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When Will Be the Last Time?

Posted on March 27, 2019 by susanrray

How I wish I’d known it was the last time Jesse would call “Gran, Gran. Will you come up here?” when he awoke after spending the night with Husband and me. My 4 year-old Grand called early, at daybreak, and I threw on my housecoat and went upstairs to his bed. We snuggled close. Jesse held his stuffed bear in his arms as we sat side-by-side leaning against the bed’s headboard. I read Lightning McQueen’s Tales from the Track.

Recently when Jesse spent the night, I awoke before he did and sat drinking my first cup of coffee when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Jesse jumped onto the floor from the last step, saw me at the kitchen table, and ran to me. “Hi, Gran,” he said. I wanted to say, “Jesse, go back upstairs and get in bed and call me,” but I didn’t. “I got up all by myself,” he said. He sat in my lap and we talked in soft voices and read a book, but it wasn’t the same as snuggling with my sleepy-eyed Grand on his bed. If I’d known it was the last time that Jesse would stay in bed and call me, I would have stayed beside him a little longer.

As I buckled Jesse’s car seat in my van one day he said, “I’m big now. I don’t need a car seat. Mom has a booster.” I took a little longer than usual to adjust the tightness of the straps that securely held him and had held his older siblings and cousins. I’m not sentimental about a car seat. Now I help him with the seat belt when he sits in a booster and we hug, but he’ll soon learn how to do it and not want my help. And I’ll miss our quick hug and his smile after we agree the straps are just right, not too tight, not too loose.

I treasure Jesse’s greetings. With arms open wide and a big smile and shouting, “Gran!” he runs to me and wraps both arms around my knees. He no longer says, “Pick-up hug” as he did as a toddler, but looks up and raises his arms. When I lift him, he wraps his legs and arms around me and lays his head on my shoulder. When will be the last time?

When will be the last time Jesse will sit in my lap while I tie his shoes? When he leans with his back against my legs while I zip his jacket? Get excited when I point out a crane or a bulldozer? When we pretend that we’re in a cave while under a quilt that’s over two chairs? When he says, “Look, Gran. I’m really smart,” after he stacks blocks sorted by color and size?

I’m thankful Jesse is becoming independent and I’m cherishing his ‘littleness.’ One day his greeting will be a wave and he’ll tie his own shoes.

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Filed under: Grandchildren | 1 Comment »

Do You Have Any Pet Peeves?

Posted on March 23, 2019 by susanrray

“What gets under your skin?” Jim Herrin asked in a recent Sunday editorial and I immediately thought of a time during my teaching days.

“My daughter thinks you don’t like her. Ann (not her real name) says you always frown at her and she has to sit in the back row,” said a mother who had requested a parent-teacher conference. I had great respect for this mother, a fellow teacher. I chose my words carefully.

“I’m sorry Ann feels this way and I like her, but not a couple of things she does. Does she sit on her knees and sway from side to side while seated at home? She does here in the classroom and she sits in the back so other students won’t be distracted with her in front of them,” I explained. Her mother said that her daughter’s swaying bothered her at the dinner table. “But what really grades on my nerves is a constant repetitive sound. Like a pencil tapping on a desk. I’m not sure Ann is aware when she does it, like I didn’t know I frown when I look at her.”

Ann’s mom said, “Oh, that’s my pet peeve, too, and my high school students know it so they sometimes make sounds just to annoy me.” For the next few minutes, we two teachers shared our pet peeves, the little things that made us cringe. Thankfully, this conference ended well with a plan to help Ann understand that I liked her.

Other sounds annoy me. Like some people talking. Over the weekend, I watched the Tennessee men’s basketball team play in the SEC tournament and I’m sure I frowned when Dick Vitale, the game announcer, got on a roll. His hyper-pitched and overly-excited voice, non-stop screaming, and repeating the same words annoy me. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Unbelievable! Look at him! Nobody jumps like that! He’s above everyone with that rebound! That’s why he gets more than 10 rebounds a game! Oh, baby!” he screamed.

