Here comes Santa Clause

Merry Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring…….not even a mouse?

As our grandfather Pone told us children such stories as that…in hope that we would quickly fall asleep…and that would  be that. But instead there was a whole lot of stirring in our house….and it was much more than a mouse! Our insides were so anxious and our mouths chattered back…..for we were certain we would stay awake, until we saw Santa with the toys in his sack. We would pause and be quiet for a moment at best, listening for the sounds of jingles…and the boisterous Ho! Ho! Ho! ….that would soon bring us rest. We knew there would be 9 famous reindeer pulling the sleigh ….Rudolf….the most famous of all….would be leading his way.

We knew Santa would land in the yard, as our roof was so small… and we had no chimney at all. Pone assured us that Santa would find his way into our house… to leave toys, and gifts for all. “Well shouldn’t we unlock the door?”….. “And are you sure he will find the cookies and milk we left….cause we surely want him to be jolly and happy above all.”

We wiggled, we squirmed, we could not be still….what if he trips and he falls….since we have no chimney and all? And how can he visit if our parents are gone? Surely he knows that you are only our Pone! Oh we were assured he would be there by the end of day, the lights from our tree would show him the way… Then our grandpa would remind us, Santa knew we were awake. He knew everything about us… for goodness sake! He would tell us we must get to sleep …after all, Santa had lots of visits and trips to keep. There was a world full of children waiting as well…..way more than we could ever begin to tell.

My, how can he eat so many cookies and milk? Are you sure he will be hungry for the ones that we make? ….That’s why he’s so fat …from all the cookies he’s ate…and why it takes so many reindeer to pull  about his weight.

Finally we knew we must fall asleep… we wanted all the children to get their toys, gifts, and treats. As we would peer out our window and up to the stars we knew he was out there for everyone….children above all. Gosh how we wished we could see him …even if it were from a far. But for sure we knew he was there…out beyond all the stars.

First thing Christmas morning, before any stirring in the house… we ran to the lighted tree as quiet as could be. With smiles on our faces and twinkles in our eyes we could see Santa left us each a surprise. Our Pone had been right…the cookies were gone…and all the toys were displayed perfect in sight. The chatter began, excitement filled the room; and quietly in our minds was the thought… maybe next year we could stay awake…as quiet as a mouse… and see Santa as he enters our house!

The faith of children is so precious.  Their dreams, expectations and realizations are simple, yet extraordinary.  You see this is but a simple story about my three brothers, me, and our grandpa Pone. It comes without a lot of facts and details but it is true, real, and full of the faith we had as children. My hope and prayer is that we always know God has given us the greatest gift of all…. ‘Jesus’. He is the perfect gift available to us every day of our lives. He wants us to go to Him and love Him with the same faith as that of a child at Christmas…and He will do extraordinary things in and through our lives.

Merry Christmas and Love to All ….

When you finish reading the story be sure to click on the link above the picture to hear the song…

“Here Comes Santa Clause” by Rodger McFarland

This story is dedicated to all my family members and to my grandfather ‘Pone’ Amos Venson Turner (Dec 23, 1908 – June 5, 1967). … Happy Birthday Pone!

I  offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your  loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about  your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away  about what you know best….your  loved ones.

Please  continue to read my blog http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed  the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine  McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer  specializing in memoirs,  life story writing,
and capturing memories of  your loved ones.

Copyright, December 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author  retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

This article is dedicated to the memory of: Inez Pearl McCowan-McFarland “Mama Mac” (Jan 8, 1910 to Dec 29, 1973), my grandmother.

I  offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your  loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about  your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away  about what you know best….your  loved ones.

Please  continue to read my blog http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed  the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine  McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer  specializing in memoirs,  life story writing,
and capturing memories of  your loved ones.

Copyright, December 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author  retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

It was 1962, baby boomers were alive and well, American Bandstand hosted by the famous Dick Clark was on the rise, drive up root beer stands and hamburger joints were on every corner,….life was just all around happy.

And there I was, a mere child; an awkward second grader with a slight whistle when I spoke due to the missing two front teeth. And when I smiled all you could see was the big gaping hole from the missing teeth. My smile looked atrocious.  So I tried my best not to smile because I did not want anyone to see that I had two missing teeth, which incidentally were missing for two years. In fact, I got to sing the song…”All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth”… two years in a row. Somewhere during this time is when I believe vanity began to take stage with me, but that’s another story.

