I wish you had known...

2011-11-11T07:25:00.000-08:00

So, this is the second half of a post I wrote almost a two years ago exactly ........ Now i have time to finish, hopefully the memory too. :)

PART ONE

So, we made it down south, in the hot car, with no AC and probably too many kids is what my mom and at were thinking by the time we got there. The house was small, not the best of accommodations, but we really didn't notice, what we did notice was the nature around us. The geckos that were everywhere, the odd fact that it rained EVERY day, just a little in the morning. The GIGANTIC waves, we had never seen such surf. Our idea of "the beach" is a very New England one. Cold wet sand, a chance of sun, IF you go in August, IF your lucky, and maybe even water almost warm enough to enjoy swimming in. Oh my friends the awe! A beach, with white sand, and gigantic blue waves, that were WARM! Sun, bright, hot sun all day long, every day .... oh, and SUNBURN! Yeah, another New England mis-fire. We are not used to getting enough sun to actually worry about burning much. Well, we learned THAT lesson quick, and had to miss a couple days swimming because of it. Oh well!

We went to the Everglades national park, where we walked to boardwalk all over the swamps, looking for alligators and lizards, pelicans and all manner of wild plant life. It was absolutely fascinating to us.

One day we took a tour of the Everglades on Airboats, pictured above. Giant flat bottom boats with huge fans on the back of them, one of the best and fastses way to glide across the endless miles of swamp. The guy who took us out was "cousin Butch" I don't know his real relation to us, or do I officially know why in the world the guy own a homestead of types on an island in the middle of swamp no-where, but I do know, that on that day, after it had started raining, and we were soaked, and cold, and ready for comfort, that hut in the middle of who knows where, with warmth, and KFC brought with us, we like heaven. The first time I had KFC, I shall never forget the feeling of being so very far away from normal, and feeling so very comfy. Of course there were snakes too, one of which decided to travel in the cargo hold of a boat. Too bad the small Matt, (who Uncle Butch was afraid of loosing from a fast turn, and him flying off the boat) he had to travel in the cargo hold too, good thing we didn't know about the snake till we got back. :P

I remember eating catfish and hush-puppies. I remember Aunt Pearl, she was a sweetheart, she would rock baby amy to sleep on hot muggy nights, out on the screened in porch, singing southern Lullabies in her ear. I remember my some distant cousin of mine, being loud, and remembering one line each from dozens of songs, cause he would watch the record ads on TV and that's all he knew. He would walk around singing .... "Please help me I'm Faaalliiing!"

I remember being tired, and thinking that Mom and Aunty must be about "tuckered out from this VERY long trip and were not looking forward to the three days of return trip.

I remember a restaurant we stopped at on the way home called "Lizard's Thicket". It was done in Southwestern decor, and there were lizards everywhere, not real ones, stone ones, carved on the pottery, the walls, everywhere. The food was distinctly southern, and yummy, and it was the first time I ate Apple jelly, from a little packet on the table, it felt like Rich livin'. :) When we left, My grandpa gave us a gift. Tickets to go to Epcot Center! That was most certainly a highlight of our trip. It don't remember alot of the visit, a few rides, like the boat that went through all different cities, some space ride, seeing all the different countries, and of course the gift shop, where we got all kinds of mementos, mostly with rainbows on them, it WAS the 90's after all. :)

One of the hotels we stayed in, think the last one before home, was a REAL hotel. We had been staying in motels, the little one story things with sketchy pools, and no free anything, cheap and easy. The last one however, was a big Holiday inn, with food, and an elevator, and an INDOOR pool! It was the high life, it really was. :)

Yeah so that's our super exciting long trip down to Florida. It was our biggest adventure so far. When I think about it now, I am in awe, of our Mom's taking on this trip. I don't know that I would do it, with just my two kids. They did a great job, making it fun, managing to let us do so much stuff, with a baby, and sunburn, and family stress, to us, it was just one big fun trip. Job well done Mom! :D

Varnadore/Lewis Cookouts

2011-04-10T09:07:00.000-07:00

It's an old saying, but true, that life in the 50's moved at a slower rate. Tradition was huge and certainly our family, Varnadore and Lewis, had theirs. I wish you had known what it was like to be a part of the cook outs this bunch of folks could throw.

My maternal grandmother, Ida Mae Johnson, grew up in a large family. Three daughters married three Lewis boys, also of a large family. From this framework, two of those couples raised their children in Milford, CT. It produced many aunts, uncles and cousins for me and my sister. So we became very close to Ida and James Lewis' children --my mom Eula, her brother Jim (Uncle Dubby) to me, and my Aunt Judy, who for a time, also lived close. From this produced my cousins, Jimmy, Linda, Cindy, Jeffrey, Cathie and Debbie. Not to mention all the other cousins from the other 2 brothers who married the Lewis girls. To say our Family Cookouts were full of people is an understatement!

Most of these cookouts, for whatever occasion, were held at my house on Coe Lane in Ansonia, or at Uncle Otha's in Milford CT. Both houses at that time , afforded lots of woods for the kids to explore while the adults visited.

The day would begin with the trip to the ice house with my grandfather to get a big chunk of ice for the sodas. Then to my grandfather's hot dog stand to pick up the wooden cases of soda for the event. Some time there was a parade to go to or be in at the start of the day. My Dad would go in the back yard to be sure the grass was cut and the horseshoe pits were clean and in good shape. Then down into the cellar to pull out the badminton set. Lastly, the ping pong table would have to be set up. I would dream that maybe maybe THIS day I would beat my Uncle Dubby at ping pong. But he was brutal and that never happened! At any rate, I knew later in the evening maybe I could beat him or Dad at Chinese Checkers. My phone number, which I still remember, 203-735-3566 was the number for the one black phone in the kitchen from which all calls were made for a very long time. There were no cell phones, video games, DVRs , CD players etc to distract our carrying out of this event.

