Afterwhiles

Bobbie and Gladys were young when they married. She was 15 and had to have her father's permission to wed --her mother never gave hers---and he was only 19 and still lived with his parents. But they took the giant leap and lived together nearly 50 years. She still sat right beside Bobbie in the truck when they picked their son Robert up from high school, something that embarrassed him dreadfully at the time--but he now finds charming and remembers with a smile.

Their first date was in an airplane--Bobbie was the pilot. If it had an engine he could propel it--on the ground, in the air or in the water. Gladys was a game little thing and trusted his ability--so they flew--again, no parental guidance. She was dating another boy at the time but quickly decided that this young pilot was the boy for her.

I love seeing pictures of them when they were starting out as newlyweds--adventuresome and daring and full of fun. Robert came two years later and grew up in the boat-racing world that they became a part of. Bobbie's boat, "Soakin' Wet" was a winner. Hundreds of trophies found their way back home with them and Bobbie set speed records throughout the northeast--while Gladys and Robert traveled with him and camped and made friends with the close-knit community of boat-racers and their families. Many of them are still friends today; the Browns and their lively brood and the Temples and the Weavers.

So many years have gone by--what a journey! Gladys became a wonderful cook (our children loved to walk across the field and get cinnamon toast for breakfast) and lover of felines, collectible dolls and antiques while Bobbie continued to be fascinated with mechanics and machines his whole life.

Many people would consider their start in life unfavorable, untimely--but they loved each other and made it work--through the usual good and bad and ups and downs of marriage. Times may have been different then but the commitment they shared was solid and firmly grounded--and a good example for us all.

When we pull out the old pictures in faded tones of gray and laugh and wonder who this was or where that was taken--- I can sometimes see that boat hanging in the wind, engine whining, while a young woman with a small boy's hand in hers watches from the shoreline. Go, Bobbie --go!

Visiting the temple today makes me think of new beginnings. The quiet and peace there calms me in a way no other place can. I actually have the wit to think and "ponder"--not something I'm very successful at, generally.

The "grands" have some new beginnings tomorrow and I wish them strength and happiness and a successful year of learning new things and making new friends--the dreaded first day of school! Travis begins kindergarten--if he goes, which right now is iffy--Lanian will begin too but has some experience in pre- school. Spence and Alex begin at new schools and Aidan will begin a pre-school program for the first time this year. Jack-Jack will too. Maylon and the twins begin a new year in a new town and my heart goes out to them--especially May-May who is feeling a little lost. And Mya the Bee begins another year of home school in a new state. But there is strength in families--and in the gospel--and new beginnings for us all! Happy Autumn--think of Tom Hanks saying to Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail--"in the fall I would give you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils--" --what a perfectly lovely thought--BJ

The Stick Brigade

We live in the woods--well, practically. The mighty stick brigade patrols here. They are a force to be reckoned with. Some come with red hair and freckles, some have smooth hair and blue eyes, some are tall, some are smaller, some are grinning, some come with a faint whine--but come they do; to carry, throw, peel bark from and march with --sticks.

Yes, we do have toys here. Trucks, cars, dolls, soccer balls, basketballs, you name it, we have it on hand--but nothing compares to the joy each Jones child gets from carrying a stick--the bigger the better. And if they can garner a tick somewhere on their person while finding just the right stick to accidentally hit someone with--that just makes their day. "Mama, I have a tick!" "Get the alcohol and the tweezers!" "Don't touch it!" "I have to pull it out..." "No, don't touch it!" I'll leave you to imagine who says what to whom--you'd be surprised.

The joy of a stick to play with we thought would pall with age--not so. They just find bigger, more lethal sticks as they get older--it's a curiosity to see what they can do with 'em! So far they still have all their eyes and teeth. I'll keep you posted---

After the goodbyes were said and the soldiers left for the day there was peace. Next morning as I walked the dogs while the ground fog still covered the fields I saw a carefully constructed arrangement of new sticks waiting for the brigade to strike again another day.

Afterwhiles

My mother spoke of being a child today, something that always makes me homesick. How is that possible? How can you be homesick for something you never knew? She was a blonde little thing with tip-tilted eyes and a mouth shaped like a gerber baby's mouth--like waiting for a bottle.

Her dark-haired sister is holding her tightly in the picture I have--they are both staring at the camera which snaps the pose for posterity--for me, her daughter. And my daughter. And on and on.

Mirrors fascinated her when she was small. Her sister said she would play for hours with just a hand-mirror, pretending to be a princess, a fairy, a pirate, or just dreaming of places unknown--places beyond the backyard of a small North Carolina mill town. I see the houses now, shabby and dilapidated and see the reflections also of a child under eight who peopled her world with imagined adventure.

One of the mirrors in my grandmother's bedrooms was large and round and attached to a dresser. Some magazine picture of a beautiful lady in a long red dress was pasted in the middle of the mirror. Did my mother speak to her, play with her, smile at her? Did I?

