Journal of a Living Lady #361

Nancy White Kelly

Thanksgiving has passed. I secretly vowed to transfer the joy of preparing Thanksgiving dinner to my two daughter-in-laws since it is written in stone that everybody comes to Granny’s for Christmas.

For genuinely good reasons, the daughter-in-laws escaped the intimidating task of cooking the big meal. I was again the main chef. Buddy did his part to make sure that it was a memorable day. Late Thanksgiving Eve, he gave Rocky, our German Shepherd, the huge bucket of sage-covered cornbread, minus the cooked celery and onions that remained in the fridge.

It was an honest mistake. I use that same pink plastic pan everyday to hold our meal left-overs which Buddy adds to Rocky’s dry food in the evening. That pink bucket was a take-home gift from my last stay in the hospital.

A trip to the grocery store for corn meal and some hasty cooking at high temperature brought a new batch of cornbread in time to make the dressing. In spite of the tenuous beginning, Thanksgiving turned out to be a good day full of good food and laughs.

For two weeks Buddy has dutifully finished every version of turkey casserole imaginable without complaining only to see me bring in another big bird for its turn in the oven next week. Tori and Ginger may get their chance to cook in 2010. Perhaps I could lighten up the occasion by doing what a lady friend did one year.

Susan was asked by daughter Lisa to help prepare her first ever Thanksgiving turkey. On the big day, Lisa found she had no cranberries in the cupboard. She rushed to the store to get some.

As if on cue, Susan mischievously took action. She removed a Rock Cornish hen from her big purse. She hastily removed the raw stuffing from the turkey and placed the little Cornish pullet inside. She packed the open hole with some of the displaced dressing.

When Lisa returned from the store, she placed the turkey in the oven. Mother and daughter merrily chatted while the men watched football. Soon Lisa’s sister arrived with her husband and two children. The magic hour arrived.

Susan placed the green beans and assorted dishes on the table. Facing the counter, Lisa began to scoop out the cooked stuffing from the turkey breast into a fancy bowl. Her spoon wouldn’t go further. She couldn't figure out what was stopping it. Susan gleefully offered assistance. She put her hand in the turkey and pulled out the Rock Cornish hen. Lisa screamed and jumped back.

“What have I done?" Lisa wailed as tears welled.

”I just cooked a pregnant turkey.”

As the laughter roared Lisa’s husband explained that turkeys lay eggs. Besides, Tom Turkey was a male!

Every Thanksgiving there ought to be a dog house handy for the likes of Buddy and Susan.

Merry Christmas!

nancyk@windstream.net

Journal of a Living Lady #360

Nancy White Kelly

I don’t remember the title, but I recall the line: “When he was good, he was really good. But when he was bad, he was really bad.”

Charlie’s boys are still very young, just two and four. Like most grandmothers, I dote on them and Bobby’s two as well. I have never had a serious confrontation with any of them. Just fun, games and secret Granny snacks. M & M’s are a special treat. All four grandchildren know about my long, blue surprise box kept in the den. It holds a variety of boy toys and glitzy baubles that a ten-year-old girl couldn’t resist. Unusually good behavior or exceptional manners can earn a trip to Granny’s box. Sometimes it doesn’t take a reason at all.

Last week Tori needed to take Micah to a doctor in Atlanta for a follow-up visit. Buddy and I were enlisted to keep two-year-old Noah in Cornelia. We had a delightful time making snakes out of clay, threading large beads and just romping around the house.

Later that afternoon, Micah and Tori returned from their tiresome day. While listening to Tori tell about the recommendation of the neurologist, Micah took advantage of our inattention. He slipped out the back door into the carport and mounted his Daddy’s parked motorcycle. Amidst adamant protest, Tori removed the pint-sized Evel Knievel from the bike. I explained how sad I would be if that heavy motorcycle fell on him. Nothing that I said registered positively with Micah. My usually complacent grandson kicked me. It wasn’t a premeditated kick, just poor impulse control.

Tori scolded Micah and sent him to his room. A few minutes later I asked Tori’s permission to talk with him privately thinking that he had settled down by now and could be reasoned with. That turned out to be wishful thinking.

Micah wasn’t in a peace-making mode. He attempted to kick me again, this time intentionally. Instinctively, I swatted his bottom a couple of times with my hand. Though he looked shocked at my first-ever spanking of a grandchild, he gave no evidence of remorse. If he had been my son, I would have carried it a step further. But I know my role as grandmother isn’t chief disciplinarian and backed off. I told Micah I was disappointed in his behavior and left him to sit in his room.

