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Good morning, y’all. The veins in my neck are still popping from a run in I had with Mr. B.A. Ware in Number One this morning. I strongly suspicion he’s the peeping Tom I’ve been getting complaints about. When Mulva said she saw someone peeping this morning and screamed, the next thing she heard was the door on Number One slamming shut. Well, I took off right over there. There then transpired an argument of, “suppose this and circumstantial that”, that got me perilously close to returning to lock up. Mulva is madder than a wet panther and I’m thinking I’ll just let her handle it. She’ll jerk a knot in his tail.

When we last left the other strong woman in my life, Mom, she had secured all of the property and served Daddy with papers. Mom had hired some crazy person to babysit us, she called her a governess. Until I learned better, I thought governess was just a euphemism for bat sh*t crazy. It was as miserable a time as I believe I’ve ever had. If I heard, “stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about”, once, I heard it a million times.

The coup de grace came when Mom brought home my new school clothes for the start of the school year. She had bought the same ugly plaid shirt in three colors. I’m no fashion pate, and I know money must have been tight, and three shirts for a dollar must have seemed like a great deal, but if something is ugly in blue, it’s probably ugly in yellow and ugly in red. That crying did give me the promised, “something to cry for”, a full force slap to the side of the head that sent me to the floor. I was stunned, laying in the floor with my ears ringing. I don’t know that I’ve ever been hit in the head that hard since. At least if I have, it didn’t hurt as bad.

In retrospect, I think that sealed the deal for me. I knew my sister Charlotte was intent on killing me, which we’ll talk about another time. The governess was crazy, and who can predict crazy? Now I was sure my Mom was capable of cancelling my birth certificate. I was ten, but I wasn’t stupid. As outlined in my story about Daddy, visits to Daddy at TackyToo just got longer and longer until we didn’t live with Mom anymore. Living with Daddy was hard, but at least the threat of enemas for bad behavior was a thing of the past.

We didn’t see Mom at all for seven years. No birthday card, no Christmas present, no nothing. I guess she thought of herself as the injured party. When I was a Junior in high school she had her new husband, George, contact us. After a few phone conversations with George, we agreed to meet for dinner. George carried the conversation and he was a fellow that Jackson and I both took to right away. Looking back now, we should have asked more questions about how such a great guy and my Mom met up, etc. We should have known there had to be a dark side there somewhere. But we were just kids, we liked steak, and Daddy was in a low period.

I was anticipating heading off to college, and when I left, that would leave Jackson without adult supervision. So, that following Summer, Jackson went to live with George and Mom in Asheville, N.C. It was a fine big brick house that backed up to a drive in theater that showed adult movies. Every teenage boy’s dream, right? Well, I went on about my life. I trusted Mom, and certainly George, to look out for, and do the best thing for Jackson. Now that I’m just now thinking about it, I don’t remember a lot of visits over the next few years, not Christmas or anything. I know Jackson and I stayed in touch, I just don’t remember visiting in Mom’s house. Strange memory to have pop up all of a sudden.

Turns out George is an alcoholic. Not a mean drunk, thank God. If he did do something that begged forgiveness, he would always make up for it. A great example of his repentance is the time he bought Jackson a 442 convertible. Guilt is a powerful motivator, I think I’m going to have that added to my tombstone.

Jackson married right out of high school and Mom’s parenting officially ended. Unfortunately, she was not able to rest back on her laurels and stop attempting to micro-manage everyone’s life. A logical mind would know that we are given opportunities to do certain things but once, and when that time has past, you have to let go. But, I said a logical mind. Mom is still hanging in at 88. I thought she had gone to glory this past New Year’s Eve but she slipped the Devil’s noose. We’ll talk about that another time.

Well I’m exhausted, I think I’ll go “peek” in on Brother Ware and see how he’s doing. J.K.

Good morning, y’all. The hint of rain in the air was as false as Granny Waller’s teeth. Whatever clouds there were, died of loneliness, and we greeted this morning to the promise of another asphalt melting day here at TackyToo. I’m going to check my anklet’s waterproof qualities after while by jumping in the pool. That is, if I don’t hit the range finder first.

When we left off with Mom last, the family was living in town in a little rental house on the main drag. There were two of us kids, and Mom stayed at home to watch over us and perform the duties of house wife. Daddy had just started in the job that the universe designed him for, salesman, specifically insurance. With the ease of a round peg going into a round hole, Daddy excelled at insurance.

By the time I was four we had moved into a house that we were buying in a toney neighborhood. We had new cars, we took vacations, Mom had a maid, and when I started school, Mom located a private school for me to attend. Turns out, teaching myself to read at age five had resulted in me being sequestered from my neighborhood friends, who all attended public school. I was sent to a private school with heavy religious ties.

