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Acknowledge, Regroup and Plan

Posted on December 27, 2023 by susanrray

Post-it notes with topic ideas litter the 2023 desk calendar where I’ve written column titles on the Wednesday spaces.  A manila folder labeled Where We Are Topics bulges with scraps of paper. Hastily written notes and people’s contact information and newspaper clippings and printed programs and more.

            There’s a folder on my computer labeled Possible Columns.  Seems there’s always something to write about.  Since I write only one column a week, I have time to think through what seems pertinent for readers and what’s happening now.  And sometimes, a topic nags until it’s written. 

             Months ago, I wrote “Last Column?” on a post-it note. That idea wouldn’t go away, even after I threw the note in the trash.  It’s time to write it.  So, this is my last weekly Where We Are column. 

            Like book authors who write acknowledgements, I’m thankful to many people.  First, to you readers – especially those who have told me your stories that relate to mine.  I’ve appreciated all topic suggestions – especially those from one older friend who often said, “You haven’t written about your Grands lately.”  You grandparents know I could’ve written about my Grands every week.

            One person gave me the confidence to ask for pay.  After reading one of my writings, my friend, (later fellow columnist) Jennie Ivey said, “Go talk to Buddy at the newspaper about a regular column! You should get paid for your writing.”  Without her encouragement, I’d never picked up the phone and made an appointment with Buddy Pearson, former Herald-Citizen editor.  Jennie, thank you for your encouragement that day and many times since.

            I was surprised when Buddy offered a dollar amount and then said, “How about Wednesdays?” I’d thought maybe a monthly column.  We comprised and two columns a month were published until six months later when I agreed to every week. 

To all the past and current newspaper staff members, thank you.  From that first column, published May 19, 2020, you’ve given me freedom to choose topics and never once refused a Monday morning submission.

            Each week’s column is edited by my in-house editor. Husband Allen catches every typo, incorrect subject-verb agreement, extra space – anything and everything.  Thank you.  And thank you for accepting the title Husband and letting me write about you.

            I appreciate Daughter Alicia and Son Eric who have let me write about their children.  And to you eight Grands, someday you might find, and read, the more than 700 printed columns that are saved in plastic sleeves and stored in three-ring notebooks.  Thank you, Children and Grands, for providing the very best writing fodder.

            Sometimes I’ve been asked why my column is titled Where We Are. Almost twenty years ago, while visiting my aunt and uncle, I said that I was sad for them, both in their 80’s, because three of their friends had passed away during one week.  Aunt Doris smiled and said, “It’s okay.  It’s where we are in life.”   

            I hold Aunt Doris’s words as a mantra. It’s where we are in life that determines what we do and accepting each life stage with its blessings, its trials, its activities make each day okay.  

            Recently I discovered a poem my dad, Taskel Rich, wrote in the 1980’s, shortly after he retired as Byrdstown, Tennessee postmaster.  Maybe it was his words that confirmed that I should dig that post-it note out of the trash and write this column.

Night falls swiftly

And the day is over

The day that had dragged its feet

And seemed to hover with darkness.

Today can never be yesterday

And allow us to change decisions,

Correct errors or make up lost times.

Neither, today cannot be tomorrow

And allow changes in actions

That will guarantee success.

We must regard today

As the most important one.

A time to assess our successes

And failures of yesterday

And a time to regroup and plan

To make tomorrow the best

And most successful day of our life.

            I’m not finished writing.  I’ll continue to post writings and recipes and stories and whatever comes to mind on my blog page and social media, but not on a regular schedule.  (I won’t throw away all those possible topics and notes.)

Find future writings at  https://susanrray.com/ and https://www.facebook.com/susan.ray.357.  And most past columns on my blog page.

I’m grateful to every reader and every person who has contributed to Where We Are.  And I intend to make tomorrow the best and most successful day of life.

Filed under: Everyday Life, FIRST | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a comment »

Thankful for People We Meet

Posted on November 10, 2021 by susanrray

Mrs. Culp was stern. Her rare, halfway smile was a forced quick grin, as if she thought she should smile.  She spoke in a coarse whisper, which I learned from a friend was the only way she could talk.  She had lost her natural voice years earlier.  She was short and held her chin high; her hair was fixed and sprayed stiff.

            Every week when I took my young children to the Putnam County Public Library, Mrs. Culp was there.  I sometimes wondered if she’d ban us from the library for being too rowdy, too noisy.  When she took our returned books and stamped books we’d chosen to check out, she hardly looked at me and never at Son and Daughter. 