The sodas were in glass bottles and gleamed as they sat under the mulberry tree, chilling. Pepsi of course for my Uncle Dubby , orange, grape, root beer, Coke. The grill we used at our house was unique, in that my Dad who had been a welder for awhile, had made it. It was made of sold steel and weighed a ton. The side dishes that were laid out by this group of southern women, was to die for.
But what I remember the most was how much the adults were happy and joking, playing games with kids and adults alike.Invariably, as the day wore on, songs were sung, maybe a banjo would come out or a harmonica. Someone would yodel! "Poor ole" Kaw-liga" would be sung in southern tradition. The adults would visit to long into the evening and the kids would go outside to play hide and seek in the dark and catch fireflies. There was time for everyone that day and not one had a clock to watch.
One other very fond memory I have is when we took these cook outs to the public park in Bridgeport CT ,where multiple baseball games were going on by the men, as the women cooked on the grassy areas surrounding the games and the kids crossed the street to take a dip in the ocean. Such wonderful wonderful times to grow up in. I feel very blessed to have been a part of that time in the 50's. So wish you had known those times with me....

Daddy's Armory

2010-04-06T05:25:00.000-07:00

Oh so many memories, It is so odd to me that so much life was lived before David and Jacob were even a blip on the screen. It is sad too, that they missed out on some of my best memories, although, knowing my family, they have been building quite a long list of their own great memories. This is why I am trying to keep this blog up and going, so they an read and get a glimpse of what it was like when us "older kids" were the pipsqueaks, when we were the ones in trouble all the time, when WE were the ones Mom thought would surely make her age far beyond her years. Today, a new wave of fabulous memories came back, and How I wish you had been around to know all about daddy's Armory

The years we lived in Walpole NH, our Dad worked in the National Guard, he was one of a handful of people who kept a daily presence at the Armory across the river from us in Westminster VT. We knew the place well. We would visit him often, sometimes bringing him lunches, sometimes we stayed there if Mom needed to go somewhere without us. We were there on weekends, we knew the people that worked there, they were like our family. One in particular was Denise Mathuies ..( I know I didn't spell that right!) He was a big grown up kid, he liked when we came in, and sat and used the computers, played golf with his putting green, he even took us out for Ice cream once in his new Toyota Supra, top down, just us kids, and Amy at the wheel, in his lap ... only on the back road of course. :D

We knew the grounds, the firing range downstairs, the Motor Pool out back where the tanks were, the woods all around, and the sand pits way way back down the dirt road, where they ran tank maneuverer's and had a little fun sometimes.

We had Hunter safety training there, Matt did Karate classes there. On saturdays a club for radio controlled cars met there and had races. We got to come sometimes and help with the pit crew, running into the track to remove dead cars, running for spare parts helping in the kitchen.

We did Christmas parties every year, someone was Santa, every kid got a gift. One year we even had an elf! The food cooked by the cook "Roollie" (that was his name right dad?) He could cook! To us anyway, :) We loved the buffet of turkey, gravy, potatoes, cranberry jelly, and the baked apple's wrapped in pie crust! SOOOO yummy.

When the guys had to go away for AT (Annual Training) every summer, they would be gone for a month or so. We had parties when they came home. We would wait on the overpass to see the convoy coming in on the interstate, we'd wave and shout, and then book it over to the Armory where we had a spread of food ready for the tired guys, and all the families dressed up and clean and itching to hug their soldier. They came in with a cloud of dust and a deep ground shaking rumble. Duec and a halfs, Humvee's, jeeps, and pickups. All apinted in green forest Camo. rolling in on the dirt road. I can still feel the grit, and smell the diesel, as they rolled in, some parking in the armory, others out in the parking lot. The choas of getting everyone there, and parked, and lined up and accounted for, and then, BREAK! They all run to the people waiting for them, the dusty green duffel's all get thrown onto the cement floor. The hats come off, and the jackets, and they eat, and wolf down food, and then, yo can see all they want is a couch, and a nap. So then we all take our soldiers, and their dusty smelly green gear and head home. After a re-connect with everyone, and a change into non-army clothes, Dad would melt into a comfy surface and catch up on some sleep, while his gear aired out under and on the clothes line. To get rid of dust, diesel, and of course "chiggers" the dreaded bug Daddy was afraid to bring home from Texas. We played and ran and played for hours, re-enacting the trip he just took.

There were "tank Ride" days. Where Dad would invite the church to come over to the Armory for Tank rides. We did PT with the soldiers, we got free pencils and other ARMY gear, we played basketball in the indoor court, we gave tours, since we knew the place so well, we got to help with alot of it. We watched soldiers compete in "gun assembly" showing us the importance of proper equipment care and readiness. Of course the big even was the walk down to the Motor pool. There sat the gigantic Tanks. Dad loaded us up on top and a few lucky ones got to ride IN the tanks, and the drove to the sand pits, and took us on rides to rival any roller coaster. Up and down the hills of dirt, around and around, fast, slow, up and down. It was a rush, and so cool to be the kid whose Dad made it all happen!

One year they got new tanks. What an exciting day! We all went down to the Green Mountain RR station, which we had driven by dozens of times, and never actually stopped to wait for a train. This was quite a train! The newspaper was there, a little crowd of people, all waiting to see the new tanks. Eric Matt and I put coins on the tracks, (we'd heard that when you did that, they get flattened by the train, but imagine, a trian with 3 TANKS on it?) yeah they were pretty much destroyed.

When the tanks came in, on big flatbed cars ( i think?), they were tan, Desert Tan, the first time we had seen that. Up till the Iraq war, everything we had seen was green, this was our introduction to the tan that everyone now knows as normal. They were taken off the cars, or something, that part I don't remember. BUT I do remember them being driven down the streets of the small town Bellows Falls. What a sight it was! Little stores, and Victorian houses, people walking to the ice cream window, being passed by huge new tan tanks, rolling along to the Armory. We got to follow, very proud that we were involved in it all. Then of course, they had to go try them out! I remember a husband and wife TC and driver taking one out, with Katie and I along for the ride. the driver was going nuts, having a blast with it, after one scary move, the TC (tank commander = his WIFE) yelled into the com, "Maybe you can slow down a little?"

driver "No way lady! I am the first one to take it out, i'm gonna put it through it's paces!"

TC = "Well be fore-warned, I have SGT Akins' Daughter and niece up here with me!"

He slowed down a little, but not after an evil laugh. It was a Fabulous day!

