A History Lesson

Obvious to all but the most simpleminded, history is nothing more than a series of stories, woven together in such a way to explain, entertain, and inform. Understandably, some are better at storytelling than others. I do not pretend to have been a master history teacher or storyteller, but I do admit to having enjoyed myself immensely. If you are one of those people who hated history in school, you might as well stop reading right now. If you choose to continue, you have no one to blame but yourself.

A good history lesson is one that connects, in concrete terms, the past with the present. For example, someone invented the fork because the hand needed to be replaced as a feeding utensil. Please note the resemblance between the hand and the fork. Or, Alexander the Great’s mother claimed that his father was really a god and she a virgin. I think you can see where I am going with that one.

Anyway, when Tim and I were in Italy, we visited places that I taught about for years. I came home with a new appreciation for the people who, so long ago, began creating the civilization which would one day culminate in America.

At Paestum, we walked among the ruins of the ancient Greek settlement. Three enormous temples stand in tribute to gods, powerful and popular at that time. The temples reminded me of the mega-churches springing up all around our country. It is more difficult to trivialize long ago expressions of religion when faced with massive columns and elaborate stonework.

In Rome, civilization’s journey is a pedestrian road map.  At the Forum, one can almost hear democracy crying for attention while, just down the street, the Coliseum makes one shudder at the brutality of man. Then, there is Vatican City, home of the Roman Catholic Church, sitting between the ancient and the modern.

In the quiet of the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel, I realized it was simply a twist of fate that resulted in my family’s long association with the Methodist church rather than the Roman Catholic. Martin Luther did not mean to start a reformation; he just objected to a few of the RCC’s practices, most notably the selling of indulgences. In this scheme, families of the recently departed paid the clergy to assure that their loved ones received a quick trip to Heaven (think TV evangelists selling blessed prayer cloths). As they say, the rest is history.

Like Paestum, the Vatican is a monument to man’s search for god. No where is this more beautifully depicted than the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo did not want to paint the chapel’s ceiling, because he knew that the project would take years—years that could be devoted to his real love, sculpting. So he pouted, screamed, and stormed off. Eventually, the gifted artist returned to Rome to paint a story.

In the center of the masterpiece, Michelangelo captured perfectly the irony of this most meaningful of all relationships. God reaches out in strength and determination, and man’s response, weak and tepid, falls short.   

 

            

Next week, Americans gather for Thanksgiving. Among the items on our list of blessings will certainly appear the usual suspects—family, friends, freedom, and food. After we make our historical connection to the Pilgrims through turkey and pumpkin pie, perhaps we can also recognize our spiritual connection to mankind, past and present, as we bow our heads. We really haven’t changed as much as we may think.

The Stink Eye at the Equator

“Let’s go to Ecuador,” she said. “We’ll have fun,” she said.

Well, I did say those things. In my defense, I’ve never been at an altitude of 9500 feet or plodded through the Amazon jungle for three hours in the mud. How was I to know?

When I first dreamed up this trip, Tim and I invited four grandchildren to go with us—Bryan (11), Tyler (10), Anna Lauren (8) and Keegan (14). As soon as Shelley, my sister-in-law, heard about the trip, she threw a few pairs of clean panties into a bag, found her passport, and was ready to go. Actually, this is about how most of my trips evolve.

Unfortunately, this trip required all kinds of shots—yellow fever, typhoid, hepatitis, tetanus, etc. Then Zika reared its ugly head, and we had to spray our clothes and slather our bodies with special insect repellent. Finally, I was confident that I was well prepared to lead this adventure.

We arrived in the Andes Mountains and were thrilled, amazed, stunned, aghast, astonished, and dumbfounded for the next two weeks. Little did I know how unprepared I was.

I’d researched altitude sickness, but the Internet didn’t warn me that my brother, Ted, might have a panic attack at 2 am and try to find a flight back home. And all the other symptoms listed—well, let’s just say Ted experienced them all. This is when he started giving me the stink eye.

After I realized my blurred vision was a symptom of landing high in the Andes and not the wine, I tried to apply make up somewhere in the vicinity of my face. No one screamed when I appeared for breakfast, so either I was experiencing the kindness of strangers or was successful.

On that first morning in Quito, our group met our driver and guide who led us on a stroll through Old Quito, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I doubt UNESCO understood that vendors would be peddling marijuana to tourists and locals in the plaza outside the Presidential Palace. Finally, Bryan bought a shrunken head, and things settled down.

