A Servants heart.

I had a birthday recently and I can't consider my own day without thinking of my parents. Some days I miss them terribly and some, I laugh out loud considering the things either one said or did. Mostly, I am grateful I belonged to them.

As the only girl in a house of brothers, some of my favorite memories are those of my mother and I, off alone on some adventure. Shopping trips to downtown Birmingham were a Saturday pass time from the time I could keep up with my mothers long walking stride. I stayed close on mama's heels as she scoured Burger Phillips, Blachs, Yieldings and Lovemans department stores, taking note of all the best buys. I thought we were only window shopping but it wasn't until I was a older I realized mama was checking prices and comparing. She would come back later and purchase items on sale. She had favorite salespeople everywhere we went and I loved that they knew her by name. [I'm not so sure daddy felt the same]
There were these awesome elevators at Burger Phillips, the cage type with the attendant that wound the door open manually and thanked you for coming to the store. I can still see the doors spring open in the girls dept where Mrs Suddeth [My favorite saleslady] magically had dresses waiting for me to try on. I tried on everything Mrs Suddeth pulled. Then when the price was reduced just enough, she pulled them from the floor and called mama. A couple days later mama came home with a few new dresses for me. Occasionally on our trips there was extra money to eat out. Joy Young or Britlings Cafeteria were my favorites but most often it was off to the park for a picnic lunch.

I remember one of those trips in early summer. I was dressed in a pair of dark blue shorts and a blue gingham checked button up blouse with a peter pan collar and pearly white buttons. White socks in little black T-strap shoes with my toes bumping the ends.
I remember finding the perfect bench and eating lunch together for a mid-day break.  Even back then, when I was very young I knew my mother had a flair for making you feel special, as if you were the only person she could see. I had no idea it was actually a gift from God, a servants heart. Mama had a way of making anyone feel special and she didn't need much to achieve it. That's how it is with gifts you know? God gives us all gifts and all we need do is be a willing participant.

Philippians Chapter 2 says, "Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also in the things of others. Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus."

The night before our adventures mama shucked out ice trays and placed the ice in a large paper grocery bag. You would be amazed how long that ice lasted in that paper bag, in the trunk. The next morning she placed the bag in a metal pail in the trunk of the car, alongside a quart jar full of fresh tea and two jelly glasses. They lay padded with a bath towel that smelled of sunshine, in her woven willow clothes basket. In another paper lunch bag were two sandwiches, two pickle spears, each carefully wrapped in waxed paper. [She also harbored a few Nabisco cookies, hidden away from me for a treat after I ate my sandwich] We sat on a park bench in the shade and talked of dresses, shoes and upcoming trips to Gulf Breeze to see her sister and family. She told me about the surrounding buildings and tales of her childhood and later when she married daddy and they lived in an apartment on the Southside of the city. I believe those lunches and talks did as much for my mother as they did for me. Her hazel eyes sparkled, her auburn hair lilted around her face, as she listened attentively to me share my thoughts. We planned summer days, trips to the beach and wardrobes, talked of flowers outside my bedroom and painting my walls again.My mothers fashion style was very classic. She wore navy blue and crisp white, fitted jackets, blouses with three-quarter length sleeves and slacks she altered by hand, to give her a better fit.
By today's standard mama didn't have much but what she had was carefully chosen quality items she lovingly cared for to make them last for years. Her closet held only a few well chosen dresses for church and I certainly know where my love for shoes came from. I still have the old blue print dress she wore for more than ten years. How is it, six years after her death a dress and pair of slacks still smell like her? I don't know how but it does. Some days I lift the leg of those trousers neatly tucked away in my closet and inhale deeply. For a moment, it's almost like she is here again sharing her sage advice.
Despite all the window shopping, we didn't have much money and mama made her purchases count. I never heard her complain or lament over wearing that old dress each year on Easter Sunday. She washed it by hand in the kitchen sink, hung to dry in the sun and gently pressed it making sure not to snag or damage it.
We sat on the fourth row on the far right in that little country church, my brothers and I, next to mama and daddy. Me in my new dress carefully chosen for fit, ability to alter later and perfectly discounted price. Beside me, my mother in her blue dress with shades of green and golden yellow swirled across the waistline, Bible in her lap, smile on her face, a side eye on her children-always. I do not think anything made mama happier than all of us together on that pew. Today my heart is full with memories of her and her gifts.
In February she would have been 93. Yes, I miss her often but today, I am filled only with thankfulness I was her shopping buddy, friend and daughter.