There were high expectations for the child that Mom would be able to mold herself. Mom felt that my sister Charlotte had been “spoiled” by her aunts, and with me, she had a second chance. So while Mom was taking care of the “baby” and occasionally dealing with the antics of my older sister, I filled the void by learning to read. This would be one of the personality traits psychologists call “middle child syndrome”.

During this time, there are vivid memories of the new Cadillac, of an extensive vacation in Florida carrying the grandparents Lite along, of Atlanta Crackers baseball games and the occasional UGA football game. My most positive memory of Mom of this time was when she came to school one time in her Sunday finest. I remember thinking at the time that she looked pretty, and my thoughts were confirmed by several of my buddys. Good times.

Well, Daddy was printing money like he had a press in the basement, and Mom was not going to let that cash lie idle. Maybe she suspected that with Daddy the money wouldn’t lie idle for long, but either way, Mom was ready to invest. A financial truism that has been hammered into my brain since I can remember was “they can print out more money but they can’t print out more land”. Mom used this truism to mount her empire. Her first investment was a boarding house two doors down from Grandma and Grandpa Lowe.

The boarders were people who were just going to be in the area for a short while, or folks who had a limited income and could get by on a bedroom and shared bath. Running a boarding house is hard work, and with the first meal at 6AM and the last at 6PM, you’re working 14-15 hour days everyday during the week. Mom had one phenomenal cook, Bootsie, that did most of the cooking. Bootsie was supplemented by two helpers. On the weekends the boarders were left to their own devices, but Mom always had some task that needed catching up on. It seems like we were at the boarding house as much as Mom was.

Mom was perturbed that Daddy had to be on the loan for her to buy the boarding house. When it came time to buy the house next door, using the cash generated from the boarding house, she was absolutely apoplectic when the loan office asked her to bring Daddy in to sign the papers with her. Same thing when she bought the house across the street from her other two pieces of property. Mom reasoned it was her business that had generated the income, she shouldn’t have to have a co-signor. It just didn’t work like that in the 50’s.

Coinciding with the purchase of the third house, Daddy got himself sideways with the insurance board. He was in deep and needed help to avoid prosecution. Mom was willing to help, for a price. For help in getting clear of the insurance problem, Daddy signed over all of the rights to any property that they jointly held, to Mom.

As you can imagine, there was a lot of whooping and hollering going on at our house every night. I was told that for the promise of no divorce Daddy agreed to put everything in Mom’s name. I think it was about 10 days after the signing that Daddy was served papers and forced to leave our house. I will never, ever, forget the night when Daddy told Jackson and I that he was going to have to leave. Our hearts were truly broken.

Well, the Dr.Pepper clock says 1:30AM, so I better head back over to Number Two before Mulva gets her knickers in a knot. Good Lord willing, and I don’t suffer a massive embolism from remembering all this stuff, I’ll be back tomorrow.

Good morning, y’all. If brains were a dollar bill, I’d be three quarters short. I woke up feeling pretty good this morning and I thought, “I’ll just walk the loop around the park for a little look-see”. Well, I got four trailers down before my anklet started going off like one of those disks they give you at Chili’s to let you know your table is ready. Lesson learned. The run back to the phone to call my monitor was plenty of exercise enough for today.

Today, we’ll further plumb the depths of my soul, and relate more facts and suppositions about my Mom. By her own account, Mom was an excellent student and was typically at the head of her class. There don’t seem to be any contrary stories, which is the advantage of having your closest sibling eight years your junior. We’ll advance the story of Mom’s scholastic accomplishments to high school. My Daddy was a Senior in high school, and Mom a Freshman, when the “love that knew no bounds”, germinated. My Daddy was athletic, quick of wit, and “came from a good family”. My Mom was pretty, for a fourteen year old, but she was, a fourteen year old.

There are absolutely no accounts of what the burning issue of their immediate marriage was. My sister Charlotte was born over two years after their marriage. Maybe there was a pregnancy scare, real or orchestrated, I can’t say. Clearly, there was a fourteen year old girl who was ready to leave home, for whatever reason. The closest I ever got to a reason was a rambling dialogue from Mom a few years ago about men going off to war wanting their bloodline to continue (sounds like a line Daddy might use) and the fact that service wives got an “allotment”. The allotment rings a little truer for me. An opportunistic country girl might see this is as the opportunity to break free from whatever was going on at home and take a chance that with an “allotment” she might be able to make it on her own.

Anyway, the happy couple lived with the Lowes until Daddy’s induction. After Charlotte arrived,  Mom moved out on the farm with the Lites and waited for Daddy to come home. There were still sisters of Daddy’s living at home, so Mom had Granny and Grandma to watch the baby. Mom had her sisters-in-law to be a teenager with. Mom’s accounts of this time were very happy with the exception of how “spoiled” the family made my sister.

