from the porches

Rewards of Teaching

As I remind people over and over, I taught elementary school for forty-six years.  I taught in Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Georgia and finally landed in Florida.

I am finally reaping the rewards of all those many years of teaching.  I often run into men and women at the Dollar Store or the S&S and I don't recognize these men or women.  If I feel like chatting, which has to be after 9:00 AM, I will say,  "Tell me your name."  And then they do and all I can squeal is,  "Oh, my!  You grew up!"

Mind you, the children I taught were mostly nine years old.

This week I saw two incredible students I had taught.  Unfortunatly, the first man I saw was at 7:45 AM.  He asked how I was doing.  What was I doing?  And my answers were brief.  I asked the same questions of him.  But, the sad part was, I didn't ask his name but I know he was an excellent student.

This afternoon I stopped in Columbia City at an S&S.  As I was climbing in my car, this twenty-0ne year old yelled,  "Mrs. George!" I looked up and recognized his face.  Fortunately, he said his name.  He further said,  "You know, Mrs. George.  I will never forget you teaching me cursive writing.  People tell me all the time that I learned it from old school. Of course I reminded him I also taught him to write essays and stories.

"Speaking of old times, do you remember this?"  At which point I snapped my right middle finger and thumb together.  SNAP!

"Oh, I will NEVER forget that snap," the young man said. We all sat up and listened.  And then this man apologized if he didn't pay attention all the time.  I told him,  "Hey, you were only nine years old."

And then we hugged.

That, my friends is the reward for teaching...not the money that paid the rent or electricity or gasoline.  I really dislike the phrase,  "If you can't do anything else, just teach." 

Adults telling me about the impact on their life is all the reward I will ever need.

For All the Right Reasons

Sometimes on my way back from Alachua or Gainesville, I will buy Mom fast food because she likes fast food ever so often.  Well, today I drove through McDonalds in Alachua and ordered her a Happy Meal (with a girl's toy of course). 

As I drove to the window to pay for the meal, a young woman said,  "Hi, Mrs. George."  I asked her her name and she told me.  "You know, Mrs. George, your class was so much fun.  Don't get me wrong,  you were tough on us . . . for all the right reasons, but I loved your writing class."

I drove on home with a smile on my face and just know in my heart that the young woman's words rounded out 2014 for me.

Happy New Year's everyone.  I have high hopes for 2015!

 

The Most Wonderful Night of the Year

 

This post should probably be titled, "The Most Wonderful Day /Night of the Year".  It all began when I was having lunch with MaryAnne Gilmer at the Great Outdoors yesterday, December 23.  We were casually eating and chatting when I received a message from Amanda Humphries.  Amanda said she and her family wanted to visit four homes between 6:00 P.M. and 8:00 P.M.  Homes where families had had a rough year.

I asked MaryAnne,  "Why do they want to visit my home?  It will be dark and we don't even have Trick-or-Treaters at my home in the dark.  Then, my beloved friend, MaryAnne, said,  "It's Christmas.  Maybe they want to come caroling."

"Really?" I asked.  "I've never had anyone caroling at my house.  So okay.  I will respond to Amanda."  Which I did.  I was really hoping Amanda's family would come around 6:00 P.M., but instead they came around 7:30.  Mom had retired to her room to watch the news and game shows. It was dark so I turned on the porch light, the porch lamps, and all the stained glass lamps throughout the porch and the house.  I had put Maggie and Lily in their pen, but around 6:30 P.M. I took them out to watch TV with me. 

I told Mom there would probably be four to five people coming to the house and I would get her up when they came. "Okay," she said.  Then 7:30 arrived and Maggie and Lily went crazy barking and leaping at the front door.  I peered into the darkness and saw flashlights heading to my house.  "Shut up, dogs!"  I screamed; but I couldn't catch them before the flashlights appeared on my front steps.

I greeted Amanda and her family.  "Come in,"  I said.  They said they wanted to sing Christmas carols outside.  Well, if you know me well, my response was,  "No way.  It may start raining again.  Come in to my front porch."  Which they did.  But, hey.  That wasn't good enough for me.  "Come into the TV room.  It's warm inside."  They hesitated for fear they would get mud on my floors.  "Don't worry about my floors.  Come in."  And they did.  Amanda had not been in the remodeled house and she was amazed, as well as the rest of her family.  "Let me go get Mom,"  I said.  "I told her you were coming.  Just look around and make yourself at home." 

So I told Mom to get up that our guests were here.  Of course, when Mom walked into the TV room, her first words were,  "I thought there was going to be four or five of you."  I told Mom to sit down that my friends wanted to sing Christmas songs to us.  And they did!  Beautiful Christmas carols.  Mom and I both clapped when they were done.

But the best part was giving and receiving hugs from teachers I taught with,  students I taught throughout the years and basically feeling the love from a Fort White family who cared about me.