One evening after a long day at school for a second grader, my mother so matter of fact informed me that I was going into the hospital to have my tonsils removed. “What?” “But I’m not even sick!” was my immediate reply. Yet, my mother so casually ignored my protest.

My twin brothers had just come home from the hospital. They both had gone in together and had their tonsils removed. Truth be known my mother probably received a two for one discount on them, which was fine with me. But for some ungodly reason she thought I should have mine removed…..and I wasn’t even sick. Just because my brothers did it did not mean I needed to do the same. It just didn’t make a bit of sense to me.

Trust me when I say, this did not compute in my simple mind. I’m sure this was the beginning of my thinking that my mother had a few loose screws somewhere upstairs. Sadly enough my father did nothing in my defense. Instead, he let her continue with the charades.

Well the dreaded day had come and my mother did exactly what she had said, she took me to the hospital to have my tonsils removed. Scared senseless, it was obvious I had no choice but to go along with the deranged woman.

I still remember that day as if it were yesterday…..As she walked me into St. Joseph’s Hospital I could not believe my eyes….There were witches everywhere!! Sure enough, they were dressed in long black dresses that reached the ground. They stared at me with scowl faces, looking as though they were ready to devour me once my mother left my side. But oddly enough, their black hats weren’t pointed like the pictures I had seen; instead their hats expanded sideways with long black scarves hanging from them and somehow their hair was hidden as if they were bald underneath the mass of material. Trust me when I tell you, there was not an eased bone in my body. All I could think of was…. ”Why was my mother doing this to me?” “Why would she take me to a place so horrible?” Not to mention, it was freezing cold in the place.

Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you…I wanted to turn and run of that place back into the happy world that was waiting just outside the big sliding glass doors. But non doing, it was impossible. My mother had my hand clasped tightly as though she knew I was ready to bolt.

Finally she realized my trauma. I had never seen such a sight, nor had I ever been inside a hospital since my birth. My mother explained that what I was seeing were Nuns of the Catholic faith. They were not witches as I had thought. Yet somehow, even with my mother’s explanation, I was still not at all comfortable with these odd looking creatures walking around and staring at me. They still looked like witches to me.

Then we arrived in what would be my temporary room; at least I surely hoped it would be temporary. There were two empty beds with stark white sheets folded and tucked so tight that you wondered how you could ever find comfort in such a thing. The beds had metal railings on them with sides that were raised as if you would be peering through the bars of a jail. My thoughts were….”could things get any worse?:” Then my mother informed me she would be leaving me for the night….alone…yet, she would return the next morning before I went in to surgery. Somehow her words were supposed to comfort me and help me feel safe in this cold and scary place called a hospital….but I had my reservations and was certain I would never see my mother again. The only thing that did help me is I knew my brothers had been in the week before and someway, somehow, they made it back home. They had shared their stories of eating ice cream after the surgery. So I set my mind on the ice cream and the hopes of survival until then.

My mother, just as promised, was there the next morning to kiss me, hold my hand, and assure me she would be there waiting when I came out of surgery. From that point on it is a blur as to what happened next….until they put me on the operating table. I was so groggy and everything seemed out of focus. I could hear voices all around and see faces peering at me. Straps were bolted across my body, at my chest, my waist, and across my upper thighs. I was locked down and unable to move. Then a black rubber mask came at me. They were actually planning to put it over my face, my nose, and my mouth. Panic came over me as I knew they were going to suffocate me. I began to panic uncontrollably, wiggling, twisting, bucking as hard as I could to free myself and get away from the torment. I began to smell the ether, the gas coming from the horrible mask. I shook my head back and forth fighting with all my might. Someone held my head and two people laid over my body to stop my fight. Finally I gave up the battle and knew that I was doomed never to see my family again….never to enjoy the happy world I had left outside those sliding glass doors that my mother had walked me through just the day before.

Then I awoke. My throat hurt uncontrollably. And my mother was by my side smiling down at me. At that moment I’m sure I smiled back at her…..missing teeth and all….so happy to see her face again.  It was as if I had a horrible nightmare and finally woke up. She gave me lots of crushed ice to chew on and promised in a couple of hours I too would get some ice cream just like my brothers did….for being such a good patient. Little did my mother know that I was far from good. But in my eyes, I surely deserved that bowl of ice cream….no doubt about it!