Another time Vitale screamed, “He hit the floor to get the ball! Hit the floor! Did you see him hit the floor?” In my head I screamed, “I heard you the first time!” Yes, I know I can mute the sound and I’ve done that more than once, but I like hearing the crowd, the explanation of fouls, and everything except Vitale when he’s excessively exuberant and screams.

While discussing pet peeves with Husband, we agreed that rudeness is high on our lists. I’m annoyed when someone is rude to a restaurant waiter or store clerk or anyone whose job it is to serve the public. I worked as a salesperson in a women’s clothing store, and that experience taught me to stand in the shoes of the person on the other side of the counter.

I can’t end without admitting why I rarely chew gum. The sound of popping gum must be a pet peeve to some people. Why else would they frown and move away while I chomp on a stick of Spearmint?

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Friend for 40 Years

Posted on March 14, 2019 by susanrray

Do you remember when and where you met your really good friend? The one who laughs with you during good times and cries during bad times.

September, 1977. Husband and I had moved back to Cookeville, back to his hometown and my college town after living in Nashville for seven years. I didn’t want to go to the Newscomers Meeting that night. Cookeville wasn’t really new, but my college friends weren’t here. We had two toddlers so I spent my days changing diapers and wiping up spilled milk.

Husband knew many Cookeville people. I didn’t. “You should go,” he said. “It’ll be a night out and you’ll meet people.” I did need a night out. But with strangers?

I heard laughter and chatter as I walked through the church hallway. In a large room, about thirty women had gathered in small clusters. Not one familiar face. I found a seat on the back row.

The Newcomers chairman said loudly, “Welcome to Newcomers! We’ll start as we always do. Everyone will stand and introduce yourself. If it’s your first meeting, tell us when and why you moved here? Tell all about yourself, your hobbies, and if you have a family, about them.” Oh, no. I didn’t know I’d have to stand and talk.

A gray-headed woman said she’d researched Cookeville and decided to retire here. Obviously, she’d practiced her introduction. What would I say? Words jumbled in my brain. Another lady, with a welcoming smile, stood.

“I’m Rita Craighead. We moved here about two months ago. Cookeville is my husband’s, Bob’s, hometown.” That got my attention – just like us. In a confident, soothing voice she said, “We moved here with no job and no place to live.” Really? So had we.

“We lived with Bob’s mother for a while and have just moved into a house,” Rita said. “We have one daughter, Andrea, who is ten.” There’s a difference.

“Anything else?” Ms. Chairman asked.

“Well, I like to play cards and read and cook and my husband encouraged me to come tonight to make new friends.” Same as me, I thought.

Quickly others stood and rattled off their names. As I stood, every woman turned backwards in her chair and looked at me. “I’m Susan Ray. And everything Rita said, that’s me. Except Allen and I have two young children, ages 2 ½ and 1.”

Rita and I hugged for the first time at the end of the meeting. Our families became friends. We shared meals, sometimes pizza right out of the box; sometimes beef tenderloin on finest china. Andrea, their daughter, babysat our children. For more than 30 years, I often stopped by Rita’s house for a cup of coffee and visited at her kitchen table. After Bob’s death in 2009, Rita moved to Murfreesboro to be close to her daughter and her brother. I was sad.

Last week, during Rita’s funeral service the minister said to keep memories of Rita in our minds and hearts and souls. I’m so very thankful for Rita’s friendship and for that first hug and many, many more.

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Celebrate Reading

Posted on March 7, 2019 by susanrray

To exercise your brain and keep it healthy, read. Just like you are doing now.

            This past Saturday, March 2, was National Read Across America Day, which has been celebrated on Dr. Seuss’s birthday since 1998. This day, created by the National Education Association, is intended for children and youth in every United States community to celebrate reading. Let’s stretch that celebration of reading through all of March for everyone, from children to adults.

Reading twenty minutes a day is the time that numerous research studies have proven makes a difference in a child’s learning. Generally, the more time we are exposed to something and the more time spent practicing it, the better we’ll become at performing it. This is true for reading. Reading exercises and stretches the brain; it connects the present with previous learning. Reading aloud to a child develops listening skills and prepares young children for learning. The single greatest factor in a child’s ability to read is being read to, even as a newborn.

