I’ve given up on keeping blog postings in strict chronological order, a cardinal sin for a former composition instructor. Oh well, that time is linear is probably a human delusion, anyway.
Cousin Mike
June 23
Last spring, Mother, Daddy, Susie, Chantal, and I took a short jaunt up to Lake Wateree where cousin Mike Beverly and several of his offspring were in the finishing-up stages of building a house for Mike and wife Sheila. At one time, back in prehistoric times, the Pearces and Beverlys had a Steinbeckian trailer on a lot at the Wateree, and all of us love the Wateree – except for Chantal who’d never been there. Our foray was a few months before Daddy got tired and left us, and he was moving a bit slowly that day, but pleased to be at the lake and with Mike. Mike and offspring took us out on a delightful pontoon boat ride,
and he and Daddy talked about older, more raucous times they’d shared on the lake, and the many fishing trips Dad and Mike’s dad Ted (whom Dad always called “My Old Good Buddy”) had shared. And Mike looks so much like Uncle Ted that it’s more than a bit startling. All in all, we had a wonderful afternoon.
Today, Mike and Sheila’s house is finished, and the trip this June had a different cast of characters. With the house complete, Sheila was in residence, Daddy was with us in spirit, Chantal was in Moscow, Mike’s offspring have moved on, while three of his young grandchildren with their father, Mike and Sheila’s youngest son, have moved in. The house is lovely, and the view is spectacular.
Instead of a pontoon ride, Susie and I joined the kidlets in the water, where we indulged in childish antics with the young swimmers. I confess that playing shark with a four year old is quite liberating! Sheila whipped up a tasty tuna fish salad and made delicious paninis which we all scarfed down. Sated we were!
Reluctantly, we headed back to the hot place called Columbia, and once again, discovered that my sibling had left an item behind. Last summer, it was a bathing suit; this year it was a hat.
Fortunately, Mike soon made a trip to Columbia, we had a pleasant visit, and Susie’s hat was once again on her head. Next summer, perhaps Chantal can join us once again…and play shark with the kidlets.
Two Judys and a Wedding
June 17 – June 21
Being named for one’s mother can sometimes be downright confusing. Or, to look at it from another perspective, naming one’s daughter after one’s self can get downright confusing.
Yes, my mother and I share our first name: Judy. Not Judith. She is Judy Jenilee Skeens Pearce. I am Judy Ann Pearce. (Or if you are my young cousin Mattie: Ju dannah.)
In the far distant past, to those outside the family, she was big Judy; I was little Judy. Or, old Judy and young Judy. Not surprisingly, those adjectives become problematic as the far distant past become the not-so-far-not-so-distant past. Within the family, there has never been a problem; she’s Judy, and I’m Judy Ann.
My sister married Harry S. I have a dear friend, Harry W. I was home for the wedding. Mother answered the phone (you know what’s coming here). “Hi, this is Harry. Is this Judy?” (Mother and I sound alike, especially on the phone.) “Yes.” “Let’s get together for lunch tomorrow.” At this point, just as she’s about to have a heart attack, thinking that Harry S. is going to call off the wedding, she realizes she’s talking with Harry W., who has also just realized he’s talking to mother Judy rather than daughter Judy.
Back to my story: On June 17, the two Judys and the two canines set off on a road trip. A very long road trip. A round trip of 2,000 miles, plus or minus, from Columbia, SC to Plymouth, MA, to the wedding of the daughter of my dear, dear friend, Deb, aka Arizona Deb.
Our first day on the road was painless – a straight shot up the
Valley of Virginia on I-81, turn right somewhere in Pennsylvania, drive until Mother made me stop, and flake out in a motel that takes canines. We did about 650 miles that day; I like knowing that I have less of the trip ahead of me than I do behind me.
I wonder what I would have been like as a pioneer on a covered wagon heading west: “No, we can’t stop now; it isn’t even dusk. No, we have to keep going; we’re not even halfway to that big mountain over there in the distance……” With ‘over there’ being most likely 1,000 miles, either that or a cloud.
Day 2 had its moments, the first being our traverse of New York City via the George Washington Bridge. I’ve driven Manhattan and environs, and while it isn’t a pleasant Sunday drive, I don’t find it terribly intimidating, especially on a Saturday. And it wasn’t bad, just typical chaos, until we were almost within spitting distance of the Bridge, in a “chute” with glimpses of the city high above us on both sides. Then we hit an accident…in the chute, and though I was willing to attempt surface streets, my knowledge of the area around 187th St., which is about where we were, I think, is nil, zip, nada, so staying in the chute was the better option.
The only problem with the delay was hunger. When I do these long distance road trips, I want to get on the road and go, stopping for a cup of coffee, but waiting for a few hours to eat. Only, I’d miscalculated, so that we were in the wastelands of New Jersey and then into the Manhattan chute when we got hungry…well, when I got hungry, Mother had been making hunger noises for some time…..
So, it was Connecticut before we found brunch. Greenwich, I believe. It’s the only time in her life that Mother paid $50 for breakfast. Coffee was $4/person. Pricey, but delightful, charming, delicious….and we got into a conversation with the folks sitting next to us, who, it turned out, have a little (Ha!) place on
Kiawah. Small world.
Then we jaunted on up the lovely Connecticut coast, trundled through Rhode Island, and found out way to the Hampton Inn in Plymouth, MA. After two days of driving, I hit the swimming pool and Jacuzzi, working out the kinks in my seat-weary muscles, while Mom and the dogs hung out in the room. Hanging out is a non-activity which the canines have down to a fine art.