Finally the day came that I did walk out the big sliding glass doors back into the world I had known only a couple of days before. I walked out a different person…..a little person without her tonsils….and into a lifetime of claustrophobia due to the black mask forced against my face.  But that didn’t keep me from enjoying root beer floats, hamburgers, and falling in love with the music playing on American Bandstand. However,  I can say, I never wanted to dress up like a witch for any reason…..Until this day that is my truth!

This story is dedicated to my mother Eleanor Joyce Turner McFarland whom I hold no hard feelings. I love her dearly and hope she knows this is only the reality of a child…. Fear in the Eyes of a Child.

I  offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your  loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about  your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away  about what you know best….your  loved ones.

Please  continue to read my blog http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed  the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine  McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer  specializing in memoirs,  life story writing,
and capturing memories of  your loved ones.

Copyright, December 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author  retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

As most of you know I am a realtor specializing primarily in residential real estate. In my adventures of looking at distressed, bank owned, and pre-foreclosure properties I came across a home that really spoke to me. Now you may say that sounds crazy, but I am here to tell you that a lot of homes speak to me as I walk into them….some good….some not so good. But nonetheless, they speak to me.

It was a typical warm sunny day on July 21^st, nothing particularly different than any other ordinary day. It was the normal routine…get up, walk and feed the dog, shower, eat breakfast, brush the teeth,  and head out the door to begin a day of real estate…. talking to people, previewing homes, the normal stuff. But this day became particularly memorable to me as I walked into the  ‘bank owned’ property on Sagamore Street.

The house had been abandoned, foreclosed on, and the bank most definitely owned the property. As I drove up into the driveway it appeared to be a normal everyday home in need of some basic lawn care and a little tender loving care… you know, things like mow the yard, add some shrubs and add a few bright colored flowers to give it some curb appeal. As I walked in the door I could see… it was most definitely a sad house…. The very first thing I saw screaming at me through the view of the kitchen was a huge hole in the ceiling of the family room. “What in the world?” was my immediate thought. The hole was big enough I could have crawled completely through it if I had taken the notion to do so. There was black mold all around it while the insulation was soaking wet from rain that had poured into the opening leading all the way to the roof top. Mold covered debris was falling from the area and infecting the entire room with its nastiness. All the drywall had been removed from the walls throughout the entire room, leaving only firring strips and 2 X 4’s lining the room. You could see original old brick walls peeking through in areas where someone had extended the house. It made me wonder….What did the original house look like? What was the original floor plan? Curious as I was, I noticed the fireplace had been completely removed. All that was left was a hole….a shell with the sky shining through as you peered to the top. How could anyone ever leave a house, which once was their home, in such shambles? There was no love there….not a spark of love…only tears crying out of the sad walls that surrounded me as I continued to preview the home. When I walked into each room I hesitated…wondering what was ahead of me. Some of the rooms were massive in size…one of the rooms was so large that it would make an absolutely perfect dance room for the avid ballroom dancer. It was huge in size. You could even Waltz throughout the room and never feel cramped.  A large upstairs area had been added to the home and a long narrow staircase with a wooden banister on one side led the way to a massive master bedroom and what I could vision as a perfect nursery, a sitting room. a den, or even a study just for the master of the house. Now with these last few rooms in mind I could vision the possibilities of a home once again.

Mind you, I forgot to tell you the home was originally built in 1954…one year before I was born…so the place has been around for quite some time. But considering the age of the home it truly had some uniqueness about it.

Finally I made my way out to the back exterior of the home. There was massive wood decking with tucks and grooves everywhere… multiple levels up and down and a dried up and deserted waterfall casing in the middle of the massive deck. You could tell it was once the focal point of the entire back of the house. It really made me wonder what the place must have been like at one time. I’m sure it was once a sight that would have absolutely taken your breath away as you looked out the sliding glass doors of the home.

Then I saw what was identified on my fact sheet as a guest house. I was quite interested in seeing the little house…surely it was not crying the amount of tears as the main house. How could that be possible?  How could it get any worse? Although there was a huge blue plastic tarp over the corner of the building making me a bit suspicious as I walked toward the building. Well to my sad surprise as I walked into the little house that I could picture to be so perfect as a mother-in-law suite,  I found the whole corner of the roof had fallen in and it had an even larger hole than the main house. Now I understood the purpose of the blue tarp. The great expectation I once had in my sprit had been diminished. What was happening here? How could anyone let a once loved home get into such a sadden shape of disrepair? It made no sense to me…none whatsoever.