After lunch at a local restaurant next to a labyrinth of underground tunnels, we visited the Yaku Museum. It is a one of a kind museum dedicated to water. No kidding. We laid on the floor and listened to piped-in water sounds. Everyone headed to the bathroom as soon we could. Then the kids made bubbles. Wow.

The Inti Nan Museum was an improvement over the Yaku. Located at the equator, the kids balanced an egg on a nail and planted a foot in both hemispheres. The guide also carefully explained exactly how to make a shrunken head and the consequences of an encounter with a penis fish. The kids loved it.

In Otavalo, the animal market was quite a new experience. An assortment of cows, pigs, sheep, goats, rabbits, chickens, cats, dogs, and guinea pigs were on sale. As Anna Lauren proceeded to name all the varmints, the locals threw supper in a sack. Toothless old women held tight to tow sacks full of wiggling hens and rabbits hanging upside down and fighting for air. In the middle of the chaos, a sketchy group of men sold roosters for cock fighting.

Anna Lauren was determined to buy a dog for $4. No amount of explaining why this wasn’t a fantastic idea or a once-in-a-lifetime bargain persuaded her. She plodded out, looking rather like Grumpy Cat.

The craft market was tamer, so to speak. The indigenous Quicha wanted us to believe that they made all the items, but the same stuff turned up over and over. Tyler had his picture made with a wrinkled old lady selling dream-catchers. Everyone bought some souvenirs, and Bryan tried desperately not to hyperventilate. The kid loves souvenir shopping, and this place was on steroids.

At the weaving shop, an old woman demonstrated brushing alpaca wool into thread, using natural dyes, and weaving the thread into wall hangings, clothes, and blankets. When asked, Keegan volunteered her hand but had second thoughts as the weaver laid a cactus beetle in her palm and stabbed it with her fingernail. The blood of the now-deceased beetle was mixed with lime juice to make purple dye. When the woman sat on the floor in front of an old loom which required arms, legs, and back to weave, I admired her stamina. And also thought she was nuts.

The trip to the Amazon Rainforest went something like this. The van was a stick shift, so lurching, slowing, speeding, and lurching again. The road up, down, and around the Andes was clogged with boulders, mud, waterfalls, missing pavement, and holes. Where the road ended and certain death began was anybody’s guess. Four hours in and four hours out.

Eventually, the van stopped and the driver got out. Men appeared out of the jungle and grabbed our luggage. I asked the driver if he was going to leave us here. He tried to reassure me that we would not be used as bait.

The jungle lodge was much nicer than I feared. The main social area was spacious and welcoming. The kids had their own room next to the pool. I hoped they wouldn’t be carried off by a marauding band of killer monkeys. Even if they were, I was confident the monkeys would bring them back.

The next morning a jungle walk was on our itinerary. We gathered in the equipment room to swap our shoes for rubber boots and then walked to the main road where we entered the jungle. Dear God! That place is called a rainforest for a reason. The mud was 3-4 inches deep. We were slipping and sliding and falling all over the place. Every time I glanced back to make sure Ted was still alive, he was giving me the stink eye. We climbed over tree roots, vines, and dead limbs. After about thirty minutes, I asked the guide if we were there yet. Then we got the bad news. The hike was three hours.

All was not lost. We did see 3-4 new types of mushrooms, a couple of unusual trees, a few butterflies, and a monkey’s comb. Ted wasn’t impressed.

When we got back to our rooms eager for a hot shower, we learned that there was no hot water. The lodge had switched from a gas-powered hot water heater to solar. SOLAR? In the rainforest??

Back to the stink eye.

About that same time, Shelley discovered that there were no hair dryers. Her naturally curly hair became a hot mess in all that humidity, and you couldn’t pick her out of a lineup of wooly alpacas. Of course, no one mentioned it to her. The kids didn’t care; they headed for the pool.

In the afternoon, we canoed along the Napo River to visit a local Quichua family. When we arrived, a woman was panning for gold in the river, a back-breaking activity yielding about 50₵. We walked to their village where they served chichi, a native drink made from yucca, and, fortunately, none of the kids made a face. One lady made a clay pot. After all that excitement, no one saw the next event coming. Blowguns. The kids shot darts at a target until Anna Lauren won the competition. Next, they just had to have souvenir blowguns.

Tim emphatically informed (something about hell freezing over) the lodge leader that we wouldn’t be walking 45 minutes through the mud to see a waterfall, and Amazoonica magically appeared on our itinerary. This is an animal refuge housing wild animals until they are either ready to return to the wild or determined to be unable to survive and given permanent resident status. We saw monkeys, birds, crocodiles, and tapirs. Esmerelda, the anaconda, slithered over the rocks in her private watery habitat and shed her skin for us. Fortunately, Esmerelda will be a life-long resident of the refuge.

