Susan Writes

It’s All About the Service

Posted on February 25, 2016 by susanrray

The sign posted on the van windshield stated, “My job depends on my positive attitude, great service, and the customer’s satisfaction.” The driver had greeted each of us 16 passengers with a nod, a smile, and “Good morning.” He loaded our suitcases in the back of the van and then invited us to find a seat.

Before he started the van he announced, “The ride to the airport will be about an hour. Please tell me if you’re too warm or cold so I can adjust the temperature, and you can adjust the air vents above you. Sit back, enjoy the scenery, and we’ll travel safely.” And that’s what happened. As we travelled, that sign grabbed my thoughts. I sometimes long for the days of full service, especially when shopping for clothes.

About fifteen years ago, I bought a blouse because of great service. I’d found a pair of pants that looked long enough to fit my six-foot tall frame on a sale rack. “I think they’ll be short, but try them,” the sales clerk said. She was right. “So do you only want black pants or are you open to other colors?” Any color, just long enough.

While I sat in the dressing room, she chose pants and brought them to me. Some I tried on. “No. Long enough, but too big in the waist.” “Too tight.” I appreciated honesty. But, the jeans were perfect. “Are you interested a Foxcroft blouse? We just got new ones and they run long.” I wasn’t shopping for a blouse and didn’t know the brand Foxcroft, but I was willing to try.

That button-up-the-front, shirttail blouse is still a go-to. Almost every time I wear it, someone compliments the bright blue color and asks where I got it. I know the salesclerk worked on commission, but she was upbeat and friendly and carried a closetful of clothes to my dressing room.

About three years ago, I shopped for a dress to wear to the Fur Ball in a branch of the same store and the customer service was as expected. After choosing five dresses, I was guided to a dressing room. “Looks like you’re going to Cinderella’s Ball.” The salesclerk hung each dress on a separate hook. “Which is your favorite? Try it first.” I reached for a long black scoop neck dress and salesclerk said, “I can help you with zippers and such or get out of your way.” I welcomed help. None of those dresses fit. So the clerk brought others and when I didn’t choose one, she remained positive and friendly. I worked in a dress shop years ago– in the days when the customer was always right – and I know great customer service takes determination and effort.

Haven’t we all chosen a restaurant based on service? A run-of-the-mill cheeseburger tastes better when it’s served with a smile and a tea glass is refilled without asking. And if I’m told, ‘have a good day,’ when I’m handed a takeout order through a window, I smile.

Nowadays, it seems that self-service is the norm. I pump gas and clean my van windshield with the service station’s squeegee, and when buying only a gallon of milk, I use self-service checkout. But I truly appreciate good customer service.

So I shop where the employees show positive attitudes and provide great service. Then, just like the driver’s sign said, I’m a happy customer.

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Filed under: Everyday Life, Money | Tagged: customer service, service, shopping | 1 Comment »

Just What I Wanted

Posted on February 18, 2016 by susanrray

No chocolate or roses for me for Valentine’s Day. Instead, Husband and I took a day trip. Up Monterey mountain, across Grassy Cove, through Grandview and Dayton. On to Birchwood to the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge – a place on my wintertime bucket list for a few years.

Since right after Christmas, I’d moved a post-it note that read “See Sandhill Cranes” from week to week on my calendar. Busyness and snow got in the way. Finally, I suggested that last Friday was the day. “Good idea! How about it can be your Valentine gift?” Husband said. I agreed. In the early 1990s, Eastern Sandhill Cranes began wintering where the Hiwassee and Tennessee Rivers converge. The days to see them this year were growing short.

As we followed a diesel-powered log-hauling truck for twenty miles on a two-lane curvy road, I wondered if we were making this 180-mile round trip to see the wetlands where the cranes had been, but had deserted. Maybe there would be a few birds.

One car was parked near a wooden platform at the end of a gravel road. Husband and I donned our hooded coats and gloves. Please let there be birds. We carried binoculars and walked toward the viewing area. I heard static croaks before seeing cranes, and not only were there birds, but also a volunteer guide.

Charles Murray, a retired high school science teacher, stood beside his spotting scope mounted on a tripod. He grinned, nodded, and inquired if we’d seen the cranes before. “First time. Been on my bucket list for a while,” I said as I watched cranes feed on grass in a field. “I’m glad they’re still here.”

