3 weeks ago
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Happy Birthday William
Hey Lovey! Happy Birthday! It's a really pretty day - sun's shining for you. I'll be thinking of you - I always do. Justin and Quentin are doing so good. I know you're proud of them. Justin transfered from West Virginia to Bloomsburg. Charles has your guitar - it sounds great! Beautiful, rich tone. Thank you Bebe! I know you're near when he plays it - and I know you enjoy it, even if you are a bit jealous! You two are like two peas in a pod. I wish you could have know him in this life. I just can't believe you're gone. You seem so close sometimes. I forget sometimes. Is that bad? Is it wrong of me? When we went back home to see Mom & Dad & Co. I kept thinking, "Where is William living now? I can't wait to see him!". I'd wonder what you're doing now. Then I'd remember. I'm sorry I didn't get to visit with you longer. It was so cold that day. The snow was so deep. We're going back up in March, before we leave for Missouri, so I'll get to stay with you a little longer. I hope! Who knows the way this weather has been! I know you're not really there though. I feel your spirit flying now. But that's where we can leave rememberances. I know you're blessing Caiden Edward. Such a sweet baby! Mother thinks he'll be starting college next week. She is nuts over that child. We'll never, any of us, stop loving you. We'll always remember you. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I try to accept that I wasn't meant to save you. And I hate it. I'll hear a song on the radio and be pissed because you'll never get to hear it. Remember "Little Willie," by the Sweet? I found it again, and have been listening to it. Richard said the song was about you. I cried the first time I listened. I'm finally being able to smile and laugh a little when I listen now. I miss you.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Momma Jane
I've been itching to write for a few days now. Of course, when I have something specifically I want to write about, it always comes to me at the most inopportune times. So with Charles taking a nap I've decided to just sit down and see what come out.
I've been thinking about my great grandmother quite a bit lately. Thinking that I should write down things I remember, that it needs to be somewhere, that it needs to be told. She taught me a lot, some things I'm sure didn't even intend to teach me, and I'm also sure most of the things she taught me were kind of snuck in there. Lula Jane Meyers Redd - Momma Jane. Born April 1893, Died February 1975. She was part Cherokee. She had (when I knew her) long, white hair that she kept up in an impossibly small bun. When she took her hair out of the bun, as she used to, to let we great grandchildren brush her hair, it was amazing how much of it there was! Thick, 3 feet long, and absolutely white. Not a hint of yellow, or grey. White. She was such a tiny woman. Little all her life, she got even smaller as she got older. They tell a story about a time she was alone in her house and the house caught fire. There were no neighbors nearby, and the house, being older, was going to go quick. Momma Jane had a big, old truck where she stored mementos, and some of her nicer things. She wanted that trunk. By the time people had seen the smoke and were showing up to see what it was, Momma Jane was out of the house, across the road, sitting on that trunk - that still had all of her most precious things inside - watching her home burn to the ground. Later it took 4 men to lift the trunk and put it in the back of a wagon to take it away.
Momma Jane had two things with her at all times: (after she quit smoking that is) her Bible and her Witchy Board. She consulted each of them equally. She was called Witch and Godly woman. She was both. She was neither. She had been maiden, mother, crone. She told me things I didn't want to know, but fascinated me. She told me I was one of "hers," and I would know these things too. She taught me the old ways. To embrace what I am, to not doubt myself, to know the things I saw were real, and though not everyone might see them, they could if they tried. She taught me to see, to listen, to think. She taught me to crochet. I have all of these things to this day.
My Aunt Debbie had a Pekinese that Ma Jane loved. Momma Jane would sweep Happy's belly and the dog would love it. When her grandchildren and great grandchildren made too much noise, or did something she didn't approve of, she made this wonderful noise: Hant! We knew to stop immediately - if we didn't we might get swatted with the broom, or her cane.
Momma Jane lived with my grandparents, she'd lived there as long as I'd known her. They lived together in such a way I didn't know until I was a teenager if she was Momma Helen, or Daddy Redd's mother. She was always just Momma Jane to me - no last name required.