Our guide, Falsto, quickly concluded that he needed to regroup or his tip would be in jeopardy. So, he got out a machete and took the kids to the jungle. Each took a turn whacking a cacao seed pod and, of course, it was Anna Lauren who successfully separated the pod from the tree. Falsto roasted the seeds on the open fire in the great room, peeled off the shells, and the kids took turns grinding the seeds into chocolate. Falsto added milk, sugar, and cinnamon. The chef provided sliced bananas and strawberries for dipping. Heaven!

Just to make sure all was well, Falsto gathered palm leaves. For the girls, he fashioned headbands, Tyler got a hat, and Bryan received a man-parts cover-up. They looked positively tribal. After three nights of sleeping under a mosquito net and dreaming of a hot shower, it was time to say goodbye to the jungle and on to the Galapagos.

Summer 2016

The Man at the Market

He looked both ways. Cars slowly crept along from the left, so he waited on the curb.

The square teemed with tourists and locals hoping to discover a bargain at one of the stalls. Tagua nut jewelry, indigenous clothing and art, and even a shrunken head whose lips held a smoldering cigarette could be found amid the chaos. The overpowering aroma of spices and coffee beans blended with rotting fish and a roasted pig left far too long in the noon day sun.

The man patiently waited for his turn.

Children clustered around a stray dog, scratching his ears and feeding him snacks from their pockets. Oddly, the dog bore none of the usual signs of neglect. His shiny coat and healthy weight indicated that he was well fed. His wagging tail and slobbery kisses reflected the children’s lavish attention.

The man continued to wait on the curb.

Nearby, Kichwa merchants summoned shoppers to their stalls; each boldly claiming the best prices at the Saturday market. Colorful alpaca blankets, panflutes, dolls, and dreamcatchers—all on display.

The man wiped the dust from his brown pants and waited.

A family gathered out of the unforgiving sun to share a meal of guinea pig and corn, both cooked onsite. Ice cold bottles of water for the children and chicha for the adults quenched their thirst. Laughter floated in every direction across the square.

The man sighed and waited.

An elderly couple, he barely five feet tall and she not that, elbowed their way through the crowd to a table filled with shoes. She casually picked up a pair of traditional black shoes, and then she quietly whispered to the vendor. He motioned for her to come around the table, all the way to the back of the stall. Her husband shrugged and turned his attention to the monkey masks. Soon she emerged--wearing orange Crocs. He shrugged again and took her arm to walk beside her.

The man on the curb noticed the traffic had slowed. Now was the time. He lowered his head and placed his bare hands on the street. The cobblestones were hot, but he was as used to the hot as he was the cold. He dragged his torso and his useless legs off the curb and slowly across the street.

No one looked his way.

Everything I Ever Wanted to Know I Learned
at Huntsville Middle School

In Alabama, life’s lessons are usually associated with sports metaphors. Any association with “Bear” Bryant automatically implies a deep, almost spiritual, understanding of the complexities of life. The closest I ever got to the Bear was through my dad and my son; both knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that “Bear” could indeed walk on water. However, the mysteries of life were revealed to me at Huntsville Middle School.