When’s the last time you read to a child? It’s a gift, for the child and you. Snuggling a little one in your lap while reading aloud is a bonding time. Quiet, uninterrupted time. Once after I finished a book with Annabel, when she was 4, she said, “Gran, will you show me that again?” Show me again. Those words told me she had comprehended the story and transformed it to pictures. Don’t think a teen-ager is too old to be read to. They’ll not sit on your lap, but they’ll listen. Even adults like to hear someone read aloud. Years ago my Tennessee Tech professor, Dr. Eleanor Ross taught a class entitled Teaching of Reading and my favorite part of the class was the last few minutes when Dr. Ross read a children’s book aloud.

My love for reading goes back to childhood when Mom or Dad sat beside my bed and read from a Bible story book and whatever book I was reading at the time. When I was a fourth and fifth grade student, I read every biography that was in our school library. Do I remember the details of those people’s lives? No, but I read for fun and followed the example of everyone in my family who read newspapers, magazines, and books.

As an educator, mother, and grandmother, I’m convinced that children who are read to and have opportunities to read aloud and silently have a high probability of being successful students, and therefore, successful in their work. Research shows a strong correlation between a child’s ability to read and academic performance. You’ve probably heard that students first learn to read and then read to learn. It’s true.

We would all do well to follow the suggested 20 minutes daily reading habit. A well-known quote by Dr. Seuss sums up the importance of reading. “The more you read, the more you will know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.” Let’s share our reading, our learning, the places we go with someone else.

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Microcars and a Yellow Volkswagen

Posted on March 2, 2019 by susanrray

Beth opened the car door and said to my Grand, “Would you like to sit in this car?” Elaine’s eyes opened wide and my Grand shook her head rejecting Beth’s offer. “Well, it’s just your size,” Beth encouraged Elaine.

The 1957 BMW Isetta at the Cookeville History Museum is the perfect size for my seven-year-old Grand, but Elaine declined the invitation from Beth Thompson, the museum’s manager, to sit in a tiny car. Maybe because I’d just read aloud the sign that stated ‘Please do not touch the cars,’ and maybe because Elaine was startled that a front hood was also the door. Neither she nor I expected a car hood door or to be invited to touch a car.

The six displayed microcars, a part of the Lane Motor Museum collection in Nashville, don’t look large enough for adults. They seem like cars for my young Grands to ride in for fun, but they are real cars for adults and five on display can be driven. We rarely see small cars; they were built for European streets that are much more narrow than our Cookeville streets.

Seeing these small cars makes me think of a yellow Volkswagen, owned by my high school friend in the mid-1960s. Marietta was always willing to take us girls to ballgames, the skating rink, and the movie. But one spring day, when we were seniors, my friends and I planned an outing for the middle of a school day.

We left from the school parking lot after our second class and planned to return to school at lunchtime. Four girls squeezed in the back seat and I sat beside Marietta who immediately announced that the gas tank indicator showed empty. The service station attendant didn’t look surprised when we handed him two quarters and asked for fifty cents worth of gas.

And we shouldn’t have been surprised that he called Pickett County High School and reported that girls, who should have been in school, had just been at his service station. He probably named us. We traveled about five miles to the blue bridge near Sunset Dock, got out of the car, took pictures of ourselves that showed the car and the bridge, and went back to school.

The principal met us in the parking lot and watched as we climbed out of Marietta’s VW. His smile didn’t match his angry words. We were in trouble and each had to report to the teachers whose classes we’d missed and we had to write a letter to our parents explaining why we missed class. Those letters were to be signed by our parents and returned to school the next day.

When you see the microcars at the History Museum, located at 40 E. Broad Street, look for my favorite, William Cyclo. I’m partial to little yellow cars, and I’m thankful Marietta’s VW was bigger than this one. Also look for the car that that can be pedaled and has a gas engine and guess which car Elvis owned. These cars will be displayed until March 23.

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Cole’s Country Store

Posted on February 21, 2019 by susanrray

“What’ll you have?” asked the server who stood beside me. I looked at the lunch menu that was hand written on a large dry erase board.

“Maybe everything. It all sounds good,” I said.

“You can. Some people eat one plate full here and take another one home,” said Tish who not only serves the food, she’s also the cook and cashier. “Save room for cherry cobbler and ice cream.”

