Sledding Down Memory Lane

It was the Friday before my birthday. Momma, Daddy and I were out and about, when I drove passed an antique store. "I want to stop and look around there." Daddy said. I turned around and headed back. When I stepped through the door I saw a beautiful antique sleigh. It was all wood with a curved back to keep you from falling out. It had a handle that would have been used to pull it back up the hill. The red paint was worn thin from the endless hours of playing in the snow. I expressed my love for it as I have for many antiques I see and walked on. "I'm going to go look at the old tools," Daddy said, and went on his way. Momma and I began walk the isles looking for treasures. I feel that memory lanes would be a more fitting term as each row and booth were a box full of memories waiting to be reopened. Every time we go to an antique store something like this will happen. "Oh Phyllis," Momma will cry out. "Come and look at this." She will point to something that reminds her of growing up years. "Do you know what that is?" She will ask me. Then the story will begin. Each item is a bit of a history lesson taught by my parents. You can see in their eyes and hear in their voices, that they are reliving a moment in time. I relish in these times with them. I get to know what has shaped them into who they are and to why they think they way they do. After a couple of hours of wandering it was time to come back to the present day and we walked to the door. "Wait!" Daddy calls to me. I look back and he is pointing at the sleigh. "You are forgetting your birthday present," He said with a mischievous grin.  I squealed with delight and had a hard time holding back the tears. 

Every Christmas from now on, daddy’s sleigh will be pulled out of my memory box and I will relive this story for the rest of my days. The funny thing is that the sleigh will have nothing to do with the way I have been shaped, but daddy will have everything to do with it. 

'Coffee With Momma"

There is nothing more special than walking into momma's house, her asking me to I sit down, and have a cup of coffee. It's not every day that she asks me to do this. The reasons being, she usually doesn't drink coffee later in the day and she can't be still long enough to drink it. You may think I am a bit silly but I was thrilled to have this pleasure and felt excited. You see, I know when I am invited to sit with my momma it is going to be a wonderful time of sharing. It is a time when she lets her white hair, my dyed blonde hair down, and throw caution to the wind. She will always be respected as my momma, but when we sip on coffee we become girlfriends.  We no longer recognize our age difference. Our age can be anywhere between 10 and 80, depending on the topic. For example, if momma is talking about some romance book she has read, we are twenty. If it is something about medical issues we are 80.  Sometimes when momma is a bit angry, we are a couple of 10 years old's, rolling on the playground, slugging it out. She ask me questions to things that she say's she doesn't understand, "Phyllis, she says, as she leans forward and takes a sip of coffee, I want to ask you something. What's that momma? She usually ask me questions that she already knows the answer to. It is her way seeing if I will come up with the same answer. It is  somewhat of a test or game we play without it ever being verbalized as such. We laugh, get silly, tell our hearts desire and share our secrets.  Momma is teaching me to take time out of my busy day, forget my age,  do something I wouldn't normally do and to ask my daughters to join me. Forget about our age differences and being their mother. Instead, be a close friend. Laugh and be silly with them. Share secrets and dreams if they so desire. Give them a safe place to be angry and roll in the dirt. 
l hung on momma's every word.  Under my breath I prayed I would never forget them. She spoke  with wisdom that I wouldn't trade for all of the self help books money could ever buy. Her laughter lifted my spirits and drove away the blues. Her love for me goes beyond all reason. 
There we were, talking and sipping, solving the worlds problems and a few of our own. We spoke freely knowing it will be kept safe. 
I knew I didn't  have much time until the coffee in our cups would be gone. The moment faded with every sip. It would soon became a cherished memory. 
Momma took her last sip and said, "Well it's time for me to get up from here and get to doing something. I knew that was my que that I had to do the same. I left with the coffee momma had served warming my belly. The time I spent with momma, well, that warmed my heart. 
Momma, may I have another cup please? But this time make it a grande. 

Chocolate... Please?

When I was a little trick or treater, my four bothers and I went house to house getting a piece of bubble gum here and a sucker there.  I have always had a sweet tooth and was grateful for every gram of sugar I ever got. Suckers and bubble gum were great, but what I really wanted was chocolate.  Chocolate has always been my favorite.  After a night of trick or treating, my brothers and I each had a pillow case full of candy. Even so, we still begged momma and daddy to let us go to just one more house. They gave in as most parents do and we walked up to the final house for that year’s event. I was expecting one or two more pieces of candy to help with my tooth decay. What I wasn’t expecting was the full size Baby Ruth candy bars that they handed to each of us. You talk about putting a smile on my face. I talked about that one for... Well, I still talk about that one.