I loved the smell of the place, motor oil, chalk dust, boot polish, coffee and diesel. The sound of the polished cement floors, the feel of the chalkboards in the classrooms with the movable walls and folding chairs and tables. The old wooden desks, the squeaky chairs, the glass show cases of trophies and medals and plaques and newspaper clippings, all documenting the history of their division.

This is probably a is reason I love trucks, and loud engines, and the smell of diesel. This would be the reason behind my wedding limo actually being a green Camo HumVee. When we moved to Rutland, although I visited the Armory where Dad worked several times, and appreciated the same feel of the place, it was never really "Dad's Armory" to me. I do remember when they got a new HUM-Vee though, he brought it home, much to our glee, and decided, since we live in the woods, what better place to test it out? SO, much in the fashion of the old days, he loaded us up, and took it for a spin. It was a flashback to days gone way by, and then, when he Let Eric take the wheel, it was a jump to the present, and a little sad, thinking about how much was hanging, and how much I missed those fun days exploring Daddy's armory.

Ice Skating

2010-02-17T19:05:00.000-08:00

As I sit and watch the Olympics, and anxiously await my favorite sports, mostly the figure skating events. This year has been the best in a long time, as I am online and can chat with my cousin about the skaters, and the routines, and the costumes, and of course, how much we love Scott Hamilton. :)

Ice Skating has been a passion for most of my life, thankfully, Eric, Matt, and even Amy all shared the love for the sport, along with my siblings, I had Katie and Chris, and most of our friends, most of the winter was spent watching the weather, looking for good ice making weather, so the ponds would freeze solid, then enough time to get out and shovel them off, before the snow sat on them too long and pitted the surface. If it got warm, we would hope for a quick melt then a fast solid freeze again ... like we really had ANY control whatsoever. :)

When the Olympics came around we were ALL ABOUT the skating, we knew each skater, their strengths and weaknesses, we knew where they stood in the ranks, we knew how the scoring worked, we spent hours talking about it, reviewing the performances the next day as we skated in the cornfields and tried to imitate their talents.

There was a rink, about 30 minutes south in Brattleboro, there were Saturdays where we would all go for "homeschool skate" a time where it was mostly "us" as in, all our friends, skating together, on BIG real ice, it was fun. Mom usually left us there for several hours while she shopped or relaxed, :) we skated the day away, once a week, for about two to three months.

Then, Eric got his license, and it got kicked into overdrive. We got a years pass, then we went on Sat AND SUN, then we went on Wednesdays, pretty soon, we were there 5 times a week, Mon-Wed-and Fri nite, then saturday afternoons and sunday evenings. We knew the people who ran the place, we knew the skating guards, we knew the regulars, well, we WERE the regulars! They started letting Eric, Matt, Chris Katie and I skate from 9-10 for the "adult skate" on Sunday Nights. As long as we didn't go nuts, or get too loud. On nights when it was basically just us, they would even play our music for us, and we did our "routines" to it.

In those late hours, we learned SO much! We skated with instructors, who saw our love of the sport, they would coach Katie and I on the finer points of footwork, and how to do a few simple jumps. They gave us a wide berth to practice speed and spins and crazy moves. It was so much so much fun!

Eric would come home from work, tired and exhausted, and eat dinner, and pile us in his little ford escort, and drive an hour each night in snow and sleet and freezing temps, and never complained, he loved the sport, and if we did too, then more fun for all of us. Often on Sunday nights and sometimes Saturday afternoons he would take us through the drive through at McD's and we'd fill the tiny car with the smells of sweaty smelly skates, warm wet mittens and fast food. All the while, U2 is cranked on the radio and we are singing at the top of our lungs.

We had our mishaps, one 'near miss' speeding warning one late night on RTE 5, some run-ins with the skating guards over our speed on the ice, some personnel issues with some of the regulars, practical jokes going back and forth with Matt, myself and the snack shop dudes **I think though, it was Eric who switched the Coke and Root Beer soda tanks on him one Saturday heeh classic!** , and of course there were the injuries.

We were FAST, and we were trying tricks people practice for years, we were just throwing ourselves into these jumps, and spins, and we even tried some of them in Hockey skates. THAT may have been a bad idea. :) I tried a lutz jump one Sunday night, in Hockey skates, and it is a jump that requires having toe picks, so, NOT having those, i went UP and then came DOWN, and landed on ONE knee cap, all I remember is coming down, thinking ... "hmm not a good thing" the next thing I know, I'm laying flat on my back, looking up at everyone who had been skating,now surrounding me, looking at me like i was dead. Seems the sound my knee made hitting the ice, stopped everyone in their tracks, so, i was the only one who didn't see my fall :D

Eric, being the good big brother he was wanted so badly to call the ambulance, but I was dumb and stubborn and wouldn't let him I thought I would skate again that evening, I had 2 1/2 hours to go, I'd be fine......... or not :P It swelled so big, I almost cut my jeans off that night it was so hard to get them off, and it didn't go all the way down till late spring. oops!

Our entire lives revolved around skating, in the winter, we lived at the rink with our skating friends, and we loved it. Katie and I bought professional leather figure skates one year, and nursed blisters for a whole year to break them in. In the summer we spent our time trying new jumps in Rollerblades, trying to work on our footwork, and saving for new skates, I had the professional leather ones, and then of course being a tomboy, had to get authentic hockey skates too!

When Eric left for the Army, it was never the same, partly cause it got WAY more expensive! with the pass, and the gas, and food! ALso, he was such a big presence on the ice, the kids in the rink LOVED him, they followed him all across the rink. He skated on hockey skates like they were figure skates, and part of his body, it was artistic. Even now when I hear U2 songs, I see him skating to it and doing air guitar with a trail of little kids imitating his every move.

It was more than skating, it was bonding, with our friends, and mostly the three of us older siblings. When Amy was able to come, i know she felt so grown up, and loved the time in Eric's car, with the music, and singing, and of course the happy meals he would buy her.

Skating will always be a love of mine, every time i get on the ice, I feel the chill, and the rush, and I want to go fast, and dance, and jump and then i realize I'm 15 years older, and not as practiced, and then there is that knee, with the cracked knee cap, heh.