I learned:
• The best storytellers make you laugh until either you cry or wet your pants. Alice Smith was a champion storyteller.
• No faculty meeting should last past 4pm. Otherwise, slap your purse under your arm and walk out. No one is going to stop you.
• The only thing parents really want from school is for their kids to make all A’s. Record keeping is just for show.
• Keys can be flushed, broken in the lock, and misplaced a thousand different ways even while securely attached to one’s wrist by a curly key holder. And key cards…don’t get me started!
• Sixth grade teachers cannot possibly be expected to finish the SAT in the allotted time.
• Principals need friends at school.
• Some teachers cannot tell a school system credit card from a personal one.
• The secretary is an important friend; otherwise, you will never have a sub.
• Shooting a hole in your wardrobe does not make you dangerous.
• It is wonderful for your student to become your colleague.
• Teachers knew it took a village to raise their children before Hillary Clinton.
• If the cops come to get you, do not throw yogurt in the copy room.
• Teachers make wonderful traveling companions.
• Disease can be handled with grace and dignity.
• Working a combination lock takes intensive training and at least a month of trial and error.
• Lunchroom ladies become matchmakers upon the arrival of young, male teachers.
• Spray painting a refrigerator box in the classroom is not a good idea.
• Tragedy comes to everyone.
• Walking in the gym does not promote weight loss.
• Always check your camera for film. High school reunions and cheating husbands are best captured on Kodak.
• Red nail polish can effectively stop runs in white pantyhose.
• Kids are funny. Laugh at them.
• Do not use your school computer to run a business.
• Know when it is time to leave.
• Team members who are great friends are Cancers and, thus, somewhat crabby.
• Organization is a gift. Don’t be fooled by notebooks.
• Beware of office aides who announce your gynecological results over the intercom.
• School people make the best friends.
• Some teachers require lots of attention and will go to great lengths to get it. They may scream like banshees, run through hotels with police, fall in uncovered utility holes, or leave their teeth all over Old Salem.
• Smoking in the bushes fools no one.
• Teachers and cars are a strange combination. Cars keep secret purchases, tote animal crates, look better with Cheese Nips on the seats, and may be used to trench the front yard.
• Teachers love animals. They hatch chickens, keep gerbils, attract mice, name squirrels, nurse cats, feed fish, run from wasps, and light up when they talk about their beloved pets.
• English teachers can figure bargains at Parisian’s faster than can math teachers.
• Librarians are practical and sensible.
• Grandchildren of educators are blessed.
• Students always choose neon over beige.

There is no place on earth that I would rather have spent my teaching career than Huntsville Middle School. I made life-long friends, and I am forever indebted to them for helping me raise my children, bury my mother, survive my husband, and learn the meaning of friendship.

The World of Dick and Jane

Miss Taylor taught me to read in first grade at East Clinton Elementary School. The World of Dick and Jane was the reader of choice, and I fell in love with reading. I even named my parakeet “Puff” after the cat in the book. The World of Dick and Jane opened my world.

Back then, children weren’t expected to know how to read—or know how to do much of anything—before first grade. Well, things had changed since the days of Miss Taylor, and my two little boys had to get with the program. Kindergarten was looming on the August horizon, and they had to be ready.

I decided to start with Bryan; after all, he’s the oldest and should set a good example for Tyler. I’ll admit that I had no earthly idea about how to teach reading but surely it couldn’t be that difficult. I’m great at phonics and charades.

I caught Superman flying through the house and told him in no uncertain terms that it was time for him to get serious about reading. I explained that he could go back to fighting the bad guys after he read one chapter in The World of Dick and Jane.

Bryan, aka Clark Kent, curled up beside me on the sofa and began reading “Dick” with a little phonetic prompting from his crazy aunt. Shelley wandered in as he finished and asked about his progress, to which he replied, “I can’t read Dick.”

I am now looking for my copy of Hop on Pop.

Grammy’s Birthday


Grammy's birthday is today, and we have a lot of excitement from the 8 Pollywogs.

Number 1 Bryan said, “Today is Ant Gay's birthday. She deserves a foot massage which of course she will be giving me!”

Number 2 Tyler said, “She needs some television in her kitchen. Well, I'll save up to get myself one first.”

Number 3 Anna Lauren said, “I will get Grammy a doll. There's a lot to choose from. Wow! I'll get this one for me, and this one is for her. Oh no! I can't get Grammy the doll. I'm broke. Oh well, Christmas is coming soon!”

Number 4 Keegan wants to download Grammy the app Snap Chat, but she has a lot to do. “Maybe I won't get her anything. She has enough!”

Number 5 Wynn said, “Oh, I'll get Granmudder a Paw Patrol bracelet, but I think she already has one. I have an idea- I'll get myself one!”

Number 6 Aiden has forgotten about poor old sweet Grammy but what is he doing? Playing with ..........stuffed animals.

Number 7 Leighton wants to do the greatest thing-- she wants to bring Lucy back to life but how is she going to do it? That's her problem.

Number 8 Blakely just wants to take a nap! But that's ok.

Grammy doesn’t need anything. She has the greatest gift ever—her 8 Pollywogs.



Anna Lauren wrote this on July 2, 2016 from the top bunk on the Darwin Yacht while sailing around the Galapagos Islands.

Love, Lucy


Dear Pollywogs,

On Friday afternoon, July 17, our sweet, sweet Lucy left for Doggy Heaven. Rachel was holding her in her arms, sitting in the shade in the back yard, and petting her gently. She told Lucy that her family understood she was not well and needed to go where she could run and play. Lucy thought about this for a few moments and then let go. We will miss her terribly but can laugh when we remember all the great times we shared with her over the past 14 years.