But, in the end, Amanda's family did not escape without me telling them about the "free" Christmas tree I got from the cashier at CVS in High Springs.  Once a writing teacher. . . always a writing teacher willing to tell a story.

It WAS the most wonderful night of the year . . . December 23, 2014.  (By the way, I found out there were 13 carolers in all.  I could have sworn there were 21).

Merry Christmas everyone!

 

Reflection

Part 1:

As I reflect on the past week, I have come to one conclusion.  I had stopped eating most likely because of depression over the loss of Truett.  My eating basically stopped on Truett's birthday, December 4th.  I couldn't fathom the smell of food.  I couldn't fathom the sight of food posted on facebook.  I would reflexively gag at the looks and smells of food.  Therefore, I had the solution:  stop eating.  Even though I tried to continue my "normal life" of taking myself to breakfast or lunch, I found I would only eat 1/4 of a piece of toast or order a sandwich for only my mother.  I had waitresses tell me,  "You're not looking good.  You've got to eat."  I just stared at them blankly and couldn't express how I was feeling, simply because I didn't know anymore how I felt.  I just knew I couldn't tolerate food anymore.

Well, I learned a monumental lesson that week. On December 7, I couldn't hold my head up because of the dizziness I felt.  I thought I was going to faint on the floor, so I would grope myself to the bedroom and plop down on the bed and take nap after nap.  My friend, Gary sat on the porch with me on December 7 and said, "Mrs. George.  You look terrible.  You look like a zombie."  Sure enough, I looked in the mirror and I didn't recognize my own face.  The eyes were lifeless.  My face was grey.  But, I brushed it off, of course.

On December 8, Gary had a day off of work so I called him and asked if he would take me to the store and the post office.  He agreed.  I walked into the post office and thought,  "I'm going to pass out right here in the lobby, so I broke line and put my head down on the counter.  I didn't think I could raise my head up; but eventually, I managed to buy my stamps and stumble out to the car.  Gary was then kind enough to shop in the Dollar Store for me as I sat in the car wondering what was happening to me.  He took me home where I immediately fell into bed at 11:00 A.M.  I left Mom a note:  "Mom, I'm laying down."  By 11:15 A.M. Mom was not up and I had called Gary.  "Will you take me to the ER?"  He said, "Of course."  So I scratched through Mom's note and rewrote:  "Mom, I've gone to the ER."  And that's the last I saw of Mom for five days.

At the ER I stumbled to the desk and gave them my ID.  "Do you need a wheelchair?" the lady asked.  "No,"  I answered.  Stubborn me.  But, within a matter of seconds after almost buckling to my knees, I told her I did need a wheelchair.  At the ER my blood pressure was 74 and I was totally dehydrated.  Needless, to say, I spent hours at the ER with the staff pumping potassium and other essential nutrients back into my body.  Gary eventually went home and I was rushed to Shands Hospital where I spent the next five days.

Part 2:

Here is where I must applaud my daughter, Merry Jennifer.  My daughter was by my side almost the entire time at Shands Hospital.  The team of doctors tried their best to find out what was wrong with me.  I had CAT scans, an endoscopy, and a colonoscopy.  I tried to keep my humor throughout the whole ordeal.  When the anesthesiologist said if I had trouble breathing during the endoscopy, they would put a tube in my mouth to help me breathe.  "You mean you won't give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?"  He just laughed.

Merry Jennifer held my hands.  She would hug me. She brought me peanut butter and crackers, knowing I was about to drink that God awful Golightly drink right before my colonoscopy. Merry Jennifer arranged for someone to watch Mom while I was gone; and she told me at one point,  "Mother,  you have to get well.  You are all that I have left."  And I cried. 

But, I made it through all the tests.  Yes, I did. And I learned a valuable lesson.  I HAVE TO EAT!

I'm not sure the doctors really know what my problem was, but I am changing my outlook on life.  I AM going to start enjoying my life; and it won't be hidden in depression.

Last thing:  When Merry Jennifer and I stopped at CVS on the way home from the hospital, I paid my bill.  Then I told the cashier,  "I want one of those little Christmas trees free."  The cashier looked at me and smiled.  "Seriously,"  I told the cashier.  "I want one of those Christmas trees free.  I've been in the hospital a week and I could have died."  And this amazing cashier asked,  "Which one?"  And I pointed out the one with the red balls, which she immediately picked up, ripped the tag off, and gave to me.  "Thank you,"  I said. 

When I arrived home I gave the Christmas tree to Mom.  "Merry Christmas, Mom!"  It is so nice to be home with Mom and Roger and Punky and Maggie and Lily.  I never want to go through that ordeal again.

EAT!  EAT!  EAT!

Thank you, Merry Jennifer for all you did for me.  I love you!