Our doorbell rang with two trick or treaters.  I gave them each three Crackle candy squares. “Thank you.” They said, as they started down the steps. One called back, “Crackle is my favorite. I love them the most.”  “Come back,” I said motioning them with one hand while holding the bowl of chocolate in the other.  At first they were hesitant, but they then walked slowly back to the door. You can imagine the smile on their face when I divided the entire bowl of chocolate bars into their little pumpkins.  I only thought for a moment about tooth decay when I saw their small teeth that had just pierced their pink gums.  

It is hard to believe, but there are a few things I love better than chocolate. One would be the smile of an innocent child when you empty a bowl of chocolate into their pumpkin. Two is creating a memory for them that I hope will last a life time.  As for me and chocolate, I have two bags still in the pantry and a tooth brush in my bathroom.  

Just Sayin’

Phyllis Westland

Hand in Hand

My first recollection of going to the beach was when I was four years old. Momma started weeks in advance, building our excitement. She tried describing the beach and ocean to us. All I could manage to envision was a lake with white dirt instead of the red clay that surrounded the one I grew up with. Before the trip, she took us to K-mart and bought us all new underwear. She told us if we happened to be in an accident before we got there, we would have new underwear to wear to the hospital. She bought me some that had the days of the week on the front. I suppose it was for her to tell if I had changed them or not. If that be the case, my brothers needed them far worse than I. The day finally came. Momma made us all take a bath put and on a new pair of underwear. I put on the ones that said Saturday since that was the day we were leaving. We brushed our teeth, combed our hair and sat in the house until daddy got home. We couldn’t go outside and run the risk of getting dirty.  I never understood the fuss but I was glad to smell soap on my brothers. 

With my new coloring book and crayons I climbed into our 1953 Chevrolet. My four brothers would all be crammed into the backseat while I sat in between momma and daddy in the front. No seat belts were required so we could easily climb from the back seat to the front while going down the road. After I had finished the first page of coloring I looked up at daddy and said, "How much farther is it daddy?" We have a long, long, way to go honey just keep coloring.  After coloring three or so pages and asking the same question again, Daddy asked momma if she had anything else to help keep me occupied. She gave me a butter scotch. I gave up on ever seeing the ocean and went to sleep. Daddy made the turn down what was then called A1A going toward Melbourne, Florida. Momma was the first to get a glimpse of the ocean. "Look at that, kids. There's the ocean."  We stopped our fighting and got up on our knees to see what momma was having the fit over. It was more than my eyes or mind could take in. It was so massive that it frightened me. What made it worse was that I couldn't see the end of it. It was a whole lot bigger than Lake Allatoona. I could see what looked like the beginning but there was no end. It seemed to be reaching out for me with every wave. The sky reached down and touched it somehow.  What kept it contained? What stopped it from washing over and flooding the earth?  I asked one question after another. Momma answered patiently at first, but finally growing weary she said, "Phyllis, it is that way because that is the way God made it." Some things you just have things you have to accept in faith? That only made me want to ask what faith was but Momma had always told me that Gods word was final and so that was the end of it. 

When we got to our little motel, momma got me dressed for my first swim in the ocean. I stepped out onto the sand and would not walk any closer to the monster. After much pleading, I inched closer not because I trusted the monster but I trusted my momma. I stuck my toes into the cold water and recoiled back and ran back to the safety if the sand. She and daddy stood in it calling me back in.  She promised that she would hold my hand tight and I would be fine. I went forward, trusting her. She held one hand and daddy held the other. Here it comes she cried.  As the first cold wave smacked me square in the face, taking my breath away.  I got my first tasted of salt water and I screamed as it stung my eyes. They taught me to close my eyes and hold my breath when I saw the next wave coming. It took a little bit of practice to get my timing down but soon I got the hang of it. Next time the wave came I was prepared.


46 years later I decided to take momma and daddy to the beach. When I told them all of the plans, “I've never been to Tybee Island” momma said, “what's it like?” I tried to explain, but I wasn't sure she was getting the full picture. The next day she called me and said she had been to Wal-Mart. She got some new underwear for both she and daddy. I didn't ask if they had the days of the week on the front however, I did ask why she got new underwear just to go to the beach. She said, "Well you never can tell what could happen." I left it at that.

The day finally came for us to go. Daddy climbed into the front with me.  I was glad that he smelled like soap. Momma crawled into the back seat with my youngest daughter.  Brianna keeps her company singing every June Carter and Johnny Cash song there is.  Momma does a pretty good job on, ‘Daddy Sings Base.’   After about an hour of being on the road, daddy asked “how much farther do we have?”  I've never been to Tybee Island. Our neighbor has been and he said it doesn't take that long. I explained to him that we still had a ways to go but it would not be like going to Florida. When momma began asking I gave her a mint. Not long after they fell asleep.

