My Southern Heart My Southern Heart -

Four sisters…

When I was born, my three sisters were 18, 15 and 11 years old. My parents were forty-one at the time. No doubt, I was their last hope for a son, but it was not to be. There would always be the four sisters. Even with the age difference, we have always been close.

My sister Gerry (above) married at the age of 18 when I was only two years old. At that time, her husband, Sonny, worked for the railroad in Mississippi. He tells the story that every Friday afternoon, Gerry had their suitcases packed and ready for the train trip to Memphis “to go see her baby sister”.

Valedictorian of her class and president of the statewide Mississippi 4-H, Gerry married and finished her senior year of high school in Mississippi after my parents sold the farm and moved to Memphis. She won a trip to Chicago through the 4-H and also a beautiful gold Elgin watch. Sonny had just given her a watch as a gift, and so she set the Elgin watch she had won aside for me…saving it as a gift for my 12th birthday. It’s engraved on the back with her name and the date she won it, and I will always treasure it.

After my oldest sister Dorothy (Dot) (below) lost her husband in a tragic ship explosion, she and my 4 month old niece Sharon made their home with us. With that little head of very dark hair and big beautiful blue eyes, Sharon was my baby sister.

Family was always so important to my sister Dot. Maybe it was the fact she was the oldest…maybe it was enduring tragedy at such a young age. Whatever the reason, she was the family historian…the family preserver. She was the eternal optimist…seeking out the hope in any situation. She remembered birthdays and anniversaries and celebrated each special event.

Dot did not remarry until Sharon was in high school, when she married Tom. Each year they would host Mama’s 4th of July birthday party. It was my sister Dot’s dream to compile our family history into a book. She and I had been working on completing the research for that book, when she was diagnosed with leukemia. She died before we were able to complete it. I want to finish that family history for my sister. We all still miss her terribly.

When I was born, my sister Eunice was eleven years old…the beautiful young girl in the photo below. She is quiet, soft-spoken and truly a gentle soul. I remember when we were living on Mamie Road, Eunice had a part-time job after school at a drug store which had a soda fountain. She used part of her earnings to buy me the cutest grey wool pleated skirt, yellow sweater and loafers.

Eunice has a quick smile and a ready laugh. Even though she worked as a secretary after graduation from high school, she loves creating a home. She enjoys decorating and excels at it…and like my other two sisters, she is a wonderful Southern cook. When we were living on Victor Drive she married Eddie. They lived in Memphis for a while before they bought a home in Mississippi.

My sisters and I have always had so much fun when we get together. There is always a lot of laughter…sharing…more laughter…eating…and more laughter still. From the time I was about thirteen, during every family get-together, we would have what we called the “sisters’ lineup”, the four of us girls. Looking back at them now, through all the years…those photos are priceless.

Scan of a polaroid snapshot. Summer of 1962, left to right: Dot (34), Gerry (31), Eunice (27), Dianne (16

Moving to Victor Drive…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections, The little house on Victor Drive

When I was about ten years old, my parents purchased a larger house about two miles away on Victor Drive. It wasn’t a large house by any stretch of the imagination, maybe twelve hundred square feet at the most. In my memory, it was a white cottage with green shutters. In addition to an extra bedroom, the house had a dining room which was paneled in warm knotty pine and had two built-in corner china cabinets. The sun filtered through the dining room windows and reflected against the pine, casting a warm glow on the large round antique dining table. That table was the scene for so many family meals and special times…(also the scene where Sharon and I would occasionally – well, okay, frequently – get sent from the table for uncontrollable giggling.)

I remember that we moved in the winter after my first semester of the fourth grade. Strange how certain pictures stick in your mind. Sixty years later and I can still remember Mama, my sisters, Sharon and I sitting in the sun coming in those dining room windows eating our lunch. The gas heat must not have been turned on yet because I remember we were cold. We must have been there to clean in preparation for moving or we had just moved in. The memories are fuzzy after all this time.

There was a large back yard with trees and plenty of room for Mama’s vegetable garden. Mama and Daddy planted apple, peach and pear trees for a small orchard as well. Mama was an incredible Southern cook, and with the bounty from those trees, she made the most delicious jams and preserves I have ever tasted to this day. Those pear preserves on one of her homemade biscuits was truly a legend.

Our move to a new home had meant changing neighborhoods, friends, schools and churches. Thankfully, this school was only .31 tenths of a mile (map quest again) and a much shorter walk to school. The fact that we moved half-way through the fourth grade made it especially difficult. As I recall, I wasn’t too happy at first, especially since the class was on a totally different subject in math – one I had not had. I had gone from being a straight A student, to having serious problems in math. One day, the teacher hit my hand very hard with a ruler because I didn’t know the answer to a math problem. Mama, who was barely five feet tall and very soft-spoken, had a few well-chosen, but totally appropriate, things to say to my teacher. After that, the teacher took a little extra time and patience, and my good grades returned. Honestly though, I never was fond of that particular teacher after that. Unfortunately, I had her again for two more subjects in junior high!

All too soon…

My Southern Heart, Reflections, The little house on Victor Drive

The seasons came and went on Mamie Road…and the years with them. My Dad had a good job at a manufacturing plant; but like everyone else in the fifties, there wasn’t a great deal of money. My mother was a wonderful cook and there was always plenty of good food on the table. She had a big vegetable garden in the Spring and Summer and canned the abundant produce for the months to follow. An excellent seamstress, she made almost all of our clothes, except for my Dad’s. As best I can remember the little jumper I’m wearing in the photo above left was a dark blue and green woolen plaid…amazing how far I’m having to reach to produce that memory.