 

It's only a tree

I look at the 90 foot cedar tree in front of my driveway.  Somehow I haven't noticed this tree in the past two to three years, but this week I did.  The cedar tree is actually on Town of Fort White property across from my driveway, and was planted by Truett years ago to keep riff-raff from driving along the pit road up to our house.  The cedar tree was just a tiny thing back then, all spindly and pathetic looking.

As the cedar tree grew we thought of stringing Christmas lights on it; but that would have taken too much effort.  We also thought of cutting it down and bringing it into our house; but, once again, too much effort when we could simply buy an artificial tree and just unbox it once a year.  Now the cedar tree is tall and full enough to stand in the White House or the Governor's mansion.

I have memories of raccoons climbing the spindly pathetic tree.  I have memories of deer feeding beneath the cedar tree.  So this week as I was looking at the tree a thought popped in my mind. . . It's only a tree.  And I couldn't let that thought diminish the importance the cedar tree played in my life.  The cedar tree holds many memories for me.

Dear Truett,

Hi, baby.  Just wanted to tell you I miss you, especially in the stormy days of late summer.  You always knew what to do with electricity going off and computers shutting down during stormy weather.

 I don't;  however, I'm learning.   I have learned to unplug computers; but it doesn't take away the hugs you would give me when the lightning struck and the thunder rumbled and the puppies quivered..  You comforted me.

"Silly, girl  "  you always said.  "Get it right.'" 

Why is it you never said, "Silly woman?"  It didn't matter to me.  I knew you loved me and I loved you as well and I always will. 

I miss your 'manly' skills when it comes to protecting me during storms.

I love you, Truett George! 

Always did and always will.

The Eavesdropper: Weird Ralph

As I sat eating my tuna fish sandwich I couldn't help but eavesdrop on two college students.  This is the story:

Young man #1:  So how is Bob working out?

Young man #2:  Oh, he's doing great.  He fits in perfectly;  but I'm concerned about Ralph.  He's acting all weird.

Young man #1:  How so?

Young man #2:  Well, I came back to the apartment yesterday afternoon and Ralph was just sitting in the yard staring at the picture window.  He didn't acknowledge me at all.

Now I'm thinking.  Meth.  Cocaine.  Mushrooms.  The guy's on drugs.

Young man #2:  So I walked over to Ralph and said,  "Let's go in."

"Nice guy,"  I thought.  "He's going to take care of his roommate."

Young man #1:  Did he go in with you?

Young man #2:  Yes, but once inside he ran over to Bob and bit him on the nose!

Holy crap!  That's a clue; and I'm thinking "Did you call the police?"

Young man #1:  What did you do?

Young man #2:  I yelled,  "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Good for you, young man #2.  Kids on drugs are nothing but TROUBLE!

Young man #2:  Yeah, I don't know what I'm going to do with Ralph.  He's really weird these days.  I'm thinking about taking him to the vet to see why he's acting so weird.

Young man #1:  And Bob?

Young man #2:  Bob is calm and playful and probably the best dog I've ever had.

Was I let down a little bit?  Probably.  I wanted to see what the police did to a drug-induced roommate who bit another roomate's nose.  Oh, well.  My imagination got me through my lunch.

End of story

Eavesdropping: The Widower

A thin man in his eighty's made his way to the table. 

"May I help you?" the waitress asked.  "Our specials today are beef tips and asparagus with a creamy wine sauce."

The man said,  "I'll just have tortellini soup and a glass of unsweetened iced tea, thank you."

So the waitress left.  I watched the man.  I observed him open his frayed wallet and carefully pull something out.  When the waitress returned with the man's tea, he said,  "My wife and I used to come here.  We always ordered the tortellini soup.  It was her favorite."

The engaging waitress asked,  "Where is your wife today?"  And with that, the man's quivering hands held up a photograph of his wife.

"Oh, she passed away two months ago.  Heart attack.  Right out of the blue.  We were married sixty years and I thought for sure she would out-live me.  But, she didn't."

The waitress said,  "I am so sorry for your loss." 

"Her name was Rachel.  She had the prettiest legs I had ever seen.  I went to grief counseling at first, but it made me more depressed.  You know, talking about her."  And then I noticed the man's eyes tear up.

"Yeah, we always ate the tortellini soup.  That's why I come here. . . to remember her . . . to see her smiling face across from me."

I watched the eighty year old man as he tentatively slurped his soup.  I wanted to go over and give him a hug and say,  "I understand."

But, I didn't because I was only an eavesdropper feeling his pain.

 

Remembering Merry: The False Teeth

"Go home!  Stevie's asleep!"  I screamed at Pat, the neighbor boy approaching our back yard.  Then I saw his cupped hands and I flipped right side-up in the old oak tree. 

"What 'cha got?" I asked.

"Teeth,"  he answered.

"Can I see?" I asked as I grasped for the teeth.  Well, of course, the brat threw his hands behind his back and hid them from sight.  Then he said,  "Wanna' see?"