“You picked a good day. More here today than yesterday.” Charles would know because he came everyday – just to see the numbers (cranes) and spot other birds. Eagles and ducks and pelicans.

About 50 cranes stood along the river shoreline. Many others glided on the smooth water and more stood on the far shore. Using my binoculars, I marveled at the size of those closest in the grassy field. And looking through Charles’s scope, the cranes’ bright orange eyes looked dime size, and they seemed close enough to touch.

Charles has watched and studied birds for years. I learned that the bright red spot on top of a white crane’s head is skin, not feathers. Cranes stand three to four feet tall and weigh about ten pounds. They mate for life. “People can’t tell which is the male or female. They look alike to us, but obviously the birds can tell the difference,” Charles said and then chuckled. Cranes are omnivorous, eating grain in the field and critters along the shoreline. They aren’t good fishermen and were probably enticed to stop in Tennessee, instead of wintering in Florida, when they spotted the Hiwassee’s mud flats.

At one time, this area was home to many fowl species, but the cranes have crowded them out. Using his scope, Charles found ruddy ducks and mallards. As I looked, three cranes flew toward me. I ducked, but they were high above my head. “You were scope bombed,” Charles said and laughed. “You know, like photo bombed.”

It was time for Charles to mosey on because his cats at home needed attention. Husband and I headed back to our car. I’d seen the Sandhill Cranes.

And come March when I hear the loud croaks and trumpet calls in the sky above my house, I’ll marvel at the beauty of the migrating cranes and I’ll think of my Valentine present. Just what I wanted.

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Filed under: Animals | Tagged: cranes, sandhill crane, Valentine's Day gift | 3 Comments »

It’s Just for Whipped Cream

Posted on February 11, 2016 by susanrray

My most favorite newest kitchen gadget is fun and it makes delicious whipped cream. When I watched a friend pour heavy cream into a canister and seconds later squirt fresh whipped cream on strawberry shortcake, I was hooked. “Your Grands will love it!” Kathy said. “I can’t believe you don’t have one of these.”

So I put whipped cream dispenser at the top of my birthday wish list last summer. “What’s that?” Husband asked. “It’s just for whipped cream?”

“Lots of really delicious whipped cream and it keeps in the refrigerator for almost two weeks and our Grands and I will love it. They can squirt their own.” I tried to justify the cost.

“Whipped cream tonight!” I said, when I ripped open the package. I had bought a pint of heavy cream in anticipation of serving it with birthday cake. But that wasn’t to be. I’d neglected to notice that chargers were needed. Chargers filled with N2O, nitrous oxide, and sold specifically as whipped cream propellant.

I eagerly waited for the delivery of chargers and the day they arrived I was as giddy as a kid with a new puppy. That night I poured cream in the metal canister, added a little powdered sugar and vanilla, and Husband dispensed the N2O charger. Following the manual’s directions, he shook the canister exactly six times and then, as a test, I pressed the nozzle toward the kitchen sink.

Whipped cream splattered the sink. Husband’s turn. More splatters. On the next page of the manual, the directions for operation were specific. “The whipper must be held “headfirst” (with the decorator tip facing vertically downwards!) and the lever must be operated gently.” It worked! Holding the canister vertical, not at a 45-degree angle, I sprayed whipped cream into a big serving spoon and licked it clean.

We’ve eaten whipped cream on brownies, ice cream, banana pudding, cake. All desserts are better with real cream. A little cream makes my morning coffee perfect. And the Grands do like my new gadget. A lot.

Last week, our five in-town Grands ate lunch with Husband and me, and after lunch Lou, age 6, asked, “Can we have a treat?”

“Well, we still have some ice cream cake,” Husband said.

“With whipped cream?” David, age 10, asked.

“Sure.”

“Can I do my own?” eight-year-old Lou asked.

Husband nodded and put slices of the frozen cake on plates. He shook the whipped cream canister and helped Lou hold it straight down. David stood close waiting his turn to squirt cream.

And as Lou told her mother later, “I squirted the whipped cream and there was a giant whipped cream explosion and it went everywhere.” Yes, a whipped cream explosion.

I was at the kitchen table with my back turned, helping the younger Grands put away their lunch plates. I heard a loud swoosh and Lou scream, “Oooohhhh!” Husband, Lou, and David were covered with white blobs. Face, hair, clothes. The floor, the stove, kitchen counters – everything within a few feet was splattered.