I hope there's a place to fish in Heaven

Fathers day is upon us again and not only celebrating our sons and my husband as fathers but thinking of my daddy. Daddy was only 53 when he died and I was 19 . It seems impossible that I haven't spoke with or hugged him in forty years but I have the sweetest memories of what he taught me in those 19 years. This is one of the last pictures taken of him, Fall '77.

Thaddis Warren, or "Fat" as he was most often called was one of eight children, in a home loaded with older brothers. When he reached that awkward stage as a 10 or 11 yr old, his brothers were there to lend a hand with a nickname. Well, be careful what you allow, because my daddy introduced himself as Fat Hicks my entire life. He didn't give it a single thought and certainly wasn't offended.

Daddy fished, hunted, lay brick, did electrical, plumbing, carpentry, raised animals, gardens, his children and made a mean pancake.  He had the mind of an engineer. He had a dry sense of humor. If you didn't know him well, you weren't sure if he was kidding or scolding you but when he started laughing it became evident.

[Uncle Fred holding a horse shoe over daddy's head, mama just to his side over his shoulder]

I never saw a man who loved fishing as much as my daddy. He went fishing on Friday but if you asked him on Sunday if he had been lately- he would say no.
I can still hear the rattle of rods and reels against the side of the aluminum boat as it bounced up the hill after a quick early morning fishing trip. He would pop in the door grabbing his fresh ironed shirt off the doorknob (where I left it), quickly bath, shave and head to work. He had risen before 4 am to see "if anything is biting" while we all slept.
Daddy didn't need much sleep. He ran most days on 4-5 hours, while mama needed her full 8 hours. Our freezer remained full of freshly cleaned fish though. Daddy was a serious fish cook as well. He made a fish cooker to use outside, like a grill. He made several prototypes until he finally settled on a "V" shape, inverted design which he said kept the oil just at the right temperature to cook evenly. He made the best hush puppies I've ever tasted. My brother Steve can make them just like he did too.

Daddy was slow to anger but if you made him mad, you better look out. He spanked me with a belt only twice in my life. His preferred method of torture was talking to you. Awe man.. just spank me already please, because when he talked to me I felt maybe 2 inches high- it wrecked me to disappoint him. (plus, I knew he was right and I was wrong)
Our childhood was spent about a quarter mile from Black Creek off the Warrior River. Often times my brothers and I would hike behind our house through the woods to the creek. We would wade in the streams leading to the creek and play in the woods. The rule was, you must get daddy's permission to go all the way to the creek. Otherwise, you were to remain in ear shot. Well, this particular day while wandering and having a great time, we noticed the sun was beginning to wane. Oops, we may be in a heap of trouble. We hear daddy calling faintly in the distance.
We pick up the pace and the calling is getting louder and he sounds a smidge agitated. Crant throws me on his back, he and Steve begin to jog up through the woods toward home. I was maybe 8/ which made Steve and Crant, 14 and 13. As we top the hill and look across the open pasture behind the house, there stands daddy- feet apart, his wide shoulders squared toward us. He looked 7 feet tall to me. You know the stance I mean, just locked into that spot as if a mountain could not have moved him. He is NOT smiling, hands on hips just staring at us on the horizon.
Steve being the oldest, says "be quiet and let me do the talking." I don't remember what Steve said but I do remember getting my behind torn up with a belt, right there in the edge of the yard. Whatever he said, it didn't work but we never did that again.