How I wish you could have been part of our Skating Days, I know I treasure the memories, they will be the stories I tell for years, and never tire of. :)

Roanoke

2009-09-09T10:22:00.000-07:00

Many many ...oh many years ago, we used to travel to Roanoke Virginia on a fairly regular basis. See, that is where our family lived. Meemaw and Papaw lived there, Uncle Jack and Aunt Judy lived there, along with a smattering of other family members who always showed up to check out the next generation of "Atkins' Kids" It wasn't the best place in the world to vacation, nor was it always the easiest family visit of the year, but it WAS family, and I have many fond memories that I would like to share with the younger set of my family who missed out on knowing these folks as well as i did.
The apartment I remember was small, dark, near a fire station, and had a LONG narrow staircase. The bathroom I remember had a very old, deep clawfoot tub. It was HOT, box windows fans will take me back to that place every time. :)
We were always greeted with Hugs, and the smell of something wonderfully southern cooking for dinner. There was a certain scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke, grease, and sausage gravy. It was wonderful to me, it meant i was with Meemaw, and Papaw, and Uncah Zak! I was one of his favorite kids, he loved to swing me around by arms and give me airplane rides, which I am pretty sure Mom scolded him for, since he DID do it in the hall pretty close to the steps.:)
I remember fishing, Dad and Jack went fishing, and sometimes we got to go. I remember walking to the corner market with Meemaw, and being in awe of "city life".
I remember two pictures on the wall, of my twin Aunts, not that much older than me really, I would try to remember meeting them, imagining where they were, what they were doing, amazed by tenia who was in the Navy. I didn't know girls did that! :)
I remember playing yahtzee, lots of coffee, and Papaw "bein' crazy" as meemaw would say. He just wanted to show Eric how to target shoot. Guess she didn't like him doing it into trash cans in the alleyway two stories down. :)
Lots of my memories of them there are fragments of moments, little things, smells and words. Whenever we play yhatzee, or sit around drinking coffee and tellin' stories, when i make a perfect batch of buscuits or fabulous sausage gravy, i think of them. Meemaw would be proud, papaw woudn't tolerate that, Uncah Zak would be laffin' When we played Yhatzee, Meemaw, when she got a good roll, she'd say "thank ya" Dad and papaw would get "all fired up" over how "some people" grouped cards in Gin Rummy. Unle Jack would just laugh.
We lost Uncah Zak last week. SO sad, and sudden. I kept seeing his laughing face, hearing his raspy voice on the phone ... "Hey Sara! This is yer Uncah Zak! How's mah Princess doin?" Roanoke feels a little empty now, we were there, and nothing is the same to me, except ... the star, on the hill. A big white star sits on the hill illuminated every night. SOme things don't change.
As we went our ways one night this weekend, My cousin Patrick and I had the same thought. Meemaw and Papaw and Jack, they were in heaven, with endless coffee, and probably just breaking out the yhatzee dice.

Flowers by the wayside .....

2009-07-30T19:48:00.000-07:00

My son calls me impatiently from his car seat ..
"Mommy! What are you doing?"

That's a good question, WHAT am i doing?? I'm wading through waist high weeds, I'll probably go home with ticks, or worse, poison ivy! UGH. Then, i see it, the reason I am here ..... and I laugh, as a memory comes spilling over me.

Many many years ago, how many exactly need not be said, however, it was the year I graduated from High school, I also sat in a car, calling to my mother,
"MOM! Are you for real? Will you get in the car? This is nuts! People will see you!"

See, I was home schooled, and that makes my "graduation" something unique. I was the only member of the class of 1995. I also didn't really finish till sometime in June. So, my party was July, with a lovely 4th of July theme. My parents still had two kids in school, and two more upcoming, and the oldest ready to go into the Army. Dad was a full time National Guardsman, Mom was obviously a full time stay at home mom, and schoolteacher. Money wasn't something that flowed in our house, we were creative, we made every penny stretch.

So, when it came to decor, and flowers, My mother had a brainstorm. Somewhere, in the fields below My dad's Armory, were huge patches of Black eyed Susans. Wouldn't they be lovely with the red white and blue? Oh yes, they will, lets go get some!

This is how I found myself sitting in the van, with the patience of an 18yr old who thinks she is the smartest most important person alive, totally embarassed by my mom, wading out into the knee deep weeds, and coming out with armfulls of flowers. Stalks nearly as tall as her, with the roots and all still attatched. SHe dragged them over, and put them in her nice new van, dirt and all.

As we drove home, she with a VERY smug smile on her face, and me shaking my head and giggling, she told me a story, about HER mother, my Nana. My Nana was a lover of flora, she could grow anything, she loved beautiful flowers, and she rarely denied herself. She had a habit of driving along, seeing flowers she liked and hoping out of the car to pick them. Wild or not, they were beautiful, and she wanted them in her house. LOL The ones I remember were Cattails and Pussy willows, she showed me the places to go to find them, and how to pick them.

My Graduation Party was perfect, and the table was lovely, all red white and blue, and splashed with the bright yellow flowers. I will never look at them without thinking of that day, and My mom. I guess it's where I got the "bug" for flowers, for wild ones, I guess it's why I find myself out in this feild in late July,picking these black and yellow flowers, as my children sit and wonder why their Mommy is nuts.

Even for my wedding, the church was decorated with flowers grown in a friends garden, specifically for the event. Recently i heard a rumor that my mother stopped on the way to the annual church campout, with my cousins little girl in the car, welcome to our family heather! See, you can't pick the flowers in the state park, you get in trouble for it, My sister found THAT out. So, my mom stopped on the way, by the side of the highway and picked a little bouquet for her Campsite picnic table. The funny thing was, this story was forming in my mind the week before, and when I got to camp and heard the story, I was convinced this had to be documented. It doesn't seem this trend is ending anytime soon.

Florida ....part one.....