The shocked looks on Lou’s, David’s and Husband’s faces quickly changed to surprise chuckles and then to hysterical laughter. What a mess! And what laughing!

“I don’t know where to start,” Husband said. David and Lou licked whipped cream off their arms. Eventually, the mess was cleaned up and the Grands ate their ice cream cake, sans whipped cream.

Like I said, the gadget is fun and makes yummy real whipped cream. But when it’s almost empty, watch out.

Filed under: Food, Grandchildren | Tagged: explosion, gadget, whipped cream | 3 Comments »

Tools that Make Life Easier

Posted on February 8, 2016 by susanrray

Screen Shot 2016-02-08 at 3.35.10 PM “Gran, why is this fat pencil in here?” Elsie, my eight-year-old Grand, held a thick yellow pencil from my kitchen desk pencil and pen jar.

“I like it,” I said.

Elsie opened her eyes wide. “Really? This is for little kids.”

“And for grown-ups whose fingers don’t work as well as they once did. I’ll use it. You can choose another.” She picked a number two pencil that had a rubber gripper near the sharpened point and she shoved that gripper close to the eraser. I made my grocery list; she worked on her math schoolwork.

Fat pencils and fat pens – my choice for writing. Fat ballpoint pens with rubber grips fit my hand best and when they’re given as marketing products, I always ask for more than one. I want tools that make life easier.

I used to struggle opening bottles or jars. Wrapped the lid in a dishtowel or put on my rubber gloves. Tried to break the vacuum seal. Ran hot water over the lid. But now I just pull out my handy-dandy bottle opener that looks like a giant Y. No matter how big or small, the jar top fits between the V-shape on the opener and its teeth grasp the lid. I give a twist, and voila – the jar lid loosens. Pampered Chef advertises this product as great gifts for grandma. True.

A funny looking knife is another tool I’ve added to my kitchen. Jo Ann, my college roommate, held the strangest knife. The blade and handle were positioned at an angle – almost a right angle. She grasped the fat handle with all four fingers meeting her thumb and easily sliced a cucumber. A description of such as knife reads, “Keeps the wrist in a neutral position. Ergonomic handle provides a firm grip in either hand. Designed especially for people with weak hands or wrists, but is comfortable for all users.” Weak hands? I’m not sure about that but I know my odd looking knife surely makes cutting and carving easier.

Anyone else have trouble opening a medicine bottle? The last one I tried to open labeled with instructions to push down and turn, I cussed. The push down, I got. The turn, I didn’t. Sick with a sinus infection and running a fever, I couldn’t get a little pink pill out of the bottle. I pushed with one hand and tried to turn with the other. I pried the top with an old-fashioned bottle opener, forcing the small triangle end under the lid. It didn’t budge. I tried to turn with a pair of pliers. I couldn’t push down, hold the bottle and pliers all at the same time – I needed another hand. About the time I considered smashing the plastic bottle with a hammer, Husband came home from work and pushed and turned.

When I shared my frustration with my pharmacist, he nodded. “We can fix that. I’ll make a note to not put child resistant lids on all your bottles. Just keep them out of reach of children.” So now, I get those easy flip off lids and medicine bottles are stored on high shelves.

Fat pens and pencils. Funny looking knives. Flip top pill lids. I’m thankful for tools that work well with stiff fingers, lazy grips, and wrists that don’t bend as they once did.

But my newest favorite kitchen gadget I can use easily and both the Grands and I think it’s fun. Tune in next week.

Filed under: Everyday Life | Tagged: fat pencil, funny looking knife, jar opener, medicine bottle, stiff fingers | 3 Comments »

Snow Days

Posted on January 27, 2016 by susanrray

The snow came down and the text messages flew. Daughter and two of her friends planned a sledding party. So right after lunch, nine children and their parents hit our backyard. Most suited out in snow pants and boots. Waterproof gloves and coats. Some with snow ski glasses and face warmers. The dads unloaded wooden sleds with metal runners and big round plastic discs. Quite different from the days when I was a kid.

On a snowy days, the Mochow family would call. “Come on down. We’ll meet you at the top of the hill.” And they meant down. Their house was at the end of a curvy road leading to Star Point Dock, which the Mochows owned, near Byrdstown.