Everything on the menu was good country cooking. Chicken casserole. Meatloaf. Green beans. Pinto beans. Mac and cheese. Fried apples. Cooked cabbage. Stewed potatoes. Fried corn. Slaw. And cornbread baked in a black skillet.

This was my second lunch outing to Cole’s County Store. I’d recommended Cole’s, located here in Putnam County, to my college roommate and her two Davidson County teacher friends because it’s like going home to mom’s and grandma’s kitchens. And that welcome is exactly what owner, Marcia Cole Huffman, intends.

But why did she buy a rundown, century-old building that had been boarded and empty for years and is located on Highway 70 west of Baxter, miles from other retail businesses? And why open a meat-and-three restaurant?

Marcia’s close friends and sisters discouraged her. They advised her to not consider buying the store when it was advertised for auction, but Marcia could not let her great-grandfather’s store go to someone outside the family. “I was obsessed,” Marcia admitted.

Marcia, who lives in Georgia and recently retired from working in a systems engineering office explained, “Dr. Phylander Sylvester Cole, my great-grandfather, established the store. It has been his doctor’s office, a post office, a place for marriages by a family justice of the peace, a bus stop, a polling place, a source for hunting and fishing license, gas and coal oil, a general store, a gas station, and a community gathering place! One friend put it this way, ‘What kind of financial decision is it to buy a rundown store in the middle of nowhere?’ Of course, it was not a financial decision – it was a HEART decision. Both sides of my family were born and lived in this beautiful area. I’ve been to all continents except the cold one, and the best place to be is in Putnam County, Tennessee.”

Marcia thought she’d update the building to be a country residence and a place for family gatherings, but when community members saw work being done on the abandoned store, they assumed it was going to reopen. Marcia said, “The whole thing spiraled!” Tish wanted to open a “meat-and-3” and she talked with Marcia. Neighbors, family, and friends helped Marcia and Tish equip the kitchen and provided store furnishings from the mid-1900s when the store was in its heyday.

Heart and opportunity. That’s why Marcia bought the old Cole’s Store and opened a restaurant. It’s worth a drive down highway 70; just don’t be in a hurry. You’ll want to sit and talk a spell, like I did. The meatloaf, mac and cheese, green beans, and coleslaw tasted like home.

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More Heart Tugs

Posted on February 14, 2019 by susanrray

Valentine’s Day. A time to show love. I promised myself to be mindful of Heart Tugs, to remember and appreciate loving moments.

I sat in my reading chair with paper and pen and read a short devotion early one morning while the house was quiet. Soon three young Grands and Son and Daughter 2 (aka Daughter-in-Law,) who were visiting for a few days, would awaken and be ready for juice, coffee, and breakfast. I closed my eyes and then heard a patter of footsteps. Five-year-old Neil stuck his head around the living room corner wall. I motioned for him to come to me.

My Grand, wearing only his ‘unders’ as he calls his underwear, ran across the room and snuggled onto my lap. He laid his head against my chest and wrapped his arms around himself. I covered him with a knitted afghan and in hushed voices we talked and agreed that we’d slept well and we weren’t hungry and we liked being the first ones awake. “Gran, tell me last night’s Purple Cow story,” Neil said.  I repeated, with Neil’s help, the one I’d made-up as I sat beside him on his bed the night before.

“I have a story,” said Neil and he spun a tale. A big black bear wandered away from home. He fell into a creek. He climbed out of the water and walked up a bank. “How do you like my made-up story?” he asked. I loved it, but most I loved those few minutes with my Grand, just the two of us together.

All our Grands and their parents gathered around Husband’s and my dining room table for brunch. Eight children, ages 3-13, and six adults. Last to fill my plate from the buffet served meal, I thought ‘this is as good as life gets.’ A cliché, but my thought. Jesse, who was seated, said, “Gran, come sit by me.” My four-year old Grand reached his hand toward mine. While holding his wiggling fingers as we all recited our family prayer, life got a little better.