Though Charlie would be home very soon from his moon-lighting job after teaching middle school, Buddy and I decided to postpone visiting with him this day. We wanted to get over the mountains before darkness settled.
We told Noah good-bye and asked our frustrated daughter-
in-law to tell Micah that we loved him and hoped our next visit would go better.

Hardly two hours had passed when our phone rang at home. It was Charlie. He said Micah wanted to tell me something. I sensed what was coming. After a brief silence, the words came.

“I am sorry, Granny.”

I am not sure what it took to get Micah to this point and never asked. He sounded so sweet and sincere. I took the opportunity to remind Micah that it was never okay to kick, especially his grandmother. I thanked Micah for apologizing and emphasized that I still loved him and would always love him no matter how badly he acted. However, good behavior pleased me more.

It was over now. Lesson learned. Clean slate.

For some reason I don’t think Micah will kick me again. When he is good, he is very good.

nancyk@windstream.net

Journal of a Living Lady #359

Nancy White Kelly

Seems as if I just finished carving the pumpkin. Next on the agenda is Thanksgiving. Then, of course, comes Christmas. I do wish the holidays were spaced further apart. If I were appointed Czar of Holidays, the dates for Thanksgiving and Christmas would be at least six months apart. I would eliminate the witchy motif of Halloween.

Thanksgiving is my favorite annual holiday. No presents needed, just the presence of loved ones. What a special time to re-focus and reflect on life’s blessings. Indeed I am grateful. Once you lose your health and regain it, each day becomes a special addition.

Spending time outside the United States this year reminded me of how fortunate I am to be an American. Any of us could have been born in a remote tribal village on the other side of the world. Buddy and I feel privileged to live in the mountains half-way to heaven. What else is there to desire?

Sure. Who wouldn’t want a million dollars in small bills? But our needs are met and we are content.

What adult with a child doesn’t love Christmas? Being born on Christmas Eve destined me to love that season. If only there was a wand to zap the commercialism. Finding scarecrows and reindeer competing for shelf space in the summer time does not jive with my reminiscence of Christmases past.

If Christ was truly born in December, I might relish the spiritual aspect even more. Biblical scholars insist that Jesus was born in the spring. Well, we can always pretend and we do, from the fantasy of Santa Claus to the exact December 25th birth date of baby Jesus.

There are some things that are certain. We can depend on the I.R.S. to bring us back to earth in January with those dreaded tax forms. Seems like we just did those darn things a month ago. Buddy and I have receipts for 2009 jammed into an over-flowing cardboard box with no semblance of order. The good intentions of being more prepared for the next tax season are turning out to be just that…intentions.

But, like dear Scarlett, I’ll think about that tomorrow. I’m off to find a dead turkey before the family comes. My wish for you:

May your dressing be tasty
May your Tom turkey plump,
May your potatoes and gravy
Have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off your thighs!
nancyk@windstream.net

Journal of a Living Lady #358

Nancy White Kelly

This concludes the travel log of the fantastic trip Charlie and I received as a result of my winning an essay contest sponsored by British Airways. After a greatly anticipated journey from Atlanta to New York to London, we were finally in historic Jerusalem.

The first day was a bust. The narrow streets that were originally intended for donkey travel have not improved much in 2000 years. After returning the rental car to the airport terminal in Tel Aviv, we walked or took taxis driven mostly by Middle Eastern mad men. Communication with drivers was in Southern Anguish. Jerusalem is not laid out in orderly fashion. We paid mucho shekels for each ride and no doubt were exploited for our directional ignorance.

One exception was a Messianic Jewish man named Adam. He observed red-faced Charlie huffing while climbing the Mount of Olives. He offered our out-of-shape son a free ride to the top which he readily accepted. If either of us had known how much walking this tour of Israel would require, we would have prepared by running the Boston Marathon.

Adam was quite knowledgeable of biblical geography and rattled off fascinating facts. Charlie jotted notes. An hour later he rushed into our motel room demanding that I come immediately. Even though I had taken the day off to recoup, I was reasonably dressed. As we hustled down the forty-four stairs, Charlie explained that Adam was going to take us on a personal tour of Bethlehem and connect us with two of his friends. I quietly sat in the back seat trying to decipher Charlie’s earlier cryptic notes. Even though I am a retired educator, it was difficult deciding if his writing was ancient Arabic or the scribbling of a dyslexic second-grader. As we traveled to Bethlehem, the two young men talked enthusiastically and non-stop about the geography, people and events described in the Bible.