2008-04-14T05:55:00.000-07:00

Huh, i looked up this car model, and now it looks REALLY old LOL. AT the time however, it was fabulous, shiny and brand stinkin new. :)
So, anyway, we went on a trip once, a long time ago, the summer after Amy was born actually. Mom, Eric, Matt, Baby Amy, Aunt C, Kate, Chris and myself, all piled into a wagon much like this one, with leather seats and NO air conditioning, and headed down to Florida to visit out Grandpa Varnadore. (oh and it was August, with no AIr conditioning, but not that we knew we were missing it..... more on that later....)
So, a day or so or a few before we leave, one of the Dads is driving around with the car top carrier on, and a sudden gust of wind whipped up rte 12, along the river, and the top of the carrier flew off the car! Thankfully it didn't hit any other cars, however, it went for a swim, in the river, down the bank, it landed and floated away. FANtastic! Oh well, good thing Uncle CP is the Tarp king, we had to tarp and bungee the thing shut, and every stop, at every hotel, we undid it, took everything inside, and prayed it didn't rain. :)
It took us 3 days of driving down the eastern cost. We went through every state i think, we collected coloring books from each rest stop, i think we took pictures of us at every welcome sign or something like that. I don't remember alot about the driving itself, except that it was HOT, LOUD and leather seats were icky. I'm sure we did a fair shae of complaining, but someone commented that
"At least WE can open the windows! Look at that big car, they have to drive with the windows shut, imagine how hot they must be!"
It was then explained to us the wonder of Air conditioning.
The third row of seats sat backwards, so we all took turns sitting back there. That was the best place to sit! No baby, or annoying little Matt to bug you, it was harder for the Moms to see what we were doing, heeheheee, and you could throw paper airplanes out the window, and watch where they landed. Apeparently that's a little dangerous.
i remember at one stop Mom was changing the wee one's diaper on the front seat and mom turned away for a split second, and the little twerp rolled over, right out onto the pavement! Yeah, pretty sure she fell on her head ... explains alot huh? heeheehehee
I remember the Georgia welcome center, the big brick sign that had Cacti all around it. Mom Trying to take a picture of us all sitting on it, and then Mat falling backwards off of it, into the Native Shrubbery. OUCH!! That wasn't comfy with leather seats either :P I remember the Florida welcome center, and how they gave out OJ in little paper cups. I remember driving through Naples and stopping somewhere in toam, and seeing coconuts in palm trees towering over the cars parked along the street. Wondering if their car insurance covered falling coconuts.
I remember the feel of Grandpa's house. It was small, dark, a tad stuffy, low ceilings, and in the back yard, fruit trees. Limes, lemons, ornages, grapefruit, i think, lol all growing outside, pretty cool! it rained once every day, and after the rain, the newts and geckos came out to warm up and sun on the steps.
..... we had survived the three day trip, we were in Florida, and had many adventures ahead ....

to be continued........

Of Military Packing Habits

2008-02-25T09:41:00.000-08:00

There is something intrinsically comforting about the smell of black shoe-polish, I have decided. When I was younger, dad was still in the National Guard, and while he never went overseas when I was around, there were still many long journeys to distant states for prolonged periods of time, for training, schooling, training others, and other things regarding the care, keeping and proper usage of large metal tanks. Dad became quite the expert on packing for these ventures, slight OCD and meticulous care serving him well in a military environment. He knew every trick for saving space, packing exactly what he needed, and had the whole process down to a flawless routine.

When I was quite small, I found this routine absolutely fascinating. I would watch as well-worn grey and white t-shirts got rolled up into neat rolls, everything that was in green camo flat and folded and packed neatly away. When dad brought out his shoe-shining kit, I’d be sure to have my little black mary-janes ready for him too, waiting alongside his big black combat boots. We’d usually had something on tv…Jeopardy, or Austin City Limits, depending on what night it was. And while country music played, I’d watch dad carefully shine his boots. When I was really little, I would pick out one of the rolled up t-shirts, and pretend it was a baby doll. When I was a little older, we’d try to see who could answer the most questions on Jeopardy. And the next day he’d be gone for a long time, and we’d all be a bit glum. But I always looked forward to the night before he left, and I always knew that no matter how long he was gone, he would still come home again.

A week ago, I found myself at the commissary again, buying those ever-familiar grey PT t-shirts, only now they said NAVY across the chest instead of ARMY (“I can’t fold over the R to make my name anymore!” “…What?” “Long story…”) . Whites and new running sneakers and many socks followed. A can of Kiwi black shoe polish was tossed into our cart. Ah, old friend, how I’ve missed you. That evening, I sat cross-legged on the floor of our apartment, helping Rick pack up his sea-bag. A.F.I was playing on the laptop and we were quizzing each other on obscure movie knowledge, as he polished his work boots, and I rolled up t-shirts. At one point, his friend James came by to pick something up, and saw me folding. “Wow, you’re good at that.” To which I responded, “I learned from the Master.”

That night the Husbot set out everything he would need for the next day, work uniform, watch, freshly polished shoes, socks, all in order where he would remember them. The next day he would be gone for a long time, and I’d be more than a bit glum. But I am comforted in a manner most familiar. I know that no matter how long he is gone, there will always be a meticulous shoe-polisher coming home to me.

~ Amy

Grandpa George

2008-01-17T09:55:00.000-08:00

I wish you all had known my Grandfather Atkins. Actually, I wish I had known my Grandfather Atkins. He died when my father was still a young boy in 1938. I was named after my grandfather, George Clyde Atkins. George, I can handle, but the middle name of Clyde never did give me a “warm fuzzy.” I always thought of myself as a camel, from a popular song back in the sixties. I guess I resented being the kid that had to carry on the name for family’s sake. However, as I grew older, my opinion started to change.

The family, uncles & aunts, would visit and tell stories about my grandfather that would interest me. Such as examples of his honesty, or perhaps his work ethic which was certainly worthy of admiration. The stories that would interest me most were about the way he provided entertainment for the small community in which he lived and worked. He worked as a foreman on a modest but successful farm in rural Virginia. In the evenings families visited their neighbors more frequently than they do now. There were no TVs, or Stereos. Most families in the area were too poor to afford movies or dinning out. Even if they could afford it, such places weren’t available around Porter’s Crossroads, VA.