Momma saw the sign first that said Tybee Island. She squealed with excitement when she caught a glimpse of the ocean. We dropped off our luggage at the rental house and headed for the beach. She, Brianna and I stood there looking out over the massive ocean that once frightened me. "Momma,” I called, “Come stick your feet into the water with me." “No. I am afraid," she said. After much coaxing and pleading she walked slowly forward. “I am afraid I will get knocked down” she worried.  “No, it won't momma. I am here and I promise to hold your hand. I will not let you fall.” I took one hand while my daughter Brianna took the other. "Here it comes," I said. She screamed as the cold water rushed over her feet. She wanted to go back to the safety of the sand. “You can do it momma we have you.”

It was then that the memory of my first swim in the ocean came rushing in like the wave that was sweeping over our feet. I thought about the many times momma had dried the salty tears from my eyes and helped be back on my feet when one of life's waves had knocked the breath out of me. She has always been the one that helped me face my fears and encourage me to get up and try it again. This time I was helping momma face hers. She stood holding my hand trusting that I would not let her fall. There we stood looking out to where the ocean touches the sky. 

Many of my childhood questions have been answered along the way. However, I still have plenty to ask Jesus when I see Him. One of them being, “Why is it that we spend most of our life growing up only to become like a child again?”  For the rest of them, I will have just have to accept that God knows what He is doing. Until then, I will hold to his hand and trust Him, while momma holds to mine. We will face the things that frighten us together knowing that He will not let us fall, when the waves of life smacks us in the face.

Just sayin'

Phyllis Westland

Will Work For Food

Because my grandmother lived four houses up from us, it made it easy for her to call and ask for help. She would call and say, "Estelle, I have just picked a bushel of corn or whatever she had picked, and I need help putting it up."  Momma would hang up and grumble that she had her own work to do.  However, she would stop everything she was doing and go help granny. What made matters worse was that I always got pulled into the helping part. I am a country girl and I love the country, but I wanted no part of preserving food. I grumbled more than momma did about it.  We usually sat outside under the shade trees, on green and white metal chairs. We snapped, shucked, and peeled something every day during harvest season. My aunts and cousins would sometimes come and join in on the fun, if you wanted to call it that. My momma's sisters would reminisce about working on the farm and preserving food when they were growing up. They told funny things they had done to each other and laugh until they would spill their peas. I didn't see what was so funny about having sore thumbs from shelling a bushel of peas.  I was young and felt I had better things to do. If I ever voiced this opinion to my momma she would say, "You like to eat don't you?" “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “Then get to work,” she would say. Later in life I would see men holding up signs saying, will work for food. I wish they had met my momma. She would have showed them how to work for their food.  I would pick up my veggies and get to work snappin', stringin', shuckin', shellin' or peelin'.  Most of my childhood summers were spent on planting, harvesting, and preserving food. Momma knows I don’t like doing any of this. I have asked her very kindly not to ask me to join in on the preserving party. She has been doing good and has not including me until now.

I was on my way to Starbucks when my phone rang," Phyllis, you have got to help me. I've got myself in a mess,” momma's voice called out to me in a panic.  “What on earth is wrong Momma?” I called back with my heart pounding like I had aready drank an expresso. My imagination ran wild with what could be wrong. I know she gets turned around in parking lots and forgets where the car is but, she usually figures it out in just under ten minutes. Was she lost or had she lost something. She stammered around on her words a little bit because she was afraid to tell me. In southern term’s she was ‘beatin’ around the bush’. "Tell me what you have done Momma," I ask again. “Well, I went to farmer Doyle's today to pick up a bushel of beans. Honest to goodness Phyllis, all I wanted was a bushel,” she began pleading her case. “Do you know what he did Phyllis?” She said in a kind of upset tone but not really being so. “What did he do momma?” I said, bracing myself. “He gave me two bushel of beans and a bushel of okra. Now what am I going to do with it?” I start thinking of all the people I could give it to and spouted off names as fast as I could all while trying to hold back the tremble I felt in my voice. “No, she said I don't want to give it away.”  Here it comes… “I thought WE could work together and fix it all up for the freezer,” she finally said. I began to practice my breathing technic that helps me gain control of myself in these type situations. "I can't help it,” she said in a pleading tone. “I didn't ask for it. He gave it to me. What's worse, I have used all my freezer space up. You are going to have to put it in yours." She got me... She did it again.