            Then thirty years later, I stood holding a metal bar and lifted my right knee which had been replaced two weeks earlier, and a short, gray-headed woman was guided to the bar directly opposite me.  She looked familiar.  How did I know her?  She struggled to do the exercise the physical therapist had explained, and after a few minutes the therapist told her to stand still and relax.

            The woman looked up at me and in a coarse whisper said, “I remember you.  You brought your children to the library every week.”  I immediately knew that the stern librarian and I were clutching the same metal bar, our fingers almost touched.  I nodded and smiled. 

            Did Mrs. Culp remember when my children hollered for me to get a book off the top shelf?  And the many times we dropped books?

            “You had a girl and a boy and they were always well behaved,” she said.  I thanked her and told her that every time before going in the library we had a use-your-best-manners talk.  “And you brought them every week.  They never ran around or were noisy.  What at they doing now?”

            Was Mrs. Culp, who hardly responded to my greeting when I piled books on the library counter, really interested in my adult children?  I explained that both Daughter and Son were married and had children and I told her about their work.

            “I’d expect they’d grow up and do well,” Mrs. Culp said.  “They were good children.”  I took a deep breath. My children had passed Mrs. Culp’s standards.

            I asked why she was doing physical therapy, and she smiled.  A real smile.  She’d fallen and broken a bone; I don’t remember if it was a hip or leg.  “I really miss the library and seeing people,” Mrs. Culp said. We talked about the feeling of calm by being surrounded by books and people who read.

            Every time I went to physical therapy I looked for Mrs. Culp, but she wasn’t there.  Those few minutes when we stood with toes and fingers almost touching stays with me. 

            Mrs. Culp was a stern librarian who did her job well and remembered my children.  Maybe, like some of us, she mellowed with age. I’m thankful I saw her genuine smile and knew her kind heart.

Filed under: Thanksgiving | Tagged: , | Leave a comment »

Thankful for Cousins

Posted on November 24, 2016 by susanrray

screen-shot-2016-11-24-at-8-10-09-amI’m thankful for cousins. Especially my only two first cousins, Mike and Alan. They’re on my emergency call list. You know, that list of three people to call when you need help and they come immediately without asking why and what. They simply ask where.

And I’m thankful for my cousins’ wives who married into a family with strong traditions and they adjusted their family plans around the Bertram traditions. These women have willingly (at least I’ve never heard them complain) taken their turn hosting our family gatherings at noon on Thanksgiving Day. A tradition started by three sisters, my cousins’ mothers and Mom, in the 1940s.

Tomorrow we’ll eat the same foods our mothers prepared years ago. Including cornbread dressing shaped in balls and asparagus casserole with cream of mushroom soup.

I’m thankful for another cousin I’ve recently gotten to know. I’ve always known about Francis, a generation younger than me. Knew when he was born, followed his educational journey, his career success, and knew he lived in Cookeville. A few weeks ago, I had reason to know him personally and hug this cousin.

During the time that our home of 32 years was on the market to sale, I prayed for someone to buy it that would love it. Appreciate the effort we put into building it. Love the trees and yard. Several lookers walked through. Finally, we got the call of an offer and after two more phone calls, we agreed on a price. Then Husband asked who the buyer was.

I called the realtor to be sure of the name.   He confirmed Francis by name and occupation. Francis and his wife had walked through once and made an offer shortly thereafter. “Francis is my cousin,” I said.

Why would anyone make the decision to buy a house after a fifteen-minute walk through? Francis told me, “I’ve always liked your house. When I was a little kid, Mom and I rode bikes past it and she told me, ‘Your cousin lives there.’ She told me how we’re related and about you.”

Francis’s great-grandmother and my grandfather were siblings. His grandmother and my mother, first cousins, were born a few months apart, were everyday playmates as kids and good friends as adults. So that makes Francis and me fourth or fifth cousins or some would say, distant cousins. But in small town South distant cousins, that you like, are cousins with no numbers.

And I’m thankful for Francis’s wife. As I took a seat across from here at a bank conference table to close the house sale, she leaned toward me, put her hands forward, and held my hand. She said, “You must be sad leaving your home. We’ll take good care of it and love it. And bring your grandchildren to play in the creek and snow sled. Our girls would love to meet your grandchildren.”

Thanksgiving. A time to be thankful for cousins and their wives and answered prayers.

Filed under: Family, Thanksgiving | Tagged: , | Leave a comment »