A heavily armed guard at the entrance to Bethlehem recognized Adam and waved him through security. Because of the known political and religious unrest in this region, this casualness briefly raised my antennae, but I remained quiet. As the taxi maneuvered narrow streets, the poverty in this quaint historical town was noticeable. Beggars sat on street corners and scraggly children explored the trash piles.

Adam stopped the cab in front of a tiny storefront that looked more like a cave. He honked his horn and out came the proprietor, a small Jewish man who welcomed us like old friends. His aunt offered us cold drinks. I admired the jewelry and the knick-knacks made of intricately carved olive wood. Several times I asked prices, but the aunt was evasive. Instead she offered an obviously well-practiced spiel regarding the artistic skill required to make the souvenirs. This was frustrating because I had no idea of a price range. Was the silver necklace with purple stones five dollars or five thousand?

Adam waved the man and his aunt away and said we would shop later. He wanted to take us to meet other friends. One was the over-seer of the stable site where Jesus Christ was believed to have been born. Many years of renovation had turned the building into an ornate, church-like sanctuary. Long lines of people awaited an opportunity to see the spot where the manger once was. To our surprise, Adam spoke to another friend who shooed all the other visitors back. He motioned for Charlie and me to touch the large, ruby-colored star that marked the historical spot of Christ’s birth. The aggressive manager then grabbed our cameras and photographed each of us. I was puzzled and embarrassed by the preferential treatment. There were many old and lame who obviously had stood in the line for hours for their turn to view the stable site.

Adam must have much influence in Bethlehem. My guess is that he routinely brings in supposedly rich customers from America. Unfortunately, this time he picked a young school teacher and his retired mother who couldn’t give the $3000 requested later that day for “the cause.” When Charlie finally convinced Adam, the stable manager, and the shop owner that we brought little money with us, they offered to take a credit card.

While the needs of the poor in Bethlehem are legitimate, Charlie and I felt like gullible puppets who just had our strings rudely jerked. We rode back to our hotel in Jerusalem in noticeable silence. Charlie paid Adam and we never saw him again.
By the week’s end, we were able to visit most of the sites that are significant to Christians. The one site that impressed us both was the burial tomb of Christ which was provided by Joseph of Arimathea at the time of his death.
During a small span of time between tour groups, Charlie slipped into the stone tomb alone. He remained in solemn solitude for several minutes reflecting on the awesomeness of the moment.

In describing that experience to me later, Charlie beamed as he reported, “Jesus was not there.”

Mother and son smiled in agreement.

“I know,” I responded with a nod. “He is risen.”

Being a newspaper column limits me from giving all the details about our trip. I could fill a book about our inspiring journey to the Holy Land. However, it is time to move on to other adventures of this Living Lady.

Shalom, ya’ll.

nancyk@windstream.net

Journal of a Living Lady #357

Nancy White Kelly

After an adventuresome beginning in New York City and London, Charlie and I finally arrived in Tel Aviv at 5:00 in the morning. While the plane ticket was the prize of the essay contest, all other expenses in Israel were mine. Of top of that, the IRS gets to tax the total value of the prize package which is estimated at $5000.

Charlie seamlessly transitioned to the lead role on this trip. Now that he is grown, the dynamics of our relationship has changed. While still Mother-Son, we presently function on an adult-adult level. Knowing that Israel is a predominantly male-oriented culture, I gave him the credit card and cash to handle. Charlie didn’t take advantage of his parent’s money, but I did sense a bit of unfettered joy as he slid the card for one transaction after another

To rent a car or not rent a car…that was the question. The pro was that we could travel at our own pace when we wanted. The negative was that we weren’t sure of the geography. That turned out to be the least of our transportation problems.

We went with plan A which was to rent a car in Tel Aviv and return it in one week. My first inclination that this might be a mistake was when the car rental representative noted the many dings on the sedan that we were renting. This was to ensure that we would not be charged for previous damage when the car was returned. So many dings on a virtually new vehicle raised my internal antenna.

I signed the papers and handed Charlie the car key. Driving in modern Tel Aviv wasn’t bad, but when we arrived in Jerusalem, navigating the roads became a nightmare. Road signs were very poor and neither of us read Hebrew. Lanes were practically non-existent. Cars, only inches apart, moved ahead sporadically. Honking horns jangled my nerves. This was normal “get moving” communication for Israeli and Arabic drivers but still seemed rude to this southern lady. Motor scooters zigzagged through the tangled traffic.