Then I noticed a small room that was probably no bigger than maybe 5’ X 6’ with a small closet off to the side. The room looked to be intact, much unlike the rest of the building, and inside the small closet, to my amazement, was a simple wooden cabinet not much larger than the old medicine cabinets. It was built into the wall similar to how a medicine cabinet would be placed. My curiosity had me going. I couldn’t stand it. I had to open the cabinet and see for myself. What ever could it be? This simple wooden cabinet built into the wall of a closet as if it were a hidden treasure.  As I carefully opened the cabinet a smile came across my face as I peered into a billowing sea full of sewing threads placed so delicately and individually on its own dedicated little spindle. All the colors of the rainbow and more… spools of threads were there so neatly presenting themselves. There it was, I could feel the love that was once there in the home. Although the home was sad and the walls were crying uncontrollable tears of sadness…there was a small simple wooden cabinet smiling back at me with simple threads…spools of many colors.

At that moment  I could see small delicate hands of a lady…a mother…a wife sitting at a sewing machine making garments for her family, beautiful curtains that most likely lined the windows of the home, and even simple delicate dresses for herself allowing her to express her beauty to her family. So now as I think of that home I know there is hope…because hidden in the closet of the small guest house is the simple cabinet full of beautiful colors smiling…waiting for someone to come to the rescue.

You see a mother always loves her family and her home. She has dreams and sees visions of the future. She sees life at its fullest and with the greatest of possibilities. She desires the very best for her family and her home. A mother always wants to wipe away the tears and stop the pain. So just  like the lady that placed those spools of threads so delicately in the small wooden cabinet…just like the mother that wants to stop the pain of child… I hope someone can stop the tears and the sadness coming from the walls of this house located on Sagamore Street….

As I walked out of the house, still attached to the emotions in my spirit from the vision I had just experienced, a long time neighbor stopped me to inquire about the status of the home. At that moment in time I learned …as the story was told to me…the home had been purchased by a single mother who worked most of her life and became part owner in the popular small town restaurant that I personally frequent when I am visiting the area.  She since passed and her only child had inherited the house and unfortunately became heavily involved in drugs and such. As a result of the personal afflictions, the child lost the house to the bank after borrowing money that could not be paid back.

The house that was paid in full and left to a cherished child now sits empty and completely in disrepair…AND…the walls cry tears of a mother’s heart.

Unfortunately, I’m only a realtor and an writer, I am not a magician. So all I can do is try to find someone to purchase the house and make it a home so we can stop the pain and dry the tears of the “wall’s that cry” at Sagamore Street!

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing,
and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright, September 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

Erika and Hayden 2011

Today is the anniversary of my father Lamar McFarland’s death. And in honor of him I would like to share a letter written to him by his granddaughter Erika Dell McFarland Newey. I am certain that it will bless your heart as it did mine.

As I began to think about my writing today, I wondered through the pages of my mind. What story was I going to tell you? I know some of my readers look forward to stories about their ancestors and the generations before them. Some like to look at the old pictures that accompany the writings. Some look forward to the simple reading of short stories. Then I began to think about life in general and the journey that you and I are on….the journey of life.

I began to think about my own life’s journey….where I’ve been….what I’ve done…who I’ve been with….and where I’m going. I was abruptly reminded in my spirit….A journey of a 1,000 miles begins with a first step. Some of you, as I often do, wonder what is the journey? Where are you going? What will you do with your life? Truthfully, those are some challenging questions for a lot of us today. And not just today, but people have been asking those questions for many years. I’m certain my father, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, husband, all of those who have gone before me asked the same questions we ask today.

On days that I am challenged with these type questions as well as the issues of life  that always seem to get in the way, I try to remember and dwell on my life long bible verse, Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ….and as you read on to verses 12-14a … Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.  I will be found by you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back from captivity.  If we just take a moment and think about those verses we will begin to rejoice and see things in a different light. And you know as well as I do …..we have to do this over and over again….Not because we have to remind God, but because we have to keep reminding ourselves….He does have a plan.