When families would visit my grandparents they would always ask my Grandfather George to tell them about the latest novel he was reading. From what I understand he had an appetite for reading the frontier novels of Zane Grey that was never satisfied. So he would tell the story. “Riders of the Purple Sage,” “The Last Trail,” and many others were always told with an intensity that kept listeners on the edge of their seats, even if they had heard his telling of the story before. Folks would listen for hours I’m told. One night he provided a special treat, according to my Uncle Jack,as he had just finished the novel “Tarzan.”

I came across some information about my Grandfather from an unexpected source one day. I’m sure it is the most precious bit of knowledge I will remember. I was seventeen years old at the time and very much into myself. The year was 1968. Integration in the Public Schools in Virginia was still something new that both Black and White kids were trying to get used to. I do think the kids were doing better at it than their parents, but that still remains to be seen even today. Anyway.

I was hitchhiking to football practice one day in the summer prior to the school year starting, when an elderly African-American couple stopped to give me a ride. I got into the back seat beside a young lad my same age who just happened to be member of the school basketball team, as well as a friend of mine. It turns out that the couple was his grandparents, so introductions were made.

The elderly gentlemen then asked me, “You must be the grandson of Mister George Atkins, correct?” I told him that I was, but that I never knew my Grandfather. He said, “I knew your grandpa, you should have known him, he was a good man.” He told me how his father and family would buy livestock in Wytheville. It was about a sixteen mile trip over a mountain trail. They would herd their horses and mules and drive them over the trail. He said, “We would always make sure to see that Mister George could go with us. Mister George would tell us all the stories that he could remember and we all laughed and had lots of fun. The trip always seemed too short. But the real reason that my daddy wanted Mister George with us was because he knew them White Traders weren’t going to try and cheat us with Mister George there.”

Nowadays I sit around and read Louis L’Amour or, perhaps, study my drama script. I think of how nice it would have been to have known and shared my Grandfather with my own family. But then sometimes I wonder; maybe my name isn’t all that I got from my Grandfather. I no longer despise my middle name, I’m thankful for it. I pray that God will let me live up to it.

Written by George Atkins 1-17-2008

Christmas Eve Luminaries

2007-12-21T06:38:00.000-08:00

We lived on River Road South in Walpole N.H. Our cousins lived on Stagecoach Road in Westminster Vt. The two locations, as the crow flies, were a straight shot to each other. We could have walked to each other's houses almost, except for the half a dozen corn fields, woods, one small highway, a smaller road, oh yeah, and a River. :P
But, in the winter you could almost see their house through the leafless trees up on the mountain across the river. We had a tradition, Christmas Eve was Mom's night, she made a big dinner, with all the trimmings of Christmas, and the Plumleys came to our place and we played, exchanged gifts, giggled about secrets and made predictions about the next morning. Then the next morning, after the gift madness, and after Mom and Dad recovered with coffee, and after we were stuffed with Spice round cookies, we packed up our favorite new toys, and went to their house for Christmas Breakfast made by Uncle CP. Twas a fabulous tradition, and even with Grandpa visiting, or nasty weather, it never changed, every year the same, every year more and more fun.
One other thing never changed, the luminaries. Every year, at sunset on Christmas Eve, we would run to the windows and look out towards the Westminster side of the River, and you could see one by one, the little dits of light would start to light up making a long line through all the trees. Some years we were even able to pack up, and take a drive over there. Right down main street, (now main street Westminster was actually Rte5, it ran right through, with old town buildings on either side, with a couple churches, the post office, the Bates motel, ERM, the roadside inn, or whatever, and a smattering of giant, century old houses, untouched by time it seemed) So, all down the street, they had Luminaries, little paper bags with candles inside, starting at the first house, ending at the last house before the cornfields. Proper etiquette was to turn off your headlights, and drive slowly, to drink in all the atmosphere. The old houses decked to the max in classy greens and white lights.
I wish you all could remember Mom's candlelight Christmas Eve dinners, and Uncle CP's breakfast, and how Christmas felt back then, and of course, the Luminaries!

Cornfields

2007-12-15T17:12:00.001-08:00

Where we grew up in New Hampshire, cornfields surrounded us nearly everywhere you looked. Our 200 year old house was smack-dab in the middle of a farming community, and though we weren’t exactly farm kids, we all got really familiar with the many moods and dispositions of cows, horses, sheep, dump trucks, tractors, and cornfields. We were polite trespassers in this gorgeously untouched area, our adventures tolerated by those who owned the dandelion fields, violet patches, perfect sledding hills, skating ponds, and cornfields around us.

To the west of our house lay a cornucopia of adventure. First there was a cow pasture, which was usually empty, but every so often housed a few cows or horses. Beyond that was a cornfield, which stretched out to what seemed like forever to a little girl. After the cornfield, there was a small field of alfalfa. And after that, the ground sloped down to the most forbidden shores of the Connecticut River. It was a test of bravery (and how much you wanted to push the parental boundaries) how far you would go. I only made it to the river once, and spent most of my playtime in the pasture. But oh, there were some great times in the cornfield.

I was usually the shortest of course, my three elder siblings towering over me in both age and wisdom (or so it seemed to me, from about age 5 to 10). It was easy to lose the annoying tag-along little sister amongst the cornstalks, but they put up with me nonetheless. We had epic adventures playing Marco Polo, nibbling on the forbidden veggies, and getting paper cut-esque wounds from flapping corn leaves. Once, when it was just my brother Matt and I, we trekked bravely through the maze together, he telling me we’d have a great surprise beyond it. I was about 7 or 8, and trusted him implicitly, following close behind him in the path he walked through the corn. We came out on the other side, to find the alfalfa thick, green, and smelling wonderful under the hot summer sunshine. It was about shoulder-high for me, the perfect height for us to stomp out our respective playhouses. And there we sat, on a bed of warm green leaves, watching clouds and corn leaves waving lazily over us, and probably getting bad sunburns.

The best time I ever had in that cornfield though was in the dead of winter, I think I was 8 years old. Every now and then, winter will thaw just enough to allow a rainfall or an icefall, and then freeze right back again, leaving a crust on the snow and roads that gives adults heartburn, and children glee. Of course, it’s never strong enough for you to actually walk on top of the snow...only this time, it was. On top of 16 inches of snow was a crust two inches thick of pure smooth frothy ICE. You almost could have strapped on your skates and skated on it. The huge hills left by the snowplow, which we’d dug snow forts into, were frozen solid and looked like Luke Skywalker’s house on Tattooine. And the cornfield, which had been nothing more than a wasteland of chopped stalks at that time of year, was now a vast smooth slippery glacier.