I bundled in the warmest, most water-resistant garb Mom could put together. Flannel pajamas and two pairs of pants. A sweatshirt and heavy coat and a knitted hat. Two pairs of gloves or mittens – neither water proof. To keep my feet dry, I stuck each foot in a bread bag. A thin plastic bag that held a store bought loaf of bread the day before. Then two pairs of knee socks and whatever boots or shoes I could stuff my feet into. Maybe Dad’s oldest barn boots.

Mom, Dad, my brother, and I piled into the car and Dad carefully drove to the top of Star Point hill where Ted Mochow met us and two other families. Ted drove a 4-wheel drive jeep and only the three mothers, who carried food for a pitch-in meal, rode in it. We five kids and our daddies rode on a long sled tied to the back of the jeep.

What a fun ride! A long homemade wooden sled made for pulling, not for sledding. Was it safe? Probably not. Somehow the rope was tied with a loop and in case of an emergency the person riding in front of the sled could unhitch the sled.

Dad usually sat in the front and I hunkered right behind him. We sat like bobsledders – our legs straddling the person in front of us. My brother, the oldest boy, got the last seat. Around curves, up and down hills for more than a mile we rode and then we walked up a steep hill to the Mochow’s home.

A perfect hill for sledding. No store bought sleds for us, but instead old metal cookie sheets and pieces of cardboard. The cardboard went faster and we could bend it to form custom made sleds. Snow angels, snowmen, snowballs, snow cream. All part of our snow fun.

Just like the snow fun in my backyard last Friday. The six-year-olds fashioned snow angels. Kids sled double with their mamas and daddies. The four-year-old ate handfuls of snow. One husband stood behind a tree and pelted his wife with snowballs. Several snowmen were begun – none finished. The deep snow finally packed down so that even the youngest, lightest weight child sled down the hill quickly.

And then they all came inside and stripped down. Fifteen sets of gloves and boots. Snow bibs. Hats. And layers of clothes. I loved that the closest-to-skin layer the youngest kids wore was their pajamas.

And when kids took off their boots and wet socks, I thought they should’ve worn bread bags. Their feet would’ve stayed dry. Not warm, but dry.

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Filed under: Winter | Tagged: bread bags, Grandchildren, sled, Snow | Leave a comment »

Stranded in the Everglades

Posted on January 21, 2016 by susanrray

“It’s not a big problem. It’s okay. The starter just went out,” said Johnny, the tour guide. Because the airboat’s starter went out, the tour boat I was on was stranded in the Everglades National Park on a cool January morning.

Johnny picked up his two-way radio. “I’ll call the office. They’ll send another boat to get you and bring a starter so I can fix this one. It’s a five-minute repair.” The other three paying passengers and I assured Johnny that we weren’t on tight schedules and in no hurry to get back to dock.

“Johnny to headquarters,” Johnny repeated over and over into his radio. We heard conversations between other employees, but obviously no one heard Johnny. Using my cell phone, I snapped pictures of the mangrove trees. “Looks like my radio is out, too, and my phone is charging at the office. Can I use yours?” our tour guide asked.

Johnny punched numbers. No answer. “Ah, gees. They aren’t answering. This is the employees’ line – not the public one. I bet they see your number and think it’s a wrong number. I don’t know any other numbers. I’ll keep trying. Surely, they’ll answer. ”

We passengers chuckled. “So do you have paddles?” I asked. Johnny shook his head. “How far are we from the office dock?” About three miles by water.

Finally, on the fifth call, someone answered. “They’re sending a new starter,” Johnny said. “I’ll switch it out and take you back.”

Johnny had guided the airboat slowly through the Everglades canals, and later he explained why he sped up and did a couple of 360s in pond-size water. “When I went faster, one of you gave a thumbs up and nobody grabbed the seat bars. When it’s too cold for wildlife, going fast makes this tour more interesting.” The airboat swerved quickly through narrow canals shaded by mangrove canopies, until we came into open water and Johnny turned off the motor.

“This is called the Honey Hole,” Johnny had said. “It’s a good place to stop and talk about the Everglades. You’re in the middle of a mangrove forest. Mangroves lose their leaves a few at a time. Those yellow leaves are called sacrificial leaves. You can see the bottom here – it’s only about six inches deep – the water is clear because not many leaves fall in the middle of the pond.” Acid from decomposed leaves turns the water dark.