Her's was the first death I really remember. Dad was in the barn. I can't remember where Teresa and William were. I can't remember if I answered the phone of if Mom did. But I know I talked on the phone to Uncle Tommy in South Carolina and he told me to go to the barn and get Dad. I knew something was really, bad wrong, but I didn't know what. Dad came up and took the phone. The next thing I remember is my Momma screaming and crying. I still didn't understand why. I think about it now and realize Mom must have known someone was dead, but not whom. It must have been so hard waiting for someone to tell her who it was. Mom took it so very hard. I believe it was, not just that she loved her grandmother, of course, but that she was so very far away from her. Mom never really got to say good-bye. Mother was very nervous then - they offered her a plane ticket to come to the funeral, but Mom couldn't bring herself to get on a plane. There was no way (I guess) Mom and Dad could leave the farm and drive from Pennsylvania to South Carolina. I remember not understanding, at the time, why Mom was so upset. They told me Momma Jane had died, but Momma Jane had told me death is just another place. She would always be around, just as those who had gone before her were still around. I saw Momma Jane a couple times after she passed and there were a few times I didn't see her, but knew she was there. Eventually Mom saw her too. There are still days I feel Ma Jane. I know she's here now as I write. It's so very important we keep people alive. Everyone wants to be remembered.
I've been thinking about my great grandmother quite a bit lately. Thinking that I should write down things I remember, that it needs to be somewhere, that it needs to be told. She taught me a lot, some things I'm sure didn't even intend to teach me, and I'm also sure most of the things she taught me were kind of snuck in there. Lula Jane Meyers Redd - Momma Jane. Born April 1893, Died February 1975. She was part Cherokee. She had (when I knew her) long, white hair that she kept up in an impossibly small bun. When she took her hair out of the bun, as she used to, to let we great grandchildren brush her hair, it was amazing how much of it there was! Thick, 3 feet long, and absolutely white. Not a hint of yellow, or grey. White. She was such a tiny woman. Little all her life, she got even smaller as she got older. They tell a story about a time she was alone in her house and the house caught fire. There were no neighbors nearby, and the house, being older, was going to go quick. Momma Jane had a big, old truck where she stored mementos, and some of her nicer things. She wanted that trunk. By the time people had seen the smoke and were showing up to see what it was, Momma Jane was out of the house, across the road, sitting on that trunk - that still had all of her most precious things inside - watching her home burn to the ground. Later it took 4 men to lift the trunk and put it in the back of a wagon to take it away.
Momma Jane had two things with her at all times: (after she quit smoking that is) her Bible and her Witchy Board. She consulted each of them equally. She was called Witch and Godly woman. She was both. She was neither. She had been maiden, mother, crone. She told me things I didn't want to know, but fascinated me. She told me I was one of "hers," and I would know these things too. She taught me the old ways. To embrace what I am, to not doubt myself, to know the things I saw were real, and though not everyone might see them, they could if they tried. She taught me to see, to listen, to think. She taught me to crochet. I have all of these things to this day.
My Aunt Debbie had a Pekinese that Ma Jane loved. Momma Jane would sweep Happy's belly and the dog would love it. When her grandchildren and great grandchildren made too much noise, or did something she didn't approve of, she made this wonderful noise: Hant! We knew to stop immediately - if we didn't we might get swatted with the broom, or her cane.
Momma Jane lived with my grandparents, she'd lived there as long as I'd known her. They lived together in such a way I didn't know until I was a teenager if she was Momma Helen, or Daddy Redd's mother. She was always just Momma Jane to me - no last name required.
Her's was the first death I really remember. Dad was in the barn. I can't remember where Teresa and William were. I can't remember if I answered the phone of if Mom did. But I know I talked on the phone to Uncle Tommy in South Carolina and he told me to go to the barn and get Dad. I knew something was really, bad wrong, but I didn't know what. Dad came up and took the phone. The next thing I remember is my Momma screaming and crying. I still didn't understand why. I think about it now and realize Mom must have known someone was dead, but not whom. It must have been so hard waiting for someone to tell her who it was. Mom took it so very hard. I believe it was, not just that she loved her grandmother, of course, but that she was so very far away from her. Mom never really got to say good-bye. Mother was very nervous then - they offered her a plane ticket to come to the funeral, but Mom couldn't bring herself to get on a plane. There was no way (I guess) Mom and Dad could leave the farm and drive from Pennsylvania to South Carolina. I remember not understanding, at the time, why Mom was so upset. They told me Momma Jane had died, but Momma Jane had told me death is just another place. She would always be around, just as those who had gone before her were still around. I saw Momma Jane a couple times after she passed and there were a few times I didn't see her, but knew she was there. Eventually Mom saw her too. There are still days I feel Ma Jane. I know she's here now as I write. It's so very important we keep people alive. Everyone wants to be remembered.
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