Sometimes Heart Tugs happen when not holding hands or hugging or even touching the person who makes the heartstrings tighten. I posted a picture of an empty plastic popcorn bottle on Facebook and asked if anyone knew where I could buy it. “I bought it locally, but I don’t remember where. After looking at several stores (I listed five), I can’t find it,” I wrote. Friends’ comments gave suggestions of other brands and online links to order my favorite popcorn. Daughter 2 sent a text that read, “Tomorrow a box will be delivered on your porch. Enjoy. Love you!” From miles and miles across country, Daughter 2 sent a hug, masked as popcorn.

After Husband returned home from running errands, a box of chocolate covered cherries appeared on our kitchen counter. For no reason, except he knows what I like: surprises, chocolate, and cherries.

Heart Tugs. I’m catching all I can.

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Filed under: Heart Tugs | Tagged: , , | 2 Comments »

Micah Spends the Night

Posted on February 9, 2019 by susanrray

“Is it my turn to spend the night?” Micah, age four, asked as I arrived at his family’s house. He’s the youngest of five Grands who take turns weekly spending the night with Husband and me. Micah wrapped his arms around my knees and looked up, “Gran, can I go home with you and stay tonight?”

His turn would be the next week. We counted the days. Seven. The next day Micah asked, “Is it my turn tonight?” When you’re four years old, seven days is an eternity.

On the morning of Micah’s overnight visit, Daughter sent a text, “Thought you’d want to know that Micah packed his bag before breakfast to go to your house. It’s beside the back door.”

That afternoon when I picked up Micah, he jumped down his back porch steps and said, “Let’s go!” His bulging black backpack was strapped over his shoulders. He carried a Lightning McQueen stuffed red car and a stuffed monkey and declined my offer to carry anything for him.

“Micah,” his mom called from the back door, “did you pack pajamas?” He did. “Underwear?” Yes. “Clothes for tomorrow?” Yes. “How about a good-bye hug?” Micah, already buckled by a seat belt in my van, held out his arms toward her and she came to him.

At our house, Micah dumped his backpack and “stuffies” beside the twin bed that he’s claimed as his and headed to the playroom. His mother’s and uncle’s plastic Fisher Price playhouse and garage are favorites. My Grand lay on his stomach and parked small cars on the top level of the garage and turned a handle to rotate the cars.

These toys entertained for a while, then Micah asked, “Can I play on the iPad?” A racecar game is his favorite and he shouted as his red car passed others, “Vroom! Faster! I won!”

After supper, Micah asked, “Can I take a play bath?” I agreed and said he could wash too, but he explained, “It’s just a play bath. No washing.” By the time my Grand decided he was finished playing, the bath water was cold, and all his body had been under soapy water he’d created by scrubbing rubber ducks so his play bath turned into a soaking clean bath.

Micah threw many books onto his bed and climbed on it. “Sit here, Gran. Let’s read,” he said and he scooted to one side. We agreed on three books and I read them as we sat together.

My Grand clutched his sleeping friends, monkey and Lightening McQueen, and snuggled under the covers. We named good things that had happened that day and said goodnight prayers. “Will you scratch my back?” Micah asked.

Fifteen minutes later, I stopped moving my fingers across his back, and Micah half-opened one eye just to let me know he wasn’t asleep. Soon he was.

If I hadn’t spent nights alone with my grandmother, I might not understand Micah’s eagerness to stay with Husband and me when we don’t do anything special. But I did and I do.

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Filed under: Grandchildren | Tagged: | 1 Comment »

What’s in a Nickname?

Posted on February 9, 2019 by susanrray

When I read an obituary last November, I did a double take. Mrs. Mary-Peanut Juanella Gray’s funeral service would be November 26 in Livingston. I read the obits daily. Do I know the deceased or a relative?  But this time, it was the name that caught my attention. Was Mary-Peanut her given name or was Peanut a nickname?

I called my cousin who lives in Livingston and asked if she knew Mary Gray who recently passed away. She didn’t. I said that in the obituary she was Mary-Peanut. “Oh, Peanut! That’s how everybody knows her. No one would know she died if Peanut wasn’t in her obituary,” Carolyn said, but she didn’t know why Mary was called Peanut.