A few weeks ago, Lucy asked me to help her write a letter to you. Leighton was teaching her to read, but she was having trouble with writing. None of the pencils quite fit her doggy paws. She loved all of you and wanted to say goodbye.


To my eight Pollywogs and assorted family members,

Fourteen years ago I was born in Opp, Alabama. I didn’t start out as an only dog but soon became the only dog for a family who needed me. They didn’t know it at the time, but I would bring joy, laughter, and unconditional love to them, their children, and their grandchildren. They were lucky to have me.

Now it is time to say goodbye. I’ve lived longer, traveled farther, eaten more junk food, partied more often, and worn more costumes than most fur friends. Life has been good.

Well, except for the time Rachel drove me through the car wash.

Pollywogs, I’m going to miss so many things. Your birthday parties and especially the cake. Wynn plastering me with band-aids. Wearing costumes for Halloween. Starring in Anna Lauren’s and Leighton’s Christmas cards. Sharing your secrets.

I loved riding on the front of the boat while my curly-haired ears blew in the breeze and going to restaurants on the lake where everyone wanted to love on me.

My favorite fun time was chasing little pollywogs for treats. Oh how I loved the cookies, cereal, and crackers! And Tyler, yes, I do remember the time you opened my jaws to pull out your cookie. I couldn’t believe you actually ate the gooey thing.

I won’t miss any of you sitting on me.

I’ve chased squirrels and ducks, birds and geese, cats and dogs, lizards and frogs. I still don’t understand why I never caught anything but a wasp that left his stinger in my mouth. Once a cat scratched my eye for no reason.

Of course, there have been a few unfortunate incidences. I’ve stepped on all kinds of things as well as stepped in all kinds of things.

A word of warning, if you roll in deer poo, you have to get a bath. If you swim in Lake Lanier, you have to get a bath. If you scratch your back on the gravel, you have to get a bath. If you run away from home because you’re scared of the fireworks and step in a vat of sap, you have to get a bath. If you have the itch, you have to get a bath. A small fortune has been spent on shampoo.

BJ, I am sorry that my small, inconspicuous lump exploded during your Christmas party. Thanks for not making me clean up the mess. It was AWFUL!

And while I am apologizing, I suppose I should tell Rachel I’m sorry my snoring kept her up nights. Jennifer, I didn’t really think you looked like a bird. Jeremy, I’m sorry I jumped on you every time you came over, but I wanted to lick your face.

Evan, Krissy, Keegan, and Aiden, I know I never came for a visit, but I didn’t want to ride in a crate in the cargo section of the plane. Brrrrrr! And scary!!!

Uncle Ted, thank you for not screaming like a little girl when you woke up starring at my nostrils. Aunt Shelley, I didn’t know all those ticks were stuck to my fur when I climbed up on your bed. Oops!

I must apologize to everyone for wiping my drool on you and the unsightly eye boogers. At least my freckles were cute.

When I get to Heaven, I’ll spend the first few days finding my old friends: Darby, Lou, Chunk, and Rigsby. When I see Darby, my very best friend, I’ll give her wet kisses from Bryan and Shelley. Surely, she’s got those legs all going in the same direction by now.

Lou may be difficult to find. He’s probably waiting for BJ somewhere in Colorado, sitting in the back seat of a Jeep. I’ve never been out west, but I guess I can give it a go. Lou will be glad to know I’m older and don’t really want to play much anymore.

Rachel, I’ve heard that the food in Heaven is really healthy, so Chunk may have lost weight. Don’t worry. I’ll just look for a beautiful white cat with a big notch in his ear. I’ll lie when I tell Chunk how good Al has been and how much he misses him.

I’ll get around to Rigsby when I finally have time. Anna Lauren, I’m sure he’s just fine, but you know how much he likes to hide.

I know Gran isn’t in Doggy Heaven, but I bet he comes over every now and then to visit Bounce and Charlie. He probably has some kind of regular visitation schedule worked out with them. Maybe he’ll take us to Piccadilly. Surely, he’s learned his lesson about sausage by now.

I wish I had the time to watch all of you grow up. It will be quite an incredible journey for each of you. Bryan will create costumes for Indiana Jones Movies; Tyler will perform soccer tricks in Placa Reial; Anna Lauren will be a world famous story teller; Keegan’s singing career will take her to Broadway; Wynn will be creating cartoons for Disney; Aiden will own a tractor factory; Leighton will start a company to teach shy girls how to be assertive; and Blakely, I wish we had had more time together.

My life was magical. My family made it so.

Love,
Lucy