My daddy taught me to cook those pancakes. When we fished and I popped that worm in half and baited my hook, he beamed. He taught me about being dependable, honorable and acting with integrity. When I disappointed him, he showed unconditional love and forgiveness. I learned humor helps you on hard days and there's nothing I can't do if I put my whole heart into it. He loved his children fiercely, he provided a godly example for us to follow and he was humble enough to ask for forgiveness if he felt he wronged me.
On this Fathers day I still miss him but my heart is full of sweet memories. I had him only 19 years but the lessons he taught and the love he shared are with me even today. Amazing.

Men are from Mars and women should be at a Marriott

I've waited a long time for this remodel, for the stone flooring to come up and hardwood to go down. Fourteen years of travertine stone on the kitchen floor, counters and I hate it. I was mesmerized by the look of stone as I stood in that warehouse perusing the slabs and squares. It's easy to get caught up in the beauty of movement of all the stone. It IS beautiful. Honed, polished, natural? "Look at all the movement in this slab" they say. There's an earthy feel to it. You are now one with the universe.

 

 

By all means, don't let me spoil your love for stone and all that universe love it has to offer you but wow.. never again.  It's too much upkeep for me. 

Hardwoods have always been my favorite floor surface. I grew up on pine floors requiring regular waxing. Mama kept those floors sparkling and she buffed them to a luster [as I grew older, I stood at the helm of the buffer.] When finished you donned a clean pair of socks and slid from one end of the house to the other.. from my brothers bedroom all the way through to the dining room. Inevitably someone did a face plant on the wall but nobody cared, it was like you were flying. Mama sat back on the couch with her book and watched, warning us she was too tired to make an emergency room run tonight. We would have to stop the bleeding and wait until morning. [She wasn't kidding]

We came home to a refrigerator water line busted in December and damaged floors. Awe.. Don now knew it was time to tackle the job. Truly, my husband doesn't give me too much grief because he witnessed the damage and he knows I'm always willing to do the work with him. I am the chief painter, cabinet re-finisher, seamstress, drapery maker and get-the-grub-out girl. How can you argue when you have good help, right?
In my head I had a plan of how this remodel would go. Take up all the stone, access the overall plan and make any needed changes. We have a few cabinets to move and re-purpose and we are adding a window seat. Days one through five went pretty well. I helped carry out some of the stone but I have asthma and eventually had to get out of the stone and mortar dust. I was wheezing like a big dog.
Then I left one day. (huge mistake on my part)
When I returned, cabinets were all over the living room. I mean everywhere. Cabinets that didn't need to be moved are out. ??? Why did this happen? I should have known, its the way he works. I can see the vision that's quietly been waiting in my head for the last few years. Not Don, he needed to clear the room to see it.

I'm learning to live in the mess. The tools in the laundry room, cabinets in the living room, the huge table saws in the dining room, dust 2" thick covering everything. Over the last 38 years I've learned another thing- I can say one thing and "Mars man" hears something else entirely.
Example: (Me) "The range, sink and dishwasher are less than 6 feet apart. If we shorten the island and move the range to the far wall, it will enlarge my work triangle and allow more room to cook and prep.
(what Mars man hears) So you don't want to keep this stove? I love this stove and I'm not sure it will fit over there. You aren't going to like the stove on the far wall. You have to walk across the room to cook. When are we going to the beach?
Focus Mars man, focus. This intelligent man and I, may very well have a communication problem.
Right now I see a few options but the best involves me moving where there's room service until the work is completed.

Our conversations go something like this.
[Don] I'll measure for backsplash and you go pick it out.
[Me] How much do I have to spend per foot?
[Don] Get whatever you want. It's your kitchen.
[Me] I go through 9000 different backsplash options at two different warehouses, over two days. I am exhausted and limestone, glass, subway, honed, geometric tiles running through my head. I finally find the perfect combination of our tastes. I spend another four hours online searching for the best price, I use his contractor discount, I negotiate it down another .74 cents a sq. foot. I'm relieved and satisfied with the choice. Then I share my findings with my "Mars man" ...
[Don] Could you not have found something less expensive?
[Me] sigh...
(It's possible years from now someone may find the bones of an aged man in a freshly poured concrete patio) For the love of all that's good, why can't we speak the same language?