This reminds me of a simple story I read one day and I have never forgotten it. Of course there are days that I do forget….but truly it is in the back of my mind. Today I was once again reminded of it and now I want to share it with you.

The Farmer’s Donkey

One day a farmer’s donkey fell into a dry well. The animal cried pitifully for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do for his poor donkey. Finally, he concluded that the well was too deep, and it really needed to be covered up; besides the donkey was old and it would be a lot of trouble to get him out of the deep pit. The farmer decided that it was not worth trying to retrieve the animal so he asked his neighbors to help him fill in the well and bury the donkey.

They all grabbed shovels and began to toss dirt into the well. The donkey immediately realized what was happening and he began to weep horribly. But then all of a sudden he got real quiet…. A few shovel loads of dirt later, the farmer looked down the well, astonished at what he saw. With every shovel of dirt that hit the donkey’s back the donkey would shake it off, and step on top of it.

As the neighbor’s and farmer continued to shovel dirt on top of the donkey, he would continue to shake it off, and take a step up. Pretty soon the donkey shook off the last shovel full of dirt, took a step up, and walked right out of the well.

                                                ….Unknown Author

You see when we are looking for answers… looking for direction, if we just take a step up we may be surprised where we might land.

For me personally there have been many things in my life that have set me back. And I am here to tell you I have not understood most of what has happened to me….sexual child abuse, the loss of my first love because my parents were against it, childhood pregnancy, marriage separation, divorces, the death of my late husband, the death of my father and all my grandparents at an early age….so many heart related things….and the list could go on and on. At the time these things happened to me, I didn’t think I would be able to bear the pain or the loss. But through it all, somehow, I survived. The journey changed! Yet through the pain, some of my greatest weaknesses have become my greatest strength.  I am no longer the same person that I was years ago and I am no longer the same person today that I was yesterday. And, I know I am still not the person God intends for me to be…. I am still under construction!  And you can be sure of one thing…. God doesn’t make junk! We are made in His image!

So now when I stop and ask the question, “Why?”…  “Why me?”…  I hear the words come back to me as….”Why not you?” It’s all part of the plan…. the plan God has for me. Oh I’m sure I have taken some wrong turns, made some wrong decisions and even gone around a few mountains more than once. But I do believe God will get me back on course if I take the step. Sure, I still have many questions….and trust me, I am anxiously waiting for the answers.

Each of us is on a journey… yet a different journey… our own journey.  During the course, we all have our challenges. And I’m sure we even stop and ask our own question, “Why?”  But God has the ultimate plan. So when you are down or uncertain…. take a step up. Remember the farmer’s donkey, he could have stood still in the well and been buried alive….yet the idea came to him to step up…and then he stepped out! The world around him was amazed! Can you see it? The world around him was not interested in his survival. They were to busy filling up the hole….doing only what was asked of them… nothing more… nothing less.

A journey of a 1,000 miles starts with the first step. Think about this….the doors to a grocery store will not open until WE take the first step on to the mat in front of it. We take the step and the door will open! God is there to direct our steps, but we have to be willing to take it…step it out. If we take the wrong step, He will get us back on course… (Jeremiah 29: 11-14a). And as we step out, we will amaze all of those around us!

This article is dedicated to all of those who are struggling with life issues.

 I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright, April 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

Grandpa Pone with Emma & Bill

As I walked outside early this morning, I looked up at the full moon shining ever so brightly. The ground all around me was lit up as if someone had placed much brighter bulbs in the street lights that line the street in front of my house.  I began to think about my grandpa Pone and the stories I have heard about his morning hunting adventures. How did he see in the darkness so very early in the mornings? Maybe he used a lantern. Surely they didn’t have flashlights back then! How I wished that there was a phone in heaven so I could call and ask him questions about his morning adventures and of course let him know that he was on my mind and always in my heart. Now wouldn’t that be ever so neat? Just think how busy that phone line would be.

I remember my mother telling me that many years ago, when she was a young girl, how he would get up first thing every morning and go hunting. He would always hunt squirrel, rabbit or some other breakfast meat to put on the table for the morning meal. And interesting enough he would always come home with results. He and my grandmother Doris would then clean the game and she would cook it up for the same day’s breakfast meal; without fail they always had meat on the table.  I am told breakfast was their main meal of the day.