Sacrificial mangrove leaves drop and decay in the swamp to provide food for insects that are part of the food chain leading to alligators. The leaves are thick and waxy, like those of mountain laurels in the Smokey Mountains, and only about two inches long and the branches are thin and crooked, like a huge shrub. Native Americans called a mangrove a walking tree. Like curved legs, the tangled roots, some above water, anchor the trees in the swampy peat soil.

Stranded in the Everglades when the sun is shining and the temperature is 60 – a great way to spend an hour on a winter morning. No mosquitoes or alligators. Too cold for both. No danger of drowning. Silence in the middle of a mangrove swamp. The smell of unspoiled nature and the rich aroma of peat. One lone white ibis egret flew overhead. A fish, probably a gar, splashed.

Johnny was right. He changed out the starter and drove back to dock. Speeding and swerving all the way. And, if anyone needs it, I have the employees’ number for Captain Jack’s Airboats in Everglade City, Florida.

Filed under: Nature, Travel | Tagged: airboat, Everglades, Florida, starter, stranded | Leave a comment »

Lines and More Lines

Posted on January 16, 2016 by susanrray

This week, Tennessee Tech students return to campus and most have completed registration. According to the TTU website, students meet with their advisor, receive an advisement sheet, and complete registration online. Not so in 1965.

To continue Tennessee Tech’s Centennial celebration, my friends and I reminisced about our college registration days. We, too, met with advisors and determined our class schedule. Then we collected admission cards – computer cards with tiny rectangular shaped holes – for each class.

The thirty-five students (I really don’t know the exact number) who secured a card were admitted to the class, assuming we kept that card and presented it on the first day of class. So I determined which class time and teacher I most wanted. I stood in line hoping there would be a card for me. Yes! My first choice history teacher and a MWF class. On to the chemistry building.

The only organic chemistry lab open conflicted with my history class and I had to take the chemistry class. I hiked back in the history department and hoped to get in another class taught by Mrs. Delozier. I stood in line clutching my history card, a valuable card. Students behind me in line knew the card I was for closed classed and if I could have sold that card, I could’ve bought a good looking Villager sweater.

We students hiked from building to building and collected cards. Changing schedules. Swapping cards. Standing in lines. My friend Alicia wrote, “I clearly remember standing around the quad for three days waiting to get into a building to pull a card for a class.” She hoped someone would return a card for the class she wanted.

Memorial Gym was registration central. Students huddled in seats trying to determine their next choice, their next line to stand in. June remembers, “We went back to the gym. Back to the buildings. Lines everywhere. We usually only got about half of the classes and at the times we wanted and everyone tried to avoid Saturday classes.” Saturday classes! I hated that the only history class available taught by Mrs. Delozier met at 8:00-9:00, TTS.

When I finally secured cards for all of my classes, I headed back to Memorial Gym where tables were set up on the gym floor and Tech employees waited to collect fees. Registration fees. Housing fees. Meal tickets. Lines and more lines.

And it always rained on registration day! Always. As I write this, a painting hangs behind me. It’s entitled Sudden Rain, a painting by Joan Derryberry, first lady of Tennessee Tech from 1940-1974. The painting depicts a typical registration day. Students, in a long line, carry brightly colored umbrellas and walk toward Derryberry Hall.

Registration was also a time to meet other students. When my friend Blondie saw a high school classmate at the front of a line, she casually meandered beside her friend. T. D. stood behind Blondie’s friend and he began the conversation by saying that cutting line wasn’t fair. That night T. D. recognized Blondie at the freshmen mixer and invited her to dance. Blondie and T. D. dated during their college days and married after graduation. This year they’ll celebrate their 47^th anniversary.

Registration, 1965. Long lines. Time to talk. Person-to-person contact. It wasn’t all bad. Even on rainy days.

Filed under: Tennessee Tech University | Tagged: 1965, Registration, Tennessee Tech University | Leave a comment »

If Wishes Came True

Posted on January 7, 2016 by susanrray

I wish…..I saw a poster on Facebook that stated, “I wish there were more hours in a day and everyone was nice and bread didn’t make you fat.” Immediately, I hit the like button. Who wouldn’t like eating all the bread you wanted, especially hot-from-the-oven sour dough bread slathered with butter, and then have your nice friends compliment you on the thirty pounds you gained?

I asked Facebook friends what they would wish for. The replies ranged from serious to silly. Personal to worldwide. Heart wrenching to heart lifting.