After a few close encounters, Charlie made the decision to take the rental car back to the terminal and start over. I concurred. Afterwards, we rode a public bus thirty miles to Jerusalem. Charlie handed the bus driver a map. He motioned for us to exit the bus a few stops later. We had no clue which direction to walk. We stopped several pedestrians, but none spoke English well enough to understand our request for directions. In exasperation, Charlie hailed a taxi that cost us $20 for six blocks. We learned quickly that we would need shekels as the American dollar was not a popular item.

Score a minus for Day one in Jerusalem. All we accomplished was to find our modest bed and breakfast inn which was recommended by a friend. The cost was $130 a night in American dollars which is reasonable here in the states, but on the low end in Old Jerusalem. Our accommodation was a simple room with two single beds and a tiny bathroom. The surprise was that there was 44 steps to our second floor abode. We found that elevators were considered a silly, unnecessary luxury.

Walking and climbing stairs became our mandatory daily exercise. Pounding hearts and sweaty bodies hid behind two-day-old clothes. We had elected to travel light due to the $20 per bag surcharge by the airlines which adds up when you change planes eight times round-trip from Atlanta to New York to London to Tel Aviv.

Tourism is the main source of income in Old Jerusalem. Whether they like each other or not, the Arabs and Jews cooperate enough to keep the area calm enough that people continue to visit. We encountered busses full of tourists from many other countries including Australia.

We learned a lot from our taxi drivers. There are certain cities that most Jews will not go. For example, Bethlehem. There were also some sites that Jews were not permitted to visit like the contentious Temple Dome. Years ago Buddy and I were able to enter the sanctuary of the Dome of the Rock. Presently it is controlled by Muslims.

Charlie and I staked out our itinerary for the next day. It would start at the sacred sites in the Old City. Finding our way there was a challenge. What the colorful inn brochures described as a ten minute walk would actually be three miles.
The next morning I was awakened by the distant morning prayers of Muslims droning the chilly air. Breakfast at the inn was a bit unusual for us southerners. No eggs, bacon or biscuits. Certainly no grits. On the buffet were olives, onions, various non-descript greenery, a vinegary dressing, boiled eggs in the shell, and always bread. I was thankful for the toaster. I could at least have toast and jelly with my stout coffee.

One morning the toaster was noticeable absent. When I inquired about it, the Jewish owner shook his head vehemently saying, “Shabbat! Shabbat!” Apparently no electrical appliances are allowed on the Jewish Sabbath. Charlie and I had much more to learn.

Shalom, Ya'll - Part III (to be continued.)

Journal of a Living Lady #356
Nancy White Kelly

Shalom, ya’ll – Part I

The Living Lady is back in America! In spite of internal squabbles, the USA is still the best country in the world. Kiss the ground and thank a soldier.

Charlie and I flew over 13,000 miles, changed planes 8 times, and walked at least 25 miles. That would be quite a feat even if my medical records didn’t include metastatic cancer, kidney failure, two heart attacks and a pair of artificial knees.

Let me briefly up-date you on the reason for this adventure. As a Bible teacher for some fifty-plus years, I have become somewhat familiar with the geography of the ancient Middle East. Twice Buddy and I have made the journey to the Holy Land, first in 1972 and then again in 2003. It is impossible for a tourist to absorb such rich history in two visits. I have longed to return one more time.

There is a spiritual connection to this cradle of civilization that is difficult to explain. The Holy Land is both a physical and vicarious crossroad of the heart and mind that bridges humanity’s past and future.

Through a casual entry in a business-related essay contest provided by British Airways, I won the Grand prize trip to London as well as a ticket to the destination of my choice. That other location was an easy decision– Israel.

In addition, I could take a traveling companion. That choice was easy too. Buddy and I agreed that this should be our older son, Charlie, who has often expressed a desire to visit those biblical sites that he also has taught about.

The awarded trip started in New York City, so Charlie and I had to get there on our own time and dime. Wouldn’t you know that the first flight we were planning to take out of Atlanta was over-booked? The one other plane leaving at night was a hopper through Indianapolis and would land at an alternate New York airport. It was a no-brainer. If we were to make the gifted trip that started at 7:00 a.m. the next morning, we had would fly to LaGuardia and then take a taxi to J.F.K. We arrived with no sleep and yet six hours to kill.