I chose to add a window seat to shift the table and create more space and I just love window seats. I will find a whimsical and sturdy fabric to cover my seat cushion. I can hardly contain my excitement. Then, we actually had this conversation, no lie.
[Me] Do you want me to mark the spot where the light fixture goes over the table? [Don] I'm not moving the light fixture. [Me] Yes dear, we discussed this back during the planning stage, at length. (He is looking at me as if I pulled this from the deep, dark recesses of my mind or either I am a "pod" person he's never met)
[Don] But the light fixture is lined up on the center of the window on the driveway end of the house.
[Me] Seriously? Precious Mars man, you can't leave the hanging chandelier over the backs of your dining family and no light over the table? You can't buddy. [Don] I'm not moving the light. [Me] Yes dear, I love you but we must move the light.
At this point, he is no longer listening. That' what "Mars men" do when they do not hear what they want. They walk away. So, these days I choose my battles wisely and because I indeed love this man, I walk away. (for now)

Many years ago I figured out his operating procedure (brain), anytime we had a project once we finished the discussion/rough draft or design, I wrote it all down and had him initial it. Yep, in writing. I didn't do it to prove anything but to hopefully cut down on the battles as I thought about how I would kill him as he said things like "we never discussed this" or "I don't know what you are talking about." Aha! I would pull out my signed and initialed copy of the agreement. He would smile and get to work.

I know this Mars man better than he knows himself. He's been my partner for 38 married years.
He was a blind date you know? Yes. My friend Cindy introduced us. "I have this guy you need to meet. He's crazy and you will love him."  (That's probably another blog post, how God worked this out)
I know how he feels about politics, faith and family. I can read his face like a book and know when he doesn't know what to say or how to respond. I know when he's hurting and disappointed. He's hard-headed, far from perfect (as am I), has to see something for it to be true and tunes me out when he doesn't want to discuss something. He's also a perfectionist, his brain is constantly thinking about how to save/reuse/restore something, he can't throw anything away and he's a thinker by nature. He's sitting back taking it all in while I'm actively throwing out ideas .. when my mind is racing or I'm falling apart: He is my "steady Eddie."

I suppose that's why I'm not sleeping at the Marriott (yet.)

There will be Joy again soon.

Yes, there will always be a void where you stood.  No one can fill your shoes although all your granddaughters near me, help tremendously.
It's hard this year, mama. I imagine your greeting her with open arms and offering her a glass of tea. (Wouldn't it be a hoot to find out heaven is a southern place and there flows "tea," milk and honey)

When I was a little girl and I would be upset about something, you would brush my hair from my eyes, wipe my tears and say "wipe those tears and let's decide what you need to do." Then you would give me something to laugh out loud about. When I was older and I felt my heart was breaking, your answer changed because you knew I could handle it. "I'm sorry you are hurting, baby. Life is full of disappointments but it's also full of joy" that's what you always said.
Well mama, today without you here to prompt me but after a lifetime of teaching me well, I am looking for the joy. I remember your love and care and although it may bring a few tears, it will also provide great joy.

Mothers days you ran from before day break until sunset because it was memorial at church, Liberty Baptist. You had food to cook for pot luck at the church, flowers to prepare to place on the graves of your loved ones gone on before you. Early, you had the boys fill the car with flowers and it was brimming from stem to stern. There was only room for one to ride with you and help put them all out. I think, likely you were thinking of your mother, she died when you were only five.

I remember the smell of my room, the cool white eyelet bed cover you painstakingly mended when little worn spots appeared, then you freshened it with a gentle washing, ironed every crease and ruffle. You and I would just stand and look at it when you were finished as if it were a jewel in a crown. You would say something about "things were just things" but it does look pretty doesn't it?
For one who lost your mother so young, you mothered very well. But you had many mothers didn't you? Aunt Jim, Aunt Lura and Aunt Ola. There was also Maggie who wasn't related to us but lived down the road a bit. She helped mother you as well with stories and tales of her own children. You cared for her in her last days, even though she wasn't your mother. I remember she was always cold in that nursing home and you bought her a toboggan and she wore it all the time. Until she took her last breath. You mothered her too.