So let me ask you, where has life taken us …to boxes of cold cereal, instant microwave meals, snack bars, fast food at a drive thru or some other quick solution for our family’s breakfast meal? Have we lost the art of yesterday? If only we had a time machine that would give us access to the past. How different it would be to see for ourselves what it must have been like….back in the day. The day where everyone had to farm, hunt and supply for there families off of the land. Can you even begin to imagine what a typical day would be like? Can you imagine your man having to get up so very early and go hunting before you could prepare breakfast …before he went off to work? I personally think this generation might have some challenges surviving in such grueling times. And for certain, our children would be late for school! Can you imagine only for a moment?

Well, one of the things I really enjoyed about Pone’s hunting adventures is that he had two pet squirrels. Their names were Emma and Bill. I would say those were two really smart squirrels! Why, because they chose to be at the opposite end of the barrel…if you know what I mean. Actually the squirrels were given to Pone by a neighbor there in Ruskin and he named them after his best friends, Emma and Bill. I am sure that was an honor in those days. I can’t say that I would think it was an honor….but obviously, times were different then. I guess you really had to be there to appreciate such a thing.

Mom tells me that he would take the two pet squirrels hunting with him. There’s probably nothing like having ‘live decoys’ with you when you hunt. Of course I am not a hunter and I can’t say that I have even known any true die hard hunters in my time, but I could imagine using live decoys. No wonder he was so successful at bringing home the game… squirrel that is!

Well I bet if he were alive today he could tell us some real stories (some real doozy’s is what I would call them) of his hunting experiences. You know….like the one that got away. I can just hear him now going on and on with his stories.

So yes I think I have to agree, when I heard my parents talk about…. “back in the day, when times were so tough….I use to….”  I would think, here we go again! Surely you have heard those very words. Maybe you even rolled your eyes back into your head and had the same thoughts…. ‘Here we go again, another hard time story’. Much like me, you may have even thought they were making it up. They were trying to make you feel sorry for them or for some other unknown psychological reason. But truly, we should sit down and ask them about their childhood, about our grandparents, great grandparents, and alike. I am sure you will be amazed at some of their stories; you may even believe some of those stories you rolled your eyes at. You may find even the simplest of stories are interesting and very entertaining.

Gosh how I wish there was a phone in heaven! But at least I have a story and a photo to cherish…. And I can share with you the story about my grandpa Pone and his two pet squirrels, Emma and Bill.

This article is dedicated to: Amos Venson Turner “Pone” (Dec 23, 1908 to June 5, 1967) …my grandpa Pone.

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright, April 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

There I was sitting in the old wooden swing that hung so gracefully from a rusty red and white candy stripped metal frame. It was the frame from an old swing set my twin bothers, Ronnie and Donnie, and I had when we were younger. Our dad had taken the frame and converted it by hanging what I call a porch swing on it. Many a day my brothers and I would sit anxiously in that swing while we waited on our dad to come home so we could ask his permission to go somewhere or do something with our friends. Mom was notorious for telling us we would have to get our dad’s approval for most everything we had asked to do. At times we thought it was her way of saying “no”; knowing that our dad may not show up in time for us to pop the question to him.  But regardless, we had the faith of a child and sat there waiting on him for what seemed like hours and sometimes days. I say days because at times it was days before we seen him. You see my father had a drinking problem and his best friend was a can of beer or a bottle of whiskey. As a result, there were times he didn’t come home until wee hours of the morning; long after we were in bed.

But this particular day it was different, I knew for certain my dad would be pulling into the drive momentarily. As I sat there swinging my baby brother, the anticipation was building within me moment by moment while waiting for the car to pull into our long narrow driveway. Without a doubt, I knew the day had finally come that I would have a sister.

My three brothers, Ronnie, Donnie and Rodger, were there that day. But somehow the day appeared to be just an ordinary day to them. Ronnie and Donnie were most likely inside tearing up something, which seemed to be a normal routine for them.  They were identical twins, almost three years younger than me. I loved them in my own way, yet at the very same time I resented them. In my eyes they were always the center of attention regardless of what they did or did not do. Everyone was always goo goo over them because they looked just a like. As the jealous sister, I would wonder what in the world was wrong with everyone; had they not seen that they were just two mischievous boys? So they were twins, big deal! As a sibling I truly did not see the uniqueness that everyone else saw….I only saw two irritating brothers. On the other hand, my baby brother Rodger was a sweetheart in my eyes. But, oh how I had wished he had been a girl the day he was born. In fact, to this day I tease him about his curly hair. He is the only one of us kids that was blessed with curls. Therefore, I tell him it’s because he was suppose to be a girl….then I get the look. You know the one!

