Rest in Peace

My sister called me this morning to tell me that my father's younger sister passed away during the night. She was only 63, not much older than myself. My extended family members are scattered and because my grandparents are gone and because of life's circumstances, or whatever reason, it's hard to get people together, unless there is a wedding or a funeral. And that is where I usually run into a cousin or aunt that I haven't seen in years. It's sad, but true.
Now there will be another funeral to go to.

 You hear about people having a hard life. That was my aunt. Like many poor, Southern girls of her era, Aunt B. got married at 15. She had her first child at 16 and another one at 18. There was another one, too, in between, another boy, that died soon after birth. I remembered the day they buried that little baby, in a little country cemetary, up on a hill. It was raining and we children had to wait in the car while the grown-ups huddled under the umbrellas. And my aunt, only a girl herself, sobbed for the loss of her child.

Rest in peace, Aunt B.

Country Roads

It is chilly this April morning. I put on my pink fleece robe to go out and get the paper. It is a bright, beautiful, sunshiny morning.
Chilly mornings remind me of childhood visits to my grandparents' house in Tennessee. .
There was no central heat and air in their little house in the country. Grandma would get up early and rekindle the fire in the fireplace. We quickly got dressed in the morning and turned our backs to the fire to absorb the heat. Like many rural families they still had an outhouse. It was no picnic walking to the outhouse on a cold or rainy day.
Still, there was something so basic and so simple about those long ago days. I can remember Grandma kneading biscuit dough for breakfast and smell the strong coffee percolating on the stove. Grandpa would be puttering around outside, perhaps working under the hood of the car, or going fishing at the pond which was within walking distance. I went fishing with my parents, once, when a thunderstorm dropped out of the sky. I cut my leg on a barb wire fence trying to make it home through the storm.
The little house had a good view with fields and meadows in every direction. We played on the front porch and could see the storm clouds forming in the distance or the sun set in the evening. After a long, hard day of playing we fell asleep listening to the grown-ups talk in the front room, stepping gingerly across creaky floorboards.

My Home's in Alabama

I've lived in Alabama for over twenty-five years. I was not born in the South, but I am a Southerner by the grace of God. I believe that every state and every region has something to be proud of...and together we can celebrate each other's gifts. That's what makes us the "United States."

But Alabama has always suffered in the way it has been represented in the media. We're always at the bottom of some list, and jokingly say, "Thank God for Mississippi!" It was pointed out to me recently, though, that Alabama was upgraded on a new list. It is now No.#1 for tornadoes.

There is one thing that is often overlooked about Alabama and the South. We have had some great talent come from the red clay dirt and cotton fields that dot this landscape, from the hills and hollows, and even from the Gulf Coast. I bet there are some people who don't realize that Alabama actually has beaches. But Alabama has produced some literary giants, like Harper Lee, who wrote "To Kill a Mockingbird" and Truman Capote, her childhood friend from Monroeville. Helen Keller was from Tuscumbia. Former Secretary of State, Condoleeza Rice, is from Birmingham. Fannie Flagg, another Birmingham native, gave us "Fried Green Tomatoes" and Winston Groom wrote "Forrest Gump." Somehow, the creative juices that were born in this southern state are ingrained in our minds. Who can forget Scout and Atticus, from "To Kill a Mockingbird?" Who will ever forget "Life is like a box of chocolates" from "Forrest Gump?" What woman hasn't jumped off of her sofa in her bathrobe, cheering Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes" in the parking lot scene at Walmart? And who has not seen "The Miracle Worker" and knows the story of Helen Keller by heart?

 Everyone knows that Hank Williams was born in Montgomery, Alabama. His music needs no introduction, but I love his song, "I Saw the Light". My absolute favorite gospel song is " I Shall Not Walk Alone" by the Blind Boys of Alabama. The group, Alabama, recorded a song, "Angels Among Us" that has always been one of my favorites. Taylor Hicks, an Alabama native, was the winner on American Idol a few years ago. Tammy Wynette was also from Alabama. And, of course, Lynyrd Skynyrd gave us "Sweet Home Alabama."

Yes, here in Alabama we might live across from a cotton field or live in a mansion on a hill. We like our sweet tea and we like our football rivalries. We are passionate about our faith and our politics and we cherish our liberties. The Old South is no more, but the New South has a lot of heart and a lot of soul. Just listen.

"A Southern Childhood" - a Poem

I have been inspired to write a poem beginning with "I am" by published author and blogger Sheryl Ann Crawford, here, who has written many children's books. She recently highlighted a beautiful poem written by Janet, from West Virginia. I wrote this one with thoughts of my Tennessee cousins in mind.

“I Am”

I am from poor dirt farmers

Working in the fields

With backs hunched over

Wiping the sweat from their brow

And I am from the blue collar workers

Who worked a 40-hour week

Never asking for a hand-out

Just wanting to make a living

I am a singer of Gospel songs

Saved in a little country church

With folks waving their funeral parlor fans

In a chorus of “Amens”

I am from playing outside after dusk

Swatting mosquitoes on a hot, summer's eve

Walking to the corner grocery store

For a cold bottle of Coca Cola

I am from rusty pick-up trucks

Fishing ponds and coon dogs,

Cotton fields and tire swings

Listening to the whistle of a train

I am from a Southern childhood

From biscuits made from scratch

Sweet tea, and wraparound porches

And Jesus as my Savior

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2010