Monday, December 19, 2011
A Birthday and a Funeral
She was my mother's younger sister.
Born just 18 months apart in the early 1920's, in the steep hills of Eastern Kentucky coal mining country, they were best friends as well as sisters. On their front porch they cut out paper dolls from old newspapers and whisked "cherries from the basket" in games of jacks.
As they grew older, Aunt Dortha learned to play guitar, and she'd play while Mom sang. They'd sit around for hours on that front porch, performing duets of "Blue Heaven," "Corrine, Corrina" and "No Letter Today."
One day, their love of music led them to bring home the hit song of the day, the Andrews Sisters singing, "Queenie, the Cutie of the Burlesque Show."
Grandma Robertson promptly threw it away.
But all too soon their childhoods ended.
In 1943, my grandfather was killed when the brakes on his coal truck went out on Big Hill and Grandma moved her family to Dayton, Ohio, a major manufacturing center for the war effort. There, the girls got jobs to help support their two younger brothers and sister.
Mom was 21, Aunt Dortha, 19, when they began waiting tables at The Green Mill restaurant on West Third Street. They'd work their shift, flirting with the soldiers home on leave, and then walk home together, arm in arm. It was at the Green Mill that Aunt Dortha met Ed Williams, the man who would be her husband for over 50 years.
From that long marriage, she culled many life lessons that she passed on to me and my sisters.
When my younger sister, Robin, got married, Dortha offered this counsel: "When you disagree with your husband, always give in 75% of the time. Because if you think you're giving in 75% of the time, you're probably really giving in half the time."
With my sister, Lelane, she shared this sage advice, "Never throw hot spaghetti sauce when you're angry. It's really hard to clean off the wall."
And to me, "When your husband wants to go somewhere or do something, you go with him. Because if you won't, some other woman will."
But the words of wisdom we heard most often from Aunt Dortha while we were growing up were these: "You have to suffer to be beautiful." Over the years, these words have sustained us through acne treatments, fad diets, pilates classes and sleeping on brush rollers.
Although Mom passed away nearly 38 years ago, today is her 89th birthday. Tomorrow, we'll say goodbye Aunt Dortha.
Happy birthday, Mom. You have your duet partner back again.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Raisin Rules: Facebook Rule #2
As with the rest of life, you can't just "Like" everything on Facebook.
Some discrimination is called for.
The other day, I saw a post saying a woman's grandfather had died and someone, I kid you not, had clicked Like.
A couple of posts later, I read where a ton of granite fell on a man's son, severely injuring him, and there it was again: Like.
Seriously?
If you're not sure what to say when something bad happens, "I'm sorry to hear that," or "My thoughts are with you," work just fine.
And if you can't drum up the energy to press that many keys, just keep on scrolling.
Monday, December 5, 2011
A Lovely Story
Lovely Abraham Powell, along with being my great-great-great grandfather, was reputed to be the meanest man who ever lived.
One day a deputy named Moody rode out to Lovely's cabin in Big Hill, KY, to arrest him for moonshining and tax evasion. Lovely came out of his cabin just as the deputy rode up.
"My wife is ill," said Lovely. "One of the neighbors is on the way. As soon as she gets here to care for my wife and children, I'll come with you peacefully."
But Deputy Moody was the kind of man who gets drunker on a little bit of power than Lovely's customers ever did on 'shine. He refused to wait.
"I'm the law," he said, "You'll come, and you'll come now." And he made to slide down from his horse.
Lovely put up a warning hand.
"You get down off that horse," he said, "and you're a dead man."
Moody didn't listen. He slid down from his horse and no sooner had his feet touched the ground than Lovely shot him through the heart.
Grandpa Lovely never served a day in prison for that shooting, though. The judge ruled Moody's death a suicide.
"Everyone around here knows that Lovely Powell is the meanest man who ever lived," he said. "He told Moody that if the got down off his horse he was a dead man. When Moody decided to get down anyway, he killed hisself."
The less interesting explanation for why Grandpa Lovely never went to prison for his crime is that his wife's brother was the Governor of North Carolina, who interceded.
Lovely with his wife and children.
(Thanks to my cousin, Sue, who reminded me of this story. She prefers the factual version, but I tend toward the better story.)
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