I wish I could remember all my passwords. I wish healthy food tasted as good as dessert. That I could always be as happy as I am when I look into the face of a child. I wish we would talk more and communicate electronically less. (Ironically, we were communicating electronically.)

Grandmothers wished blessings on children. That all people would see children as miracles and love them accordingly. I wish my baby granddaughter who is in Monroe Carroll Hospital at Vanderbilt could come home soon! I wish every child could be loved, nurtured and accepted for who they are.

Several wished for peace on earth. And probably peace is what two friends had in mind: I wish for a world without guns. I wish everyone knew Christ and didn’t just know about Him.

Teacher friends spoke out. I wish that teachers were paid (and appreciated) as much as doctors, lawyers, and professional athletes. I wish my college students would learn that the answers for everything they ask are in the SYLLABUS.

From parents of teenagers: I wish we had the wisdom, that has life taught us, when we were 17. I wish my kids, ages 12 and 17, wouldn’t insist on learning things the hard way. I wish they’d realize that parents share advice to try to make their lives a little easier.

Wishes covered everyone. I wish each of us valued the other person as much as we value ourselves. I wish we could find a cure for cancer and other terminal illnesses. That everyone looked for the good in others and no one would ever go to bed hungry. Days with lots of laughter.

Many thought of family. I wish for more time with my dad and favorite aunt and uncle. People are here for a time and then they are gone too soon. Memories live on, but oh, just for a little more time. I wish for one day with my mom and dad so they could know my children. I wish I could spend a week in the mountains or at the beach with my siblings. I wish that families still lived close and children knew their family members.

Young mothers wished for their grandparents. I wish my mother and grandparents were still alive. I wish I had Granny Ruby’s and Pa Lehman’s stories that they used to tell me written down or recorded! I wish I had all of my grandmother’s recipes.

Not one person wished for money or stuff. Maybe because those who responded are like me: we have the necessities of life. Food and clothes. Warm homes and running water.

My friends’ wishes remind me that time is my greatest commodity. My heart joins those who wish to be with grandparents and aunts and uncles and siblings. And those who recognize happiness in a child’s face and that children are miracles.

Which wish made me grin the biggest? I wish that all people could get their wishes. Me, too.

Filed under: Everyday Life, Inspirational | Tagged: I wish, wishes, wishes came true | Leave a comment »

2015 Year in Review

Posted on December 31, 2015 by susanrray

I’m a sucker for reading any list that is entitled 2015 Year in Review. A look back at the people and events and places that made the news during the past twelve months. And so, I created my own list.

Annie. My youngest Grand was born! I flew across the country to be with Son’s family for nine days. On the day Annie was born, her two older brothers and I stayed home when her parents went to the hospital. I met Annie and cradled her in my arms when she was only 18 hours old. My tears were happy tears.

Concussion. After I tripped, flipped, and hit my head on a baby grand piano, I sported two raccoon black eyes and an addled brain. I never, ever wanted a concussion and hope to never, ever have another. I don’t do dizzy well.

Gatlinburg with college girlfriends. Seven women who have kept each other’s secrets and knows each other’s faults and pick up past conversations as if we still lived together in Meadows Hall on Tennessee Tech’s campus.

The Blarney Stone. I stood on the sidewalk beside the Blarney Castle and threw a kiss. And I’m positive that I was gifted with eloquence as were those who patiently moseyed up the narrow stairwell to the top of castle, lay on their backs, held tightly to metal poles, tilted their head upside down, and kissed the stone. For two hours, I wandered through the gardens and stables surrounding this famous Ireland castle.

Cross-stitch quilt. Seven years ago, I pieced together thirty fabric blocks that my mother and Grandma Gladys had embroidered with tiny cross-stitches, and I began hand quilting that quilt. My very first quilting project. I completed two blocks each winter until January 2015 when I declared the quilt would be finished by September. So the quilt kit that Mom bought from Lee Ward’s catalog in 1966 was finally completed forty-nine years later. And because Daughter and my Grands quilted a few inches on the border, it’s named the Five-Generation Quilt. The most priceless thing I own.

Building the Heart of the City Playground. I’ve never been so happy to pick up trash and sweep water and count pieces of wood – all while enduring a steady rain. On a clear day, I painted handrails and served lunch and supper to the many volunteers. This community endeavor was truly one of Cookeville’s best.