Mom finished high school and had high hopes of going to college, perhaps even “reading for the law”. Her hopes were dashed by Grandpa Lowe, who told Mom she was “putting on airs”, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. The crushing blow to Mom’s aspirations for a higher education came when Grandpa Lowe asked the question, “Do you think you should do better than me?” Grandpa Lowe’s own insecurities could not allow him to have a daughter (woman) be more successful than him. The theme continued on and on throughout his life, even though Mom was very successful in her business dealings. I guess, for Grandpa Lowe, it was one thing to have a strong woman at your side carrying you to success, but quite another to have your child outshine you.

Well, despite all of the best efforts of the Nazis and the Nipponese, Daddy returned home physically sound. The big tattoo of Buddha on his torso spoke volumes about his mental condition. In spite of Buddha, or maybe because of it, Daddy was given a lot of time, by Mom’s account, to get himself squared away. One day, Mom’s patience clock ran out, and she and Charlotte moved back to town to live with the Lowes. For Daddy to follow, he had to agree to a course of self improvement that would lead to success for all.

Now, I have charted some crooked courses in my lifetime, but Daddy’s next move was a forever puzzler. He used his G.I Bill to learn to be a butcher. Maybe it was the shortest course of anything available, who knows? I just know that when I came into being we were living in town in a little rental house on the main drag. Daddy had quit being a butcher, and had quit being a heavy equipment operator, and was now establishing himself in the insurance business. Mom stayed at home, and was charged with keeping me from expressing myself through dangerous activities. She was not very successful, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.

Well, it’s late and it smells like rain. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.

Good morning, y’all. I caught a coughing spell today that made me wonder if my time was going to be sooner than later. Seems this weather has been making the air dirtier than usual and folks with a “sensitivity” are supposed to stay indoors.  Thanks, Georgia Power for doing your part in making the Smokey Mountains truly smokey.

Today, as part of my ongoing effort to resolve my issues, we will begin talking about Mom. Mom was born in 1927 and was baptized as Hanna Bea Lowe. She was the oldest child of Wilton Ben Lowe and Rose Bush Lowe. Grandpa Lowe was a journeyman barber and seemed to set up shop around the South in communities where there was kin that he could stay with while he “got himself established”. His efforts were aided by Grandma Lowe who, it was said, could squeeze a quarter so tight that the eagle would scream.

While barbering up in Kentucky, staying with Grandma Lowe’s kin, Mom popped into the world. It was eight years before my aunt Edna was born, four more years before the “baby”, Matilda, was born. To the casual observer this suggests that Grandma and Grandpa’s intimacy level was not very high, or that there was some sort of Leap Year schedule in place. Anyway, they moved around until settling in Blairsville, where Grandpa opened a shop of his own.

Apparently, when held to task, Grandpa Lowe could generate income, and with a little help from kin, they bought a house not far from the shop. This was the Depression, and Grandma Lowe reckoned that if times got too bad that Grandpa could carry his lunch to the shop and walk back and forth. As it was, Grandpa drove their Chevy home everyday for a hot lunch, perfunctorily prepared by Grandma.

My early memories of them were of the smell of talcum from Grandpa, and the smell of vinegar from Grandma. Grandma cleaned constantly and vinegar was the cheapest cleaning product available. She used it to clean everything. I interject my personal memory here because it must have been the same for Mom. The sweet smell of talcum from Grandpa, the sour smell of vinegar from Grandma. I know that children are effected by smells from very early on. Many is the time I’ve been told I smelled like a wet dog by my kids. So, I guess I’m wondering if a child’s affections could gravitate to one parent or the other based solely on sense of smell. Maybe.

More likely, the fact that Grandma suffered from headaches, and could launch into verbal attacks that would scald the hair off of a dog, might also have had a negative bonding effect. Grandma would usually follow the headache with a “sinking spell”, and then eventually get her cart righted again. Lest you get the wrong impression, Grandma rarely ever took to her bed during these fits. Hot lunch was always ready when Grandpa rolled up at 12:05, the house was always antiseptically clean. The family never missed service at the First Methodist Church on Sunday or prayer meeting on Wednesday night. Grandma made sure Grandpa’s church attendance was perfect as well, including his Men’s group on Monday night.

Grandpa was free to pursue his passion, hunting, after work or after Church on Sunday. Grandpa raised, trained and sold bird dogs. By all accounts he was good at his “hobby”, and people would come from all over to put in their dibs when there was a new litter. I seem to be giving more information on my Grandparents here than Mom, but in her case, I think it’s real important.

Well, the Dr.Pepper clock on the wall says it’s 1:15 here in the Rec room so I better snap this one off. I’ve got to take another dose of Tussin DM before putting my head down. It’s the only alcohol free cough syrup Mulva could find over to the Walmart. Can’t start back slidin’ now. More on Mom tomorrow.