Sliding out on our boots, my sister Sara, Matt and I all slid into the field. There was one point where the gentle sloping of the field made a sort of slight valley, which wasn’t very obvious in the summertime, but on this frozen week it was perfect. Instead of a snowball fight, we sat on opposite hills and slid ice chunks across this giant smooth bowl at each other, dodging and laughing and falling over on our bums. At one point, I’m fairly certain my brother Matt used ME as a weapon, and slid me full force across the ice at my sister. Of course, this whole situation made our sledding hills in the field into veritable smooth death traps, from which there was no escape...but we’ll save that emotional trauma for another day.

I had an interesting experience, being in the middle. I have treasured memories of that house and those times with my older siblings, but my little brothers and I made new memories and new adventures here in the woods of Bomoseen, and I got to be the big sister using her littlest brother as a projectile for a few years. Still, I wish you could have known about the magic of those cornfields...

Raccoons in the moonlight.

2007-12-13T06:30:00.000-08:00

There was this little house, on the shores of lake Zoar that was nestled behind large trees and a stone patio, and all manner of various plants and flowers. The house, was pretty much built INTO the cliff that went down to the lake. You would pull up to it, and it almost resembled a Hobbit hole, all you could see was the front door, and the large low window that looked out on the stone patio. The entire house was pretty much built around the giant fieldstone fireplace. It was the paper trash bag, LOL Nana always had us put our paper plates and napkins into the fireplace. We could sit on the Hearth and do puzzles, or watch cartoons. The kitchen was on the backside of this giant masterpiece, It was also two steps lower than the living room. Nana's Pantry was IN the fireplace LOL. To me, as a youngster, it was slightly amazing! But yes, on the back of the fireplace was a wooden door, that hid the pantry, where Nana usually hid to Cracker jacks!
We used to love to stand in the kitchen and lean on the rock wall that was warm from the fire blazing on the other side. I am sure we were NOT helpful in the tiny kitchen as She tried to cook meals for all of us, but she just laughed and told us about her plants. The back side of the house was nearly all glass, large floor length panes of glass in the dining room followed the curve of the deck outside. The desk started at ground level in the front of the house, then it was a walkway with a 5 foot high fence as a wall, you could see between the cracks that as you walked around to the back of the house, the ground was dropping dramatically underneath you, and by the time you got to the patio part, with the red chunky wood picnic table and lounge chairs, with sunshine yellow cushions, you were walking above the tree tops. Some trees still towered over us, and provided shade, but mostly we were in a secret hide above the trees, looking down onto the lake below.
On the side of the dining room you could walk back up two steps into the sun room. It had a wall of windows too, looking out onto the patio/deck area. With a radiator cleverly disguised by a quaint wooden sill, covered with More plants. She LOVES her plants. :) There was a stereo in the sun room, where we listened to Music machine and John Denver on 8 tracks. As we played with the toys she kept just for us. A large doll house, stuffed animals, and if we were really good, we got to play with the feathery Marionette birds.
From the sun room, you could go back into the living room, and hang over the railing that looked down into the dining room, THAT Nana did scold us for, well, when we climbed over it, or hung on it anyways. LOL
There was a dark hallway to the bathroom, that held two? Chest freezers. They held all manner of yummy treats, sherbets and ice cream sandwiches! The bathroom was a study in 60's design! I believe it was all in sea foam green. a pretty big room, but the cool part was that you had to step down to the toilet, it was cool :)
The deck off of the back of the house, was overlooking a VERY long drop to the rocky shore. and IF you could ever go down to ground level and look UP at the underside of the house, you would see how it perched on the edge, and MY GOODNESS, it was years before i could be comfortable on that deck, i was so petrified of heights!
Mom's step dad, Pop, had a large pair of powerful binoculars, he would let us use them to look out over the lake, to the bridge, and watch the traffic. We could see the Boy scouts at their camp, and the various boaters out on the lake.
The thing i remember the best, besides her brown dishes dipped with white glaze, and the glass bottle that played a tune and had a tiny dancing lady inside, were the raccoons. Nana loves animals, and aways had full birfeeders everywhere. A stone Birdbath out on the patio seconded as a lake for our tiny sail boats and fairy leaf boats, and the middle of the stone Patio, sat a black bucket, upside down, covered in black sunflower seeds. When you entered her house, there was a coat rack, boot mat, and two tubs, one of birdseed, one of sunflower seeds. We were sent out to fill the feeders, using a little plastic cup red or yellow, some of you remember that cup!
So, the sunflower seeds, what were they for? Well, at night, we would all line up at the low window in the living room, overlooking the patio, and wait. Sure enough, every night, they would come, the raccoons. BIG fat raccoons! They came to the black bucket table, and sit on their haunches and shell seeds and watch us watch them. They came one by one, until there were 3-4 even 5 ..... sometimes we left bread crusts, and more would come, They were so cute! They were huge, and friendly, and knew us as well as we knew them. I wonder if that one old fat raccoon sits and wonders where that lady went to? With her sunflower seeds and bread crusts. The birdfeeder is in Vermont now, still being used for many things other than a birdbath. The house was sold. Nana moved to Vermont, where she still grows plants, and loves animals.
That house has changed I'm sure, but the memories are as fresh as yesterday. The large rock on the corner of her road, where we would slide down on our bottoms, and wear out all our best pants. The trundle bed we thought was soo cool, and now sits in my Moms house. The pictures we drew, and pasted, and the paper dolls Nana made for Kate and I, all stored in our own smurf File folder, high on the shelf in the sun room. The pine cones, the leaves, the smell of the birdseed. The feel of the warm fireplace on a snowy day. The look on Nana's face as she watched us hunt for the Cracker jacks she hid. The smell of Sausage and peppers when we arrived after a 3 hour car ride. The tiny raccoon Eric gave her, that she kept on her spice rack, and of course, the Raccoons. The family of rolly polly "big ol' fat raccoons" as Dad called them. "walking around in their winter jammies"
Ah those days were fun! I wish you could have met the raccoons.

