork I could just read.)

I was also a bedwetter, for many years. It was embarrassing, especially when visiting someone else's house. At my own house, I woke up wet, got up and cleaned myself off and put on a fresh gown, and got in bed with my parents. I was reminded of that reading Sean Dietrich's column, Sleepless in Nashville.

I had stopped wetting the bed around age 11 but I was very sympathetic to the child who wrote Sean. It's super embarrassing. It's also, though, an instant barometer of the adults around you. Mothers tend to be sympathetic and kind, but fathers aren't always so nice, at least in my observation.

I wet the bed for the last time at age 15, while trying to sleep in a hotel room with both parents, who snored like crazy. Thank goodness I was on a cot.

Being a bedwetter also, I am convinced, makes for a more compassionate adult. If you are a bedwetter you feel intensely sympathetic to the child who is nerdy, or who wets the bed, or the little bookworm who hates being the last chosen for a sports team.

I always felt self-conscious and freakish in elementary and middle school. I could never feel good about myself except in the spelling bee or sometimes when onstage singing or doing plays. I grew fast and was taller than all my classmates until 8th grade. Then some of the boys started sprouting, so I didn't feel like She-Hulk by the time I got to high school. 

Parents, if your child wets the bed, trying to make them feel ashamed does.not.work! Set an alarm and get the child up to tinkle in the night. Or restrict liquids before bed. or whatever works. Children need to feel empowered and safe in their worlds. Shame and humiliation don't work.

Being a kid is tough, but being a nerdy kid, a bedwetter, a giant -- those make childhood a real trial by fire. I was also chubby so I got those labels too, which hurt.Try to always speak to your child with Love -- that's the quickest was to effect change.