Charlie and I wearily walked around the JFK airport, baggage in hand, looking for a quiet place to park our bodies. We came upon an empty, ecumenical chapel and made ourselves comfortable on the floor. I am sure God didn’t mind that we caught a few winks in that dark and quiet refuge. It has been my observation that people sleep in church quite often.

We arrived in London on the chartered flight and were chauffeured to a five-star hotel. Business and political dignitaries addressed the group of winners. They enthusiastically encouraged us to consider expanding our businesses to London and other world cities. This courting was amusing to Charlie and me as the Ye Old Coin Shop isn’t exactly a Fortune 500 business. Far from it. Buddy and I operate a small coin shop located in a tiny mountain town of north Georgia. On a really good day we may have five customers.

By noon Charlie and I completed our contest obligations and were free to tour London before our late evening flight to Tel Aviv. We navigated the bus system through odd-sounding streets such as Castle & Elephant.

Charlie has long been an admirer of Charles Haddon Spurgeon, the great London preacher of the 1800’s who is still known as the “Prince of Preachers.” It is estimated that Spurgeon preached to around 10,000,000 people in his lifetime, often up to 10 times a week. Charlie wanted to see the Metropolitan Tabernacle that Spurgeon pastored for 38 years as well as his grave site. Mission accomplished.
With that site crossed off our short London list, it was my turn to pick. I chose Buckingham Palace. The queen was not available for tea, but we did enjoy observing the red-coated guards as we ambled the 350 acres of Hyde Park.

Charlie and I both desired to see Big Ben, but there was no time to spare. We hurried to the hotel, gathered our luggage and headed to Heathrow Airport for the last portion of our trek. We arrived in Tel Aviv, Israel, at 5:00 a.m.

Next destination: Jerusalem.

To be continued…

nancyk@windstream.net

Journal of a Living Lady #355

Nancy White Kelly

Why is it that we pray for something and then act surprised when those prayers are answered? Maybe because we believe the blessings of God aren’t deserved.

In spite of short-comings, I have been blessed immeasurably during my lifetime, especially during the last half of it. Hospice didn’t get the opportunity to ease me into eternity. My metastatic cancer wasn’t as imminently terminal as predicted.

A couple of years ago a new problem occurred. It is rare that a person in total kidney failure gets to kiss dialysis good-bye. Having a date with a machine three times a week was more discouraging to me than the cancer. My kidneys defied the odds as God adjusted my earthly graduation date. It has been my goal ever since to make use of this extended time.

On Sunday mornings I teach an adult Bible study class. Several times I have mentioned that I was praying for one more opportunity to go to Jerusalem. While God was fully aware of my desire, I did not truly expect the fulfillment of such a lavish request. After all, Buddy and I have been to the Holy Land twice. The last trip was a surprise gift from a reader who assumed he was granting the last request of a dying lady.

Several weeks ago I read a newspaper ad announcing an essay contest that a major airline was offering. Small business owners were invited to write an essay explaining the benefits of face-to-face interaction with customers.
Buddy and I own Ye Old Coin Shop, so I dashed off an essay of less than 500 words promoting the benefit of doing business with hand-shakes rather than using impersonal technology.

It was a hurried entry. Apparently I didn’t have much confidence in my writing ability or my chance of winning an international writing contest. In my haste, I failed to save the essay to the hard drive. If I printed a hard copy, only God knows where it is now.

Yes, I won. There were more than 10,000 entries. The Grand Prize was a trip for two to England, consultation with top business leaders, and then a ticket to any other destination of choice. That was an instantaneous decision: Jerusalem, here I come.

Since Buddy has seen the Holy Land, he offered his seat to our son who is a serious Bible student and sometimes writer. Charlie has expressed his desire to go to Israel many times. Being a school teacher with two small sons, the likelihood of that was slim unless he won the lottery which he doesn’t play. Since neither Tori nor Buddy can accompany us on the magic carpet, this trip will be a one-to-one, mother-son experience that most moms of adult children can only imagine.

This will be my last column for September. Charlie and I leave soon for the first leg of our journey from Atlanta to New York City to London. He wants to see the church where Charles Spurgeon preached. I want to have tea with the queen. Then, shalom, we are off to Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

No doubt Buddy will be lonesome while we are away. If you are in our phone directory, expect a call. While he is talking, Charlie and I will be walking on hallowed ground.

Be sure of what you pray for. God moves in mysterious ways.

nancyk@windstream.net