We remember the lady in the red dress, my mother and I and I am glad she was a child of fancy and mirrors were her playmates--I am homesick to know my mother then and I see her tip-tilted eyes and gerber baby's mouth mirrored in my granddaughter's face.

Why are birthdays so important? I guess a milestone of any kind is worth commemorating--this one was fun to pull off--Robert is difficult to surprise! L.B. couldn't be there, she was in Utah with Tom's family but she called just before the cake-cutting. I think Bobby may have enjoyed the surprise more than Robert! This was last year's birthday--but since Bobby is no longer with us I am so glad we could be together at this birthday.

Surprise party for Robert's 60th and Bobby's 81st. Bobby was in on the surprise and kept the secret--which surprised all of us!

Woodrow the Wood Duck

Woodrow is wandering over our page because we actually raised a little wood duck that we found in Mama's tiger lilies in front of the gray house one Easter week. He was so tiny he still had his "egg tooth", which is what they use to peck out of the egg.

We found out that Woodrow was a girl as time went on--she was the absolutely cutest thing and we learned a lot from her--we had her one whole summer till she flew down to the creek one early afternoon. She came back that night. The next morning found her winging her way to the creek again to return that evening and chirp her way thru some grain and june bugs, her favorite treat. I don't know when I saw anything more beautiful than that duck, wings outstretched, wheeling over the tops of the trees toward me to land at my feet that last time. She left the next morning and we never saw her again, though we filled her little pool every morning for a long time, in case she felt like visiting.

Robert was her person. She pecked strawberries from his chin as a baby and followed him around in the yard like a puppy. He taught her to swim in the ditch when the rains came hard that late spring, and nestled in his arms at night to watch Andy Griffith on TV. He caught her June bugs on the Rose of Sharon bush out back and she would jump at the flies living in the mint bed for hours. Watching her dive in the yellow pool in the back yard was hilarious.

Woodrow wanted to cuddle and be with us when she was a baby duck. Later on she only wanted to be with us when there were no June bugs. As she got older she would sit on the car and waddle away when we tried to get her to shut down for the night. After a while, we only got about an hour a day of her total attention.She would fuss and nibble at our hand when we picked her up. Gradually, she asserted her independence and eventually left of her own accord, well-fed and happy and full-grown.

Having raised our children through the teen-age years we were struck by the similarities--especially having struggled at that time with our youngest leaving the "nest."Woodrow was a little gift to us to teach us that letting go is inevitable--and with people it doesn't have to be final. We were made ever grateful that the children all come back--and bring children with them!

The Compound

Amanda, one of my daughters-in-law has been encouraging me to begin a blog--so here is my effort at journaling in cyber-space. I'll let you know how I like it. She keeps telling me, "the computer is your friend, the computer is your friend". We'll see. Welcome to the first compound quarterly and thanks, Amanda, for setting me up!

The compound is a lovely,lively, loud place filled with dogs and children, not necessarily in that order --and shouting adults attempting to control the dogs and children, not necessarily with much success.

"The compound" is what the children affectionately call the piece of acreage we live on here in Williamsburg. When you drive down the long dirt road to the little white house in the back of the field you are officially on the compound. Laura (the middle daughter), says it is the coolest spot anywhere on a sweltering hot day. She's right, that dirt road comes in kind of handy, no asphalt or sidewalks to reflect the heat--we live with lots of trees with fields in front of us to catch the breezes.

The deer love it here--it's a safe haven for them and we sometimes have twenty or more just standing around in the late afternoon, unafraid.

We are six adult children and their spouses, seventeen grandchildren, two grandparents (Robert and myself, that sounds so odd), two great grandparents, a niece and nephew who visit pretty often, two pygmy goats who think they are dogs, ten chickens (six Brussels, three Dominickers, one Buff Orpington) three pearl guineas, eight lavendar guineas, four actual dogs, one black and tan, one beagle, one golden lab, one mean little Shih-Tzu(unless you are under 10, then she loves you) and three cats who are the ones really in charge, as anyone who has cats knows.

All of these people do not live on the compound at this time, though all have at one time or another. We recently lost Robert's father, he was born on the 4th of July and died on Memorial Day at nearly 82 years old and we miss him very much. He would love that it is such a full-of-life place--he was a busy person and this is a very busy place--except sometimes on a Sunday evening when you can sit in the back yard and listen to the owls down on the creek and watch the lightning bugs dance in the edge of the trees--then some of the children come down the lane for a walk or just to visit and run around a bit and call to us in high pitched voices--then it's a little slice of heaven.

Prologue

Greetings

Greetings Bloggers! I wanted to introduce you to the newest member of our cyber journal world: Benita Jones. Watch out, she has a lot to say.
Best of luck, Benita, you are the best!!
-Amanda