The White Man

2007-11-09T06:18:00.000-08:00

Grandpa Varnadore, Amy met him when he was pretty old, and sick. but Dave and Jake never got the pleasure. He wasn't really all that old, but Parkinson's disease had taken it's toll on him. he grew up in Baxley Georgia, actually he and Nana both did, but never met till they were in New england. Cool huh? After Nana left and remarried, he moved down to Florida.
Mom tells us stories about how he was a carpenter, he built houses in his younger healthy years, and could almost build anything. He loved the look, feel smell and rawness of wood. My Mom found a cradle in a magazine one time that she loved, and sent it to him, to see if he could make it. Oh he could! And he did, it was a beautiful cradle, one of a kind too, made by her dad, out of Cyprus wood from Florida. How many New englanders have Cyprus wood cradles?
What i remember of my grandpa is Delta airlines. LOL Yes, he would always fly Delta, we had almost memorized how to get to the Delta terminal at the Bradley airport in Mass. This was way before 911 and all the security. We could stand at the big tall windows and watch the planes taxi and take off and land. We could watch the line of people walking off the plane, and look for the hat. He wore a brown tweed hat, always. Then we went down to baggage claim and looked for the big hard Yellow suitcase.
I have always wanted a yellow suitcase, only recently did it dawn on me why. Someday, i will had a hard shell yellow suitcase. :)

Anywho ..... then we drove home, and probably exhausted the already tired man with our questions, and stories and energy. He slept alot, LOL, but that was okay, he was pretty patient with all us kids. We took turns having him in our homes. Between the Plumley's and us, he was usually up for Christmas. At our house he sat in the horrid old lazy boy that had some weird old green pattern on it. In the Plumley's house he always sat in the pink leather Lazy boy. Yes, PINK leather! :) Aunt Christine hid it well with her afghans and such, but when you looked at it close, it was definitely PINK.
One year , when we first saw "The Princess Bride" we were dying to show Grandpa, we knew he would love it, he had a good sense of humor. So we put it in the Plumley's VCR, and all 5 cousins sat n the floor while he sat in his pink throne. Don't you know, he slept through the entire movie! The couple times he woke up, they were kissing. SO at the end we all peppered him for his opinion, to which he says .."That's the worse movie i ever saw!" :P
We went down to visit him one year, Mom Aunt C, Eric, Chris, Katie, yubby, Matt and baby Amy. When we left to go home, he gave us all tickets and money to go spend the day at Epcot center. THAT was fun! I will tell the Florida story on another day :)
Grandpa taught us how to blow straw wrappers into the vents at Wendy's. Mom LOVED that :) He also went grocery shopping with us in Keene at Sun Foods, and liked to take peanuts out of the barrels.
(see, they still sold peanuts out of barrels, just sitting there for anyone to scoop out a bagful)
So he would walk over, grab a handful and plop them in his pocket, then he'd shell them and eat them through the store. LOL He told Mom,
"if they didn't want people eating them, they shouldn't leave them out."
As he got older, he got weaker, he had difficulty walking, he kinda shuffled. He would go for walks down our road just shuffling along. One time Amy, very young at the time, took his hand and said... "Nono Grandpa, thats not how you walk, i will help you!" so she held onto his hand and slowly step by step showed him the proper walk technique. LOL SO precious! She was the one who called him "the White Man" He did have white hair :)
One of the reasons mom loved the house in bomoseen was the unfinished wood trim. It reminds her of Grandpa V. Of the kind of houses he would build, of how he loved wood, and the beauty of it. We don't have alot of things from him, but i think the most treasured item that came form his hands is that cradle.
It was made for a little baby girl who never got to sleep in it, and then, I came along, and gave the Cradle it's maiden run. He only ever got to see three babies in it. Me, Matt and Amy. Since then, it's held David and Jacob. Now Grandpa's great grandchildren Grant and Samantha have used it. That would make him Happy. :) I miss him alot, and i wish you had gotten to know him.

summer mornings in the country ...................

2007-08-28T10:40:00.000-07:00

We lived in Walpole NH. on a farm, in the summer, on warm perfect days, we would come out of our rooms and peek out the windows to check the weather. The cows were grazing in the pasture, fog was lifting off the river just beyond the tree line, and there, at the end of our yard, buried to her shoulders in "briars" was Meemaw. She stayed with us many times for a week or so at a time. When David and Jake were born both times she came to help Mom till she got back on her feet.
Those summer mornings she was picking blackberries. We had this giant blackberry bush half on our yard, half in the cow pasture, with a barbed wire fence running right through it.
I hated that bush in the mornings, it had nasty big ol' spider webs all over it, definitely NOT worth the effort.
Meemaw thought differently. She would go out there, bowl in hand and bury her tiny body in those "briars" (thats the southern word ya know) and she would come out with a bowl heaping full of ripe glistening, dewy blackberries. They were delectable, especially in a bowl of farm fresh milk, with sugar. NOTHING beats that taste! She took us blueberry picking once, and even dragged Eric out to go strawberry picking one time. Always giving us "berries and cream" for breakfast.
I suppose Dave and Jake wouldn't remember since they were the tiny little people at the time. How i Wish you had known Summer mornings with Meemaw and Blackberries. :)

Generations

2007-07-27T16:51:00.000-07:00

So, Mom and i have been talking alot lately about how cool it is to have so many siblings in our family, but also how the ages tend to cause some gaps, like the younger boys getting to know their big brothers, and how the youngest one has only sporadic memories of the house I grew up in, and now the fact that 4 of the grandchildren don't even live near enough for us to visit on any kind of regular basis.
So, I have been chewing on this thought for a while and decided it would be a fun project. Mainly it has stemmed from a story i told about Grandpa V once, and how Dave never got to meet him, and that made me sad, and made me realize i have precious memories of my grandparents that i must share with my younger siblings so they too can have these memories to pass on to the next generation.
I also want to invite other blogging family members to add their own thoughts and memories. Should be a fun experience.
I hope y'all enjoy reading and sharing in the fun. :)