Red tide and blue jellyfish. A beach trip began with red tide, a phenomenon caused by microorganisms that take on a reddish brown color in the water. The trip ended with blue jellyfish, Velvella, littering the beach. Beautiful creatures to look at, but not to touch. God’s creations amaze me.

Reunions. Because Husband’s Tennessee Tech fraternity celebrated a 50-year milestone, friends from near and far came for Tech’s homecoming. We marveled how quickly the years have passed and we toasted long-lasting friendships.

Tea Party. If you’ve never been to a tea party with little girls, you’ve missed a giggling good time. While baking Christmas cookies with her older sister and me, six-year-old Ruth asked, “Gran, can we have a tea party?” Older sister frowned and shook her head so Ruth invited three of her friends. She set the kitchen table with my best kid-friendly Christmas plates and arranged cookies on a Christmas tree platter. Even the three dolls who sat at our table seemed to giggle.

Now it’s your turn. Think through the year and jot down some notes. The people, the events, the places. Who and what made news in your life in 2015?

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Filed under: Celebrate, Everyday Life | Tagged: 2015, year in review | 1 Comment »

Christmas Moments

Posted on December 24, 2015 by susanrray

Eight Grands. Five, age 4 and under. Four adults, the Grands’ parents. We had a full house for three and a half days last week when Son brought his family across country to celebrate Christmas and Daughter’s family came from across town. As I reflect, those days were filled with moments to hold close. Some moments when a camera wasn’t close or couldn’t be captured in a picture.

Eight-month-old Annie lay on the floor when her four-year-old cousin, Elaine, first saw her. Elaine ran and stretched out on her tummy, just like Annie, with her nose inches from Annie’s. Both giggled and squealed, kicked their feet, waved their arms. Then Elaine gave her little cousin a nose-to-nose kiss.

Neil, age 2 ½, sat in the small rocking chair that was his dad’s and hummed to the Cabbage Patch doll he held tightly. Four-year-old Grands, Elaine and Dean, lay side-by-side playing with the Fisher Price playhouse and garage, toys that their parents once played with. These cousins parked cars and lined up the little people and disagreed about who had what first.

While playing in the bathtub, Neil named the three rubber ducks: baby, big brother, momma and hid them under washcloths. Dean held the biggest one, ten inches tall, and said, “This is biggest rubber ducky ever!” (The duck someone left on my front porch a few months ago. Thank you, whoever you are.)

More food crossed our kitchen counter than Husband and I eat in a month. Young to old voices recited the prayer I learned as a child: “God bless us and bless this food.” Every minute preparing and cleaning up messes was rewarded by Neil’s comment after one bite of sweet potato fries: “YUM! This is really good!” And the Grands declared Husband’s ice cream sandwich cake the best dessert.

Gift opening time. Such chaos. Such smiles. Seven Grands sat on the floor. Baby Annie in her mother’s lap. Son and Son-in-law good naturally wore flashing Rudolph noses, treasures from their stockings; their wives donned oversized plastic gold glasses. Lou, age 8, hugged her Little House on the Prairie books and said, “Thank you! I’m so happy to have all of these! Now I can turn down page corners and a bookmark won’t fall out because these are my very own books.”

Ten-year-old David said, “Oh, look! What a surprise.” after he ripped paper from the Lego set that he had chosen months ago and told me, “This one, Gran.” Ruth, age 6, passed her turn to open a gift and explained, “I know what’s in the big box. I want to open it last.” When she did, she hugged Samantha, her first American Girl doll. Amid the ripped paper, ribbons, and open boxes, 18-month-old Micah, his arms stretched wide, ran to me. “Gen!” he said. He snuggled in my arms.

I almost let the biscuits burn while standing at the kitchen window and watching Son and his nephew, my 10-year old Grand, play basketball. Surely, it wasn’t almost thirty years ago that Son was 10 and shot balls through that same goal.

Then came the morning when Son and Daughter-in-Law packed to fly home. Husband and I walked with their sons to our backyard creek. Dean threw rocks in the water, and said, in a pitiful voice that only a toddler can master, “Gran, I sure wish my cousins would come play with me.”

Even my young Grand knows the best Christmas joy is people, not his new matchbox car garage that I thought was the perfect gift.

Merry Christmas from Husband and me to each of you!

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