i have not posted a great deal lately. Up until Tuesday, that was primarily due to compiling my poems written since i published A Pocket of Resistance: Selected Poems in 2014. That project was completed last week. Tuesday was the beginning of a superb version of up time that has produced another down time for writing.
Maureen and i flew to Austin and will fly home Saturday. There is not going to be very much writing going on. Grandson Samuel James Jewell Gander graduates from high school tomorrow. His two sets of grandparents, his aunt and our daughter Sarah, and, of course, his parents will attend the ceremony and celebrate Sam and the rest of us being together until we depart.
We have a wonderful young man who is growing up well on our hands. This fall, Sam will be attending the prestigious Savannah College for Art and Design with the goal of becoming an interior designer. It is a joy for me to see him focused on a career.
So, i am simply enjoying the moments experiencing Sam moving on the next phase of his life. Now, that’s up time big time.
This is pretty much a repeat from Mother’s Day last year with a few additions and modifications, but no less heartfelt:
Maureen’s rose bush
Maureen wanted a quiet Mother’s Day. We will likely go The Rose Wine Bar for an early dinner. It has been the site of many celebrations of ours.
Again, i am thinking of going outside to one of her rose bushes and getting two of her white roses, one for each of us to wear. It was a lovely tradition at the First Methodist Church in Lebanon, Tennessee when i was growing up, as well as elsewhere i’m sure. On Mother’s Day back then, everyone wore a rose to honor their mother, a red one for mothers who were still alive and a white one for mother’s who had crossed that rainbow bridge. It is a tradition i wish we still observed.
A rose for Mother’s Day
Thinking about it, in addition to my own Mother (capitalized because we always called her “Mother,” not “Mom”), i have had a number of mothers in my life. i wish to honor them by shutting up and posting some photos:
Mama Jewell: i was six years old when she passed away, but i can still remember her love. When in the first grade, i got in a fight with another first grader on my front lawn. Mama Jewell lived across the street and and saw the fight from her front window. She called my other grandmother who was keeping me while Mother was at work. She made sure Granny knew the other boy started the fight (i won).
Granny Prichard. She had five children, 13 grandchildren, and was the “house mother” for an untold number of boarding cadets at Castle Heights Junior School. She loved them all and cared for them all. She was the attending nurse that helped Dr. Charles Lowe deliver me. And there was a special bond between her and this great granddaughter. i think the thing that amazed me the most, among a thousand amazements she provided me, was in her mid-80’s at 4 foot-eight and 90 pounds shooting basketball with me at the goal daddy had added to the swing set he had built…i guess that is where my mother got her talent .
Aunt Bettye Kate with my cousins Butch and Tim
My Aunt Bettye Kate Hall. She never had children but she was a second mother to every child in our family. She is with her nephews, Bill and Tim Prichard, in Florida. She and her husband Snooks were a constant throughout my growing up. She would undertake any adventure. She loved to frog hunting with her husband, but she kept in touch with me, sending tons of letters that helped on many deployments.
And she was that way with all of her nieces, nephews, and children of her friends.
Blythe Jewell Gander. My daughter who is the best possible mother in the world for my grandson Sam. She (and Jason) have been great at parenting this young man who will be attending the Savannah College for Art and Design this fall. We will be going back to Austin in a couple of weeks to attend his high school graduation. To watch her be a mother while carving out a successful career at Dell Computers continues to have be bursting with pride
Kathie Lynch Jewell. The mother of Blythe whose love for Blythe, our grandson Sam, and son-in-law Jason was wonderful to see. There has never been a mother and grandmother who loved her daughter and grandson as much as Kathie did. She was a force of motherhood while nobly suffering through many medical problems before succumbing way, way too soon at 65. i made many decisions based on the knowledge she loved her daughter. Those decisions were right because of her love for Blythe and Sam. We all miss her. She was the force of motherhood.
Maureen Boggs Jewell. She has been unbelievable in her unconditional love for Blythe, Sarah, Jason, and Sam. i take joy in watching her being a mother to all of them. And as i grow older than dirt, she, in many ways has become a mother to me. She takes care of me and ensures all is right. When she talks to Sarah or Blythe, a light comes on that is unmistakably motherhood at its brightest. Same thing with Sam, Jason, and Aaron. And her love is unconditional.
Lord, i am a lucky man.
Estelle Jewell. She was an incredible woman even if it’s her eldest son describing her as such. i don’t think i’ve ever known a woman who worked as hard as she did. She was strict, demanding, and always loving. She was also one of my best friends. And there are not many people in this world who have a smile like that. As with all of those mentioned before, her motherhood went far beyond her own children and grandchildren. i included her husband here as the she and Jimmy Jewell were inseparable.
You know those white and red roses mean a lot today. Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there. You out there deserve so much because you have given so much to us.
Once upon a time in a land called Tennessee, a young man left to explore the world and the sea.
His name was Lucius Peabody.
Lucius left before everybody knew everything about everything, and claimed their version was the right one, long before the gifts of television and mass and instant communication made us think we knew everything about everywhere. So, he was essentially wandering into the unknown.
Lucius went to sea and saw damn near most of the world. He learned a lot and quickly forgot it except that the most wonderful place to live was in the Southwest corner of North America.
Before he settled there on one of his stops, he met a beautiful woman, Abigail Kilarney, who captivated him, and they devoted their lives to each other.
Lucius often traveled to his home of origin in hills of Tennessee. He vowed when he crossed that rainbow bridge, he would ask for his ashes to be buried beside his parents graves. Abigail vowed her remains would be next to Lucius.
As he grew older, Lucius traveled less back to those green hills and good folks of the country. He pined for that world of innocence and land of beauty.