Today I can hear the sounds in my head of your Sunbeam going, the smell of  the iron as I press a shirt for daddy before church. The sounds of laughter and joy as the relatives pour into the fellowship hall one by one, for a meal together. All the amazing food we shared, hugs and love.
Today I can remember you with joy and that is my prayer for others who aren't quite there yet. One day, there will be joy again.
Thank you Jesus for giving me my mama. She was indeed a jewel.

... but I've got my pistol?!

It's these spring mornings when I most often think of my mother. She loved spring like a dog loves a bone. She started checking all her plants, uncovering her Irises feet and could hardly wait to get her work clothes on and her hands in the dirt.
When we were kids, when she would let them, my brothers would cut the grass. Now mind you, this wasn't a little square of sod in a "city" yard. We had about two and half acres and there was a huge hill in front about the size of a football field. The kind of yard you must go side-to-side to cut because it's too steep to go up and down. Mama was the lawn mower purchaser most of my life, in her later years she went to key start models.  She wasn't crazy about waiting for someone to get there to start her mower.  Probably well into her sixties and because she wasn't blessed with great physical strength, she would call one of us to come over and crank her lawn mower. When it was my turn, she always commented "I don't know how you are that strong" (I got that from the Hicks side of the family by the way)  I would finish my iced tea (made fresh at 6 a.m.) and whatever she had prepared for my breakfast) and head into my own day.
Mama always remembered her children's food preferences. If Steve was coming, it was piping hot coffee and if she had any ham or sausage on hand she made sure he had plenty. If it was Crant, there was gravy made for biscuit sopping. For me, she made iced tea and "toasted in the oven, open face cheese toast" my favorite.
To say my mama was independent was laughable. I often marvel at how ahead of her time she was and lest I forget, my daddy who was quite comfortable in his manhood and not threatened by her drive, tenacity and ambition. He was the one who always told me, "You are smart and can do whatever you want in life"... "There is nothing holding you back."  (When if he had his druthers would probably have chosen for mama to remain at home and not work outside the home.) A choice I'm sure he knew was futile to discuss.

Mama was only fifty-two when daddy died. Now as I sit facing my sixtieth birthday soon, I realize how young she actually was. Daddy and the boys hunted all my life, guns were a part of our home, as they were about every other home as well. Now that mama was alone, she always made sure she had her 38 with her everywhere she went outside the community.  So here is my mama, gray-haired and slender built, slightly rounding shoulders from osteoporosis with this long-barrel 38 tucked under her seat and she wasn't afraid to use it.
She would long to see her sister who lived in Pensacola and I would get a late night call, "I'm heading to Pensacola in the morning, I need to see my sister" "I've got my 38, I'll call you when I get there".. Of course there were no cell phones then. We all had our reservations about her traveling alone but.. what do you do? That's just who she was. Arguing would have been a complete waste of time and energy, even though she would have nodded agreeably, hugged you because she appreciated the concern but literally would have laughed in your face. If you offered to go with her and she didn't want company, she would kindly decline you.
Her mother died when she was five and her sister six, she lived out her childhood with her daddy, who she loved fiercely. She walked to the creek and hauled water as a five year old, walked the two miles to church every Sunday, tidied dirt floors when they lived in a tent for a while and had cared for herself all her life. Driving 300 miles to see her sister? Calm down people, the car is doing most of the work, she would say.
So, on this spring day it's my "snuggle Thad day." I get baby snuggles from a sweet baby named after my daddy and a precocious little girl who loves to wear "ip" stick and go to the store for stickers.
I will teach them all how to uncover the Iris feet to assure us of more blooms. We will smell the sweet shrubs that came from mama and daddy's yard, watch the birds at my feeders and laugh. We will laugh alot. One of the boys and I are planting multi-colored carrots this year and we will take walks and have our hands in the dirt. We will hold hands, read books and I hope one day they will remember all these things from childhood fondly.
They are smart, funny and strong like their Grandaddy Hicks, Uncles Crant & Steve and their Honey. My brother still has that 38 long barrel and I'm betting one day it's passed down to a grandchild who will carry it on long trips of their hearts desire, alone. Because that's who they are too.