I thought of many people I know by nicknames and wondered how those names came to be. Husband and I have friends from our college days. Jim was called Worm, probably because he was tall and thin and when he danced his body moved in slow, curving motions. Ace was always at the top of his game, whether dealing cards or making a deal. Skidrow isn’t sure how he earned his name, but it stuck and was shortened to Skids.

Janet’s big brother thought since his nickname was Frog his sister should be called Tadpole, shortened to Tad. As a child, Janet begged her brother not to call her Tad, but he did and eventually, so did their parents and other family members. Even after fifty years, Janet hasn’t shed the nickname.

Henrietta and Marietta where adopted when they were just a few weeks old. Their parents laid them in a white wicker bassinet and their father said, “Look, we have a little blondie and a little blackie.” Blondie’s hair was golden and Blackie’s was midnight. These names have followed them throughout their lives, except when Blondie and her husband moved to another state, she began to introduce herself as Henrietta so only childhood and college friends call her the name her father gave her. Blackie married Brownie, and very few people know either by their names on their birth certificates.

Larry Maddux remembers when he was a college student and first called Mad-eye. He and his friend, Mike Powers nicknamed Tootie, joined a group of guys for a friendly card game. A friend welcomed them and said, “There’s old Toot-eye.” Another chimed in, “And old Mad-eye.” That one time, when Larry was spontaneously called Mad-eye, gave him a name he’s carried into retirement.

Tootie is a common nickname for both men and women, and it seems to be an affectionate name. Charlene Parrott signs her name Tootie on everything except legal documents, but she doesn’t know how she acquired this name. Growing up in Byrdstown I knew several Tooties: Tootie Cross, Tootie Keisling, Tootie Storie.

Most often, nicknames are given good-naturedly, with kindness, and to people liked and loved. Psychologists say a nickname allows an emotional connection, usually a positive one. So to all known by a nickname, cherish it. Embrace it.

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Wishing for a Snow Day

Posted on January 24, 2019 by susanrray

“If there’s no school tomorrow, the first day back we’ll have our spelling test,” I told my 6th grade students. I hoped the prediction of 4-6” of snow would come true and school would be closed on Friday.

“What if it’s Monday?” a student asked.

“We’ll have spelling test. But if the weatherman is right, we’ll get lots of snow and it’ll be really cold and we won’t have school until the middle of next week. Do a snow dance tonight,” I said and held up my crossed fingers.

“I’m wearing my pajamas backwards,” said one girl, suggesting that would be good luck and snow. “Me, too!” sang a chorus of many. As much as my students wished for a no-school snow day, I wished harder. Snow days were happy days for me, as a student and teacher.

When I was young, Dad was the principal of Pickett County High School so when schools closed, my family was home. Chores were put aside, except necessary tasks, such as feeding life stock and milking the cow and keeping a fire going in the coal-burning furnace. Mom, Dad, my older brother, and I were home, sometimes for several days.

Mom made a pot of vegetable soup and we played games. I was about 8 years old when I learned to play Pig, a card game that’s popular in Pickett County, and requires four players and partners. We switched partners after each game, and we’d declare a grand winner, never me, but I wasn’t given much slack.

We also played Hearts, a card game that doesn’t require partners and could be played with only three people so I’d play if two more would. And Mom and I played Scrabble on our cardboard playing board and made words using the small wooden blocks with letters. I was always ready for a game and dealt the cards for Solitaire when alone.

As a teacher, snow days meant sleeping late. I loved unplanned days off. Calm and restful days to make soup and bake cookies. Days to play games and catch up on home projects. Days with my own children to sled and build snowmen and drink hot chocolate and play games and read books. Days accumulated by teaching extra minutes every day to allow no-school days without adding days at the end of the school year.

On snow days, I stayed home. I reasoned if the roads were dangerous for school buses to be driven on, they were dangerous for me. Sometimes the only slick roads were county mountain roads with bridges and people questioned why schools were closed for just a skiff of snow, but I supported, and still support, those who make decisions for the safety of all school children.

Now, as a retired teacher, when I hear, “Putnam County schools are closed,” feelings of calm and relief and happiness wash over me. Maybe I’ll do a snow dance and wear my pajamas backwards. I need a snow day!

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