"Yeah,"  I answered and he held them out for me.

Those were the most perfect false teeth I could ever imagine.  They were perfectly mouth-shaped with light pink gums and pearly white teeth. 

"Wanna' trade?  I asked excitedly.

"What 'cha got?" Pat asked.

"Got a knife," I blurted as I fumbled in my pocket and quickly pulled out my daddy's pen knife.  Then I held it out to Pat.

"Okay,"  Pat said as he snatched for the knife and handed me the false teeth.  Then he turned around and darted through a path in the hedge toward his house.

I stood there looking at those false teeth.  My mind was racing.  "Do I or don't I?"  I thought.  "Yes, I do!"

I ran straight to the house and up the stairs to the hall bathroom.  I tiptoed past Sherry's room and quickly locked the bathroom door, all the while clutching the set of false teeth as if my life depended on it.

Knowing nothing about false teeth, I slipped them over my bottom teeth.  Bah!  They didn't fit.  Then I slipped them over my top teeth.  A little loose, but workable.  I turned around with my back to the mirror; and just for one more peek, I twirled to face the mirror.

The teeth protruded out of my mouth; and as I looked at their strange appearance, I took on an equally strange personality. 

"And how are you today, Miss Wigglesmith?"  I asked of the image in the mirror.

"Ahhh, so fine, so fine,"  my reflection answered.  "I will be having tea this afternoon,"  Miss Wigglesmith said.  "And I'm inviting you."

About that time I heard footsteps in the hall, so I yanked the teeth out of my mouth, stuffed them in my pocket, and turned to face my mother, hands outstretched.

"Do you have something that doesn't belong to you?" my mother asked.

"Who, me?"  I answered sheepishly, my hands stuffed in my pockets.

"Yes, you,"  Mother replied.  It seems Pat's dad was napping and his false teeth are missing.  Pat's mother called and told me Pat traded you the false teeth for a knife."  And with that, she held out her hand demandingly.

"And, by the way, we'll talk about the knife later."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR!"  I screamed.  "PAT'S AN INDIAN GIVER!  ONCE YOU GIVE SOMETHING, IT'S YOURS!  HE CAN'T DO THAT!  I HATE THAT SNOTTY LITTLE BRAT!"

My mother only turned and walked away with the false teeth in her hands; and I refused to speak to Pat the rest of the week . . .that is until the next time he had something to trade.

The Mayor's House

"I'll be back in a few minutes,"  I told my friend, Gary, as I dropped him off at Town Hall.  Then I drove straight to the S&S convenience store in downtown Fort White.  I grabbed my Lottery card out of the glove compartment and walked in the store.  Already a line was forming, customers anxious to purchase their lotto tickets.

"What's the holdup?" I wondered, shifting my weight back and forth.  "Come on, guy!"  I mouthed.

"Well, I just can't find Vargas Way on Mapquest on my phone,"  the young man told the cashier.

"Just leave, man"  I thought.  "I told Gary I would be right back."

By now other customers were thumbing through the Lake City Reporter while others were picking up snacks.  All seemed somewhat as irritated as I felt.

The cashier looked the man in the eye and said,  "You could go to the post office right down this street and ask them how to get there."

"Yeah," the man said, "But why doesn't it show up on Mapquest?"

"Give me a break,"  I thought as I glanced at my watch.  "Good grief!"

Then the man turned toward the fidgety customers behind him.  His shirt logo read 'Bennett's Painting, Inc.' 

"Do any of you know where Vargas Way is?  I can't get a street name on Mapquest.  I know I go north on highway 47, but I don't know where to turn.  The street isn't named."

After that, the man turned back to the cashier; and all I'm thinking is,  "Just get out of here so we can buy lotto tickets."

The man then said,  "I know I'm supposed to go down a long road and that there is a big brick mansion at the end of the road, and it has a big swimming pool and that's the house I'm looking for."

"Just shut up,"  I thought.  "This isn't story time."  and I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling.

And then the man added,  "I think it's the Mayor's house."

Suddenly, I couldn't contain myself any longer.  "Nope!  It's not the Mayor's house,"  I blurted. 

The man whipped his head around and saw me standing there smiling.  Then the cashier and another customer threw their heads back and laughed.

"What's funny?"  the man asked.

"She's the Mayor's wife."

" Well, what are the odds of that?" the man said as he looked at me.  "By the way, do you know where to turn off on highway 47?  It doesn't show up on my Mapquest."

"Sorry,"  I answered.  "If I were you I'd just drive slow and go up any road without a name."

Finally, I bought my lotto tickets and left, only to see the young man standing beside his car studing Mapquest for one last time.

"Did you have any problems?"  Gary asked as I pulled up to Town Hall.

"Nope.  I'll tell you about it in the car."