An independent cuss of a mockingbird named Elmer somehow sensed Lucius’s yearning for his home. He decided he should give Lucius something to give him a reminder of back home in Tennessee. He collected some seeds of irises, Tennessee’s state flower, and take them to the Tennessean in the Southwest corner.
The flight of 2400 miles was arduous, especially for a bird who is not ordinarily migratory, but Elmer was determined and stubborn, and he was dedicated to his quest. He finally arrived in the Southwest corner and found Lucius’ home. Elmer was in bad shape having gone on such a demanding traverse of the continent. Even though he recognized he was reaching his final moments, he dropped the iris seeds he carried into the side yard of Lucius’ home.
The seeds landed in the middle of day lilies Abigail had planted in the side yard. They prospered and soon dominated the day lily greenery and blossomed.
Lucius woke one morning and began his morning routine by putting away the dishes on the dish rack. He looked outside his kitchen window and saw Tennessee irises in full bloom. He cried with joy.
Elmer heard Lucius shed his tears. He smiled with joy before his last breath. He felt good about completing his mission. It was even more comforting to him knowing no one, not even Lucius, would know it was him. Elmer closed his eyes in peace.
Morgan Stern was lonely; in the middle of his popularity, he found he could not talk to anyone, only listen.
Morgan Stern became tired of listening without being able to talk even though there were many folks who wanted to talk to him, not listen.
Morgan Stern left his big city, walking nowhere in particular, he walked long and far away into the mountains where he found he enjoyed listening.
Morgan Stern found a deserted cabin on the mountain and moved in; each morning, he could listen to the birds and trees and hills, even the mountain to which he listened.
Morgan Stern discovered he could talk to the mountain, the birds, trees, even the wildlife if he listened as well.
Morgan Stern in the evenings, listened to the mountain; he and the mountain talked in quiet tones, listening to each other.
Those who read these posts often should know i am into organizing and compressing photos and history. It is most probable it will never be complete. i like to claim the gigantic undertaking is for my grandson, daughters, nephews, and nieces. i’m not sure any of them will really be interested. i suspect all of this unfinished work will be tossed in a trash bin after i’m gone. That’s okay. i’m enjoying my rides through my family’s history.
But in these pages from albums of my mother and two aunts, loose formal photos, even a few tin types of relatives long past, most with some hand written identification from an ancient relative, i continue to find photographs here and there that have two things in common: the pictures are old and i do not know the folks in them.
The first one i came across about six years ago still haunts me. i thought my detective skills would lead me to names. As far as i know, there was only one family in our kin who had three daughters, and no sons. That would be the family of Uncle Jesse and Aunt Alice Jewell. Myrtle, Joanne, and Shirley were their daughters. Shirley was the youngest and baby sat me when i was around six and she was a teenager. The three were all beautiful in their own way and the two older sisters paid a lot of attention when Shirley took care of me in their home.
The front porch in the photograph looks like a farm house. Uncle Jesse definitely didn’t live on a farm when i knew him. They lived on Wilson Street (i think) in Lebanon, about two blocks east of the old high school football stadium.
Shirley was the fairest skinned of the three girls and her hair was lighter colored than Myrtle’s and Joanne’s. i thought i had the answer. i sent a copy of the picture to Joanne, the only surviving sister via her daughter Jamie in North Carolina. Jamie’s message back told me Joanne said that was definitely not a picture of her and her sisters.
Who are they? i find the photo even more enchantingly eerie. The bare feet on worn porch planks with the white laced dresses causes me to ponder if it was a Sunday, a special day in the family? If so, why are they barefoot? And i wonder. What did they grow up to be like? It appears they could have been beautiful as they grew.
Who are they?
Then, i found several more. i think that is all i will find. i have placed them all together in the front of the chronological albums i am organizing with the label “Unknown.”
There is one that is blurred and scratched from age. i guess it is also on a porch from the blanket backdrop and the floor wood. The boy looks as if he has a disability. The older girl looks pensive, the middle one quizzical. The infant in the foreground is blurred and seems mysterious to me.
Who are they? Once again, they are all in white. They are are in shoes unlike the photo of the three girls. The boots appear to make it an older photo but the older girl has on a wrist watch. The wrist watch was invented in 1810, but not worn by many folks, mostly nobles and rich, until the 1920s. So i wonder not only who are they but when was this taken.
Who are they?
Two infants are the subject of another two photos, old photos. They stare at me, seemingly wanting attention. Who are they? Where are they now? Are they still living? i yearn to know even though it is beyond unlikely i will ever find out who they are?
Finally, there is one that has me flummoxed: a goober. For the uninitiated, “goober” was the endearing derogatory nickname for boys who attended the Castle Heights Military Academy’s Junior School (grades 1-8). It also was a not so endearing derogatory nickname used for all cadets at the military prep school by the boys who attended the cross-town public high school.
The photo is undated, but the back has a stamped indicating it was taken in Jackson, Tennessee by Leeman Studios.
Who is this guy? Did his parents send him to Castle Heights because they thought it was the best education he could get or did he need more discipline than his parents could mete out? How did it end up in the photos of my relatives. Perhaps he was a friend of Maxwell Martin, my older cousin who went to Heights when he was in elementary school.
i do not know. It is only mine to ponder…and i will continue to ponder…until i look up from where i type this post on my laptop on the breakfast room table after devouring Maureen’s blueberry pancakes, bountiful fruit, and Tennessee Country Pride sausage, along with orange juice and coffee of course. While pondering, i see yet another hummingbird taking sips from the purple Mexican sage blooms outside the large breakfast room window. The butterfly reminds me old men shouldn’t ponder too long. i agree.
After all my brain hurts. It is time to for a good Sunday morning walk.