I was 10 years old when Rodger was born. Already having two brothers who were the best of friends, I longed and wished for a baby sister. When the news came that a new little brother had arrived I was consumed with disappointment. It was as if I had been hit hard in the stomach and could barely breathe. My dad had tricked me, knowing how bad I wanted a sister, he initially told me it was a girl. Then after my excitement, he had to tell me the real truth. But truthfully, once they brought my baby brother home from the hospital and I saw his precious little face so innocently looking up at me, I knew at that very moment that I would love him unconditionally. I became his little mother. When he was old enough to walk and talk he would come into my bedroom at night and ask, “Sissy, can I sleep with you?” And of course I would always agree. We were buddy’s. Basically everywhere you saw me Rodger would typically be in my lap or sitting right next to me. If he  got in trouble I would be right there to defend him or pick him up and console his hurt feelings. My mother was forever reprimanding me for taking up for him. I truly couldn’t stand to see my baby brother get into trouble. Obviously, I did spoil him rotten.

For some reason I continued longing to have a sister to play with and to share my deepest secrets with, much like the relationship I had witnessed between the twins. Of course I learned later in life there is a “special bond” that is present between identical twins. Although as a young child I did not understand such a bond. All I knew was… I was the outcast… the odd ball… the only girl… and I really didn’t like it.

As I continued to sit there on the swing that day thoughts ran through my mind as to what my new sister would be like. Oh we had seen each other in our earlier years but it was so brief and seldom we really never had time to get to know one another. I wondered if she was as anxious to have a sister as I was. After all, she had a brother and no sisters; so of course she must be longing for a sister as well.

My mom and dad had driven to Nashville, Tennessee, to load up my Aunt Leona’s  belongings and bring her and her two children back to Florida with them. Apparently my aunt had been living in an abusive marriage due to her  husband’s excessive drinking.  As a result of the abusive lifestyle, my aunt knew she had no choice but to move to Florida where the rest of her family lived. Little did I know my aunt, like my very own father, also struggled with drinking. Both of them liked the bottle a little too much; as did a lot of my relatives.

Finally, the long awaited time had come. The familiar old 1961 green Chevrolet turned into the driveway, pulling behind it a trailer full of the personal belongings of my aunt and her two children. My heart leaped with joy. I could hardly contain myself. At that time I did not realize the brokenness they all must have felt, leaving behind a home, a husband, and a father. All I knew was I would finally have a sister.

As my cousin Diana jumped out of the car we ran to one another and embraced each other tightly. I knew without a doubt, she was my new sister and we both were going to be all right. Her brother Billy, ran to the door calling out for Ronnie and Donnie; anxious to run and play after a long 700 mile trip. So not only did I gain a sister, but I also gained an additional brother, Billy.  I have to admit he was a real sweetie….and a cut up to beat the band. There was so much joy in my heart it really didn’t matter anymore how many brothers I had. And now Rodger had another little mother to help spoil him; he for sure didn’t mind all the extra attention.

Only moments later Mama Mac and Daddy Humpy pulled into the driveway. They were anxious to embrace their daughter and make certain she and her two children were alright. How they must have felt knowing their daughter had been living in an abusive marriage, taking beatings from another person who had claimed to love her… and to allow the children to witness such behavior. I can truly say, even to this day, I could not begin to imagine what that lifestyle must have been like for my aunt.

As we all turned and walked into the house, love, happiness and sadness was present in the air. But I was thankful for one thing; although my father liked the bottle he did not physically abuse my mother or any of us children. And as for my new sister, we were going to be just fine and we would be the best sisters anyone could ask for. Little did we know at that moment how much we really had in common. We both lived in a dysfunctional family due to alcohol and we both longed for the comfort of having a sister, a best friend and a confidant.

As time went on Diana and Billy spent a lot of time at our house; sometimes they would stay for weeks at a time. And it was perfectly alright for all of us. Sure we had a house full, but the love we shared was so wonderful we didn’t mind the small living arrangements. At times there were 8 of us in our small little house of only 1100 square feet and 1 small bathroom. But somehow we managed just fine. Isn’t it amazing what love can do….and you never think anything of it? It’s just like air conditioning, we didn’t have any back then and we didn’t miss it a bit. We just turned on all the fans and went on with our lives.

Although many years have now come and gone, Diana and I are still to this day sisters! And yes it’s true, we do have similar childhood stories but we share a love that no one can destroy. In my eyes…she is my big sister…she has been there for me… through the good times…the bad times…the tears…and the laughter. I could never ask for a better sister. I love her dearly.

I must also tell you, I love all 3 of my brothers dearly and I would not trade any one of them for a sister! ….as for Billy…I love him like a brother!

This article is dedicated to: Leona Edna McFarland Laney Ibex (Sept 23,1932 – Dec 6, 1995) My Aunt Leona.

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright, April 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

Mama Mac and Lorraine

Memories come and memories go, but true memories last a lifetime. They go back as far as we can remember to a time where we put a face, a description and a feeling to it; other memories are those you know in your spirit that happened and you can somewhat describe it, yet no one can verify it for you. For instance, I remember…I was still in diapers, sitting in a play pen and a woman with dark hair was taking clothes off the clothes line, such as towels and diapers, and tossing them on me as I played. I remember the laughter in the air and the clean smell of the freshly laundered clothes all around me. Yet when I asked my mother, thinking all along it was her, she did not remember any such incident. Now that I know it wasn’t my mother, I have come to believe it must have been my Grandmother Doris during one of those special times I spent with her and my Grandpa Pone. Strangely enough when I smell that scent I am reminded of the memory….a memory without a face; only dark hair and laughter.

And then there was my Mama Mac, my father’s mother. Her true name was Inez Pearl McCowan McFarland but everyone called her Mama Mac.  Although it was rare, I use to love to spend the night at her house and sleep on her fresh clean sheets. What a treat that was. I remember the crispness of Mama Mac’s sheets…the special hand embroidered pillow cases and the matching embroidered facing of the top sheet. Ya’ll my grandmother ironed her sheets and most likely used a light starch, they were so crisp and taunt you could bounce a coin off of them. When you crawled into the bed they were cool to touch and smelled absolutely remarkable. I felt like royalty when I would get into the bed. Although it was her bed, we never slept together. I had it all to myself….just me and my little imagination.  I think she must have heard vicious stories about me and the fact that I slept all over the bed. My mother use to say I kicked like a mule. So Mama Mac would go in the back bedroom and sleep on the extra twin bed in the room with Daddy Humpy.

But just before bedtime I would always take a bath in her ‘claw tub’; another unique experience. I would pretend like I was Cleopatra…Royalty…being treated like a Queen. My grandmother would put bubble bath in the tub for me and the bubbles would come up pass my chin. In those old claw tubs there is no overflow drain under the faucet so you could fill the tub as deep as you wanted, or in my case, as high as your head would allow and still be able to breathe and of course scoot down and recline against its sloping back. I then visualized maidens around me fanning me with large feathered fans. Let me tell you…that was the life as far as I was concerned. Enjoying the relaxation and the smoothness of the bubbles against my skin while living my make believe dream. Once I was done, I put on my royalty nightwear, kissed my grandparents goodnight…and off to bed I would go to engulf myself with the aroma of those special sheets that I adored so. Life was good let me tell you.

In the mornings I would wake up to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and sausage patties cooking in the iron skillet. It smelled so delightful. When I would arrive at the table Mama Mac would have a spread of food fit for a King; grits, scrambled eggs, sausage patties, homemade biscuits, jams and red eye gravy. I actually never ate the red eye gravy…the sound of it just wasn’t the least bit appealing to me and besides Daddy Humpy told me…”It’s what the cowboys ate”…and they made it with left over coffee. Great, that did it for me….I surely wasn’t a cowboy! I was Cleopatra. Didn’t he know that? I was certain, Cleopatra didn’t eat cowboy food.

We always ate out of her pink, blue, and yellow tiny flowered dishes with some kind of decorative cut edge a gold band outlining the plate. I thought they were absolutely beautiful. In fact, I liked them so well that when I got older I bought a set just like hers off the side of the road at a dish barn in North Carolina. It was one of those moments when you are driving by and all of a sudden have to hit the brakes and make an immediate turn. I knew without a doubt the dishes that caught my