After a drive through historic Plymouth and a salute to the Maytag, we headed for dinner. Family lore, started, I’m sure by Daddy, refers to that illustrious vessel which brought the Pilgrims as the Maytag. However, in Plymouth and surroundings, they take the history of the Mayflower and the Pilgrims and the rock quite seriously; some folks didn’t take kindly to hearing their heritage referred to as the Maytag, that is, after they realized I wasn’t ignorant, merely sardonic.
After a good night’s sleep for humans and canines, we prepared for the wedding. Neither Mother nor I was confident that we would be dressed properly. We know what to wear for suthn’ weddins’ but this was southwesterners getting hitched in the nawth. On a Sunday. At 11:30 a.m. We were a bit out of our element.
And we were almost late, because I got us lost, several times, so that a 15 minute trip took us almost 30. I don’t entirely trust my GPS. Fortunately, we weren’t the last.
The wedding took place on a porch overlooking a
golf course, with about 40 guests, and it was very sweet. Lindsey, one of the brides, was so nervous that she forgot to turn to watch Kaycee walk in, and Kaycee’s sister Tiffany gave her a little nudge. Then when Lindsey saw Kaycee, she was cocooned in joy – though the nervousness was still palpable. It was very sweet watching KC reach for her hand to reassure her. The ring-bearer was Nate, Tiffany’s and husband Rick’s son, and he provided the requisite light moment as he tried to figure out what to do with this basket with the pillow in it that his dad handed him. However, with urging from Tiffany, KayCee and Lindsey, and a tiny push of encouragement from his dad, Natey trundled the 15 feet to deliver his bounty.
The reception was much fun, especially because I got to do the twist, and I learned the
Chicken Dance. The Chicken Dance is so easy that even two-left-feet-and-no-rhythm me could do it.
(dare you!!!!)Unfortunately, they speeded it up, then slowed it down, then speeded it up…..by which time I found out exactly how out of shape I am. The twist was equally mortifying.
Two year old Natey once again stole the show, especially when the DJ put a microphone in his hands.
I see Las Vegas in his future.
The final event of this wonderful wedding was a sunset cruise of Plymouth in paddle boat, the
Plymouth Belle. And the bar was open! Mother did accuse me several times of abandoning her, though I wasn’t hard to find on such a small vessel. I enjoy flitting around, even though I didn’t know very many people who were attending. She said Dad used to do the same thing, so I guess flitting is genetic. When she finally located me (in the bar of course), I was standing next to a small table at which were seated Kaycee’s grandmother and an aunt, so I told them I was being accused by my mother of abandonment and would they take care of her while I did some more flitting. Mother was still engaged in cheerful conversation as we began our return to the dock.
Mother is a good conversationalist, easy to talk with, a good listener. And, she cleans up good! In other words, she’s a charming, attractive woman, a point not lost on Deb’s father, who, at the reception, lamented that Mom doesn’t live in Arizona. While I have no objection to the attraction and will support anything that makes Mother happy, I’m not sure a long-distance romance is in the cards. We’ll see.
A late night stint in the pool and hot tub, another good night’s sleep. The next morning I toured the reconstruction of the
Maytag and as with most everyone who goes through it, was amazed at the confines of the living quarters, and awed by the conditions they were willing to endure to journey to another world, knowing they were most likely leaving their old world behind forever.
I can see being a pioneer on a covered wagon, but don’t know that I would have had the courage to cross the vast ocean, a distance of 2700 miles more or less, 66 days, being allowed above deck only a few times, having no privacy, stinking, noisy, bored…..
Driving 2,000 miles in my air conditioned car, sleeping in a pretty good bed each night, eating decent food…no comparison.
My Current Abode
Home, for the time being, is a 70’ by 14’
, sitting slightly behind the old home place of my Great-uncle Torrance and Great-aunt Blanche.
Blanche was my mother’s aunt. Blanche and Torrance had five children, all of whom except one ended up living out in Las Vegas (and Utah). Donald and his wife Debbie stayed behind and have kept the home fires burning in Wise County. They have two children, Amy and Jody. At one time, Blanche and Torrance lived in the home place, and Donald and Debbie and the children in a doublewide next door. Amy and Jody grew up, married, and both lived on (not in, keep that distinction in mind) the home place in mobile homes. Eventually, Jody, his wife, and their two girls moved a few miles away, while Amy and her husband stayed on. Blanche and Torrance moved up to the top of the hill (the Collins family cemetery) leaving the old home place empty of all but memories.
This summer, Amy and her husband moved from their trailer to the old house. Amy’s health has been uncertain for many years, and having her closer to her parents especially when Joseph is at work, even by 100 yards, makes it easier for all. And the older house had some renovations for Torrance as he aged, which makes mobility easier for Amy. Amy and Joseph’s move has left their trailer empty, at least for the moment, although eventually they plan to sell it and have it moved off.
A small compound....
Guess which one is mine? The red arrow is a
clue!
They are being very generous in letting me live here, and I’m deeply appreciative.
I have not run the air-conditioner once!! The trailer sits back against a hill, well-shaded by tall trees. Many days, there’s a nice breeze. I keep the windows open, have a ceiling fan in the living room, and an oscillating fan for the bedroom. There have been some afternoons that were a bit warm on the inside of the trailer, but not uncomfortable.
The canines have plenty of space to roam outside, though I don’t let them out without me overseeing. After all, they are suburban dogs, so might find themselves scared witless by the easter bunny which romps around the yard.
I have added a makeshift gate
to the front deck, so we can sit outside without me worrying they’ll run off. Suzanne gave me some plants from the winery greenhouse which I repotted
and added to a fern
I’d brought from Mother’s, and those, along with two camping chairs,
make for a very pleasant environment. Tall trees, chirping birds, a cool breeze, a glass of wine—not a bad life at all.