The elementary school was .79 of a mile. I remembered that it was a long way for a small child to walk; but just in case I couldn’t trust my memory, I used mapquest and confirmed the actual distance. Rain, sleet, snow or shine…we walked. There were little galoshes and raincoats for the wet days…warm coats, hats and mittens for winter…but we still walked.

One particular afternoon after school, I walked in the WRONG direction and got in big trouble for it! I must have been…maybe 8 years old…just the size of the little girl in the photo. A little friend of mine invited me to go home with her after school. She lived over the bridge (which crossed the large Veterans Cemetery) and down Bayliss Avenue. Altogether, about a mile in the OTHER direction. The days were growing shorter by then and it was getting darker. About the time we arrived at her house, I remember having some serious second thoughts. I called my Mama to brightly tell her where I was and what I had done. FIFTY-FOUR years and I can still hear her words: “you’d better get home right now and you’re going to get it when you get here!” Sound familiar to anyone else?! It was almost dark by then, and, needless to say, I ran the whole way home. My grandparents, her parents, were visiting at the time, and she was particularly upset with me that I had done that with them there. I was rarely spanked, but I definitely got one that day.

The Wilson family lived in the house directly behind us. They were a young family with two daughters, Sandra and Katie, who were almost the exact same age as Sharon and me. Sharon and I were happy because now we had each other and two good friends. Mr. Wilson worked at a chemical company several miles away. From time to time, he would work the second shift, and when he did would give the four of us girls a ride to school. He was kind and gentle, and my child’s instinct told me he was a very good man. One afternoon, we heard a loud explosion which literally shook the ground. Mama turned the radio on to hear the news. There had been a terrible explosion at the chemical company. She said, “I hope Mr. Wilson is alright”; but he wasn’t. He died in that explosion. I was only a small child, but I remember being very sad…especially for Sandra and Katie.

Weekends during the fifties were much more relaxed than now. On Sundays after church and Sunday dinner, we’d go “visiting” OR someone would come visit us. There would be homemade pies or cakes, fresh hot coffee or iced tea for the adults and lemonade for the kids. In the Summertime, there would often be homemade ice cream…with the hand-turned crank. After a few hours, the news would have been exchanged…the memories relived…and we’d go home. Another Sunday afternoon destination was occasionally the Memorial Park Cemetery with its Crystal Shrine Grotto. It was a beautiful setting with a cave with amazing scenes carved out. Trees graced the entire setting and in the Autumn and Spring, it was breathtaking. The trees are magnificent now, much taller than in the photo above. Sadly, now though, it is also where my husband of thirty-nine years and the father of my three children is buried.

We are a composite of every experience we’ve ever had…every person who has significantly touched our lives…every decision we’ve ever made – each of us creating our own memories one day at the time. I’m reminded, once again, to enjoy each and every one of those days, because each one is over all too soon.

Summertime in Memphis 1950…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections, The little house on Victor Drive

If I could turn the clock back here, it would be Summertime in Memphis, 1950. We were living on Mamie Road…then a tree-lined road on the outskirts of Memphis with small homes, large yards with beautiful flowers and vegetable gardens, friendly neighbors and a haven of safety for small children who loved to play outdoors. If you’ve seen the Disney movie The Kid, you’ll remember the scene when Bruce Willis (who has the once-in-a-lifetime, and only in Hollywood, chance of meeting himself as a kid and sees what his life was like as a child – great movie by the way) is standing with his new young friend (himself as a child) beside the playground slide which used to terrify him. He says “I remember it being bigger“.

I’m sure if I could see this house today, I would also say “I remember it being bigger“. If I had to guess, I’d say it was at most a thousand square feet…maybe less. It had a small living room, dining room, kitchen, two large bedrooms and one bath. There were six of us living there: myself, my parents, my sister Eunice who was still in high school, my oldest sister Dot and my almost 3 year old niece Sharon (Dot’s husband had tragically died in a ship explosion when Sharon was a baby). I was an “Aunt” when I was only 2 and 1/2 years old and I loved it. Sharon was, of course, more like a baby sister. As you can see in the photo below, she was, and still is, beautiful. The four of us girls (Dot, Eunice, Sharon and me) shared one of the large bedrooms. I don’t remember it being crowded…I just remember it being fun. Sharon and I would usually get in trouble for giggling long after lights out.

Above: I found this old photo today and scanned it.

I was probably about six and Sharon about four and a half.

I wish I could remember what color the walls of the little house on Mamie were painted.

For some reason, I think they were green.

Below: Just found the vintage photo today and don’t remember seeing this one before.

Sharon (front center) looks to be about two at the most and I’m (far left) two and a half years older.

We had to be really young. They’ve dressed us in rompers with ruffles!

Too bad my hair isn’t this color now!

So many stories for Mamie Road…all twirling around in my head…

Once, probably when Sharon and I were about six and eight, Mama sent us down to the small local grocery store. It wasn’t far and was safe enough “back then”. It was early summertime and Mama was getting ready to plant her garden. She wanted us to buy ONE package of LONG cucumber seeds. Unfortunately, they didn’t have LONG cucumber seeds. So, Sharon and I reasoned that you could put two SHORT seeds together and make ONE long cucumber! Remember, they’re the ones who took me away from the farm when I was only two years old! How was I supposed to know?! It made perfectly logical sense to me. She sent it into the newspaper for the column “When Our Children Make Us Smile”. After that, I was teased mercilessly by all my aunts, uncles and cousins who had been privileged enough to stay on the farm! Years later, I was to find out through sophisticated testing, that I’m pretty much divided down the middle: half analytical and half artistic, but I STILL don’t have an excuse for the cucumbers..