Momma knows I don't want to play Pioneer woman any more but, she still wants me to preserve. I told her I would help and would be over in the morning to get started. I hung up and thought of all of the things I needed to be doing and started grumbling. Then it occurred to me, it is really not so much about preserving food as much as it is about preserving family and community. You see momma loves to can, preserve and freeze everything in sight. She has lived in a time that had it not been for what she had preserved, she would have starved. Momma also knows how important it is to preserve the life we have with one another as a family, community and country. She knows things can go bad in a hurry if they are not preserved. We think we are fine on our own, but we really need each other. She knows if you don't work for it, it will all waste away.  Sometimes I forget the great heritage I have. Momma figured out a way to get me back on the assembly line. She is creative in her schemes.  I believe I will call my two daughters today and telling them I have got into a mess. I will use my best panic tone. I am going to tell them we have to go help granny who has got us all in a mess. If they start fussin' I will ask them if they like to eat. They will say “yes ma’me”.  I will tell them, “Then get to work”. It is high time for them to learn how to preserve.  Let’s make some snappin’, stringin’, shuckin’, pea shellin’ memories of our own.

 Thank you for teaching me how to work for my food momma.  I had a pot full of peas for dinner last night. Oh, they were so good. I appreciated them so much more because I had shelled them with my own hands.

Just sayin’

Phyllis Westland

What Happened to My Bottoms?

I have a pair of socks that I have had for 4 years. They are called Smart Wool.  The name should tell you everything about the sock. They are SMART in the fact that they know how to keep your feet at a perfect temperature. They are a wool blend that wick away moisture from your feet. They keep my feet cool and dry in the summer and warm in the winter.  They are somewhat like wearing a thin house shoe. I have hardwood floors that can be cold in the winter so I really enjoy putting them on at night and first thing in the morning. You can walk across a cold floor and your feet will remain warm. They come with a smart price tag ranging from 15 to 20 dollars a pair. At that price they should last forever right?

I began noticing subtle changes in them, things like they weren't keeping my feet warm and they were looking a bit thin on the bottom. I chose to ignore this as I love them so much.  I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them as I had paid so much for them. This morning I put them on and started across the floor and felt a cold sensation on the bottom of my feet. The mornings are a bit cooler with fall temps so I passed it off as it being that. I sat down and took a look at the bottom of my feet to find my socks no longer had a bottom. I was walking on the bare floor. My 15 dollar Smart Wool socks had baseball size holes in them.  As much as I hated to part from my beloved socks I had to let them go. I have no idea why they did this to me. I loved them so very much.

Tip of the day: All material things are meant to fail at some point. They will give you the warm fuzzies for a while but will leave you cold, full of holes and without support.  No matter what price you have paid, or how hard you try to hold on to them.  Somewhere along the way you are going to wake up to a cold morning, to find they have let you down.  I can never trust another sock again. Next time, I will be smarter.  I am so disappointed. 

Just Sayin’. 

May I Have Another Cup Please?

There is nothing more special than walking into momma's house, and her asking me to I sit down and have a cup of coffee. It's not every day that she asks me to do this. The reasons being, she usually doesn't drink coffee late in the day and she can't be still long enough to drink it. You may think I am a bit silly but I was thrilled to have this pleasure and felt excited. You see, I know that when I am invited to sit with my momma, it is going to be a wonderful time of sharing. It is a time when she lets her white hair, and I, my dyed blonde hair down, and throw caution to the wind. She will always be respected as my momma, but when we sip on coffee we become girlfriends.  We no longer recognize our age difference. Our age can be anywhere between 10 and 80, depending on the topic. For example, if momma is talking about some romance book she has read, we are twenty. If it is something about medical issues we are 80.  Sometimes when momma is a bit angry, we are a couple of 10 years-olds, rolling on the playground, slugging it out. She asks me questions to things that she says she doesn't understand, "Phyllis, she says, as she leans forward and takes a sip of coffee, I want to ask you something. What's that momma? She usually asks me questions that she already knows the answer to. It is her way seeing if I will come up with the same answer. It is somewhat of a test or game we play without it ever being verbalized as such. We laugh, get silly, tell our hearts desire, and share our secrets.  Momma is teaching me to take time out of my busy day, forget my age, to do something I wouldn't normally do and to ask my daughters to join me. Forget about our age differences and me being their mother. Instead, be a close friend. Laugh and be silly with them. Share secrets and dreams if they so desire. Give them a safe place to be angry and roll in the dirt. 

l hung on momma's every word.  Under my breath I prayed I would never forget them. She spoke with wisdom that I wouldn't trade for all of the self-help books money could ever buy. Her laughter lifted my spirits and drove away the blues. Her love for me goes beyond all reason. 
There we were, talking and sipping, solving the world’s problems and a few of our own. We spoke freely knowing it will be kept safe. 

I knew I didn't have much time until the coffee in our cups would be gone. The moment faded with every sip. It would soon become a cherished memory. 

Momma took her last sip and said, "Well it's time for me to get up from here and get to doing something. I knew that was my cue that I had to do the same. I left with the coffee momma had served warming my belly. The time I spent with momma, well, that warmed my heart. 

Momma, may I have another cup please? But this time make it a grande. 

Just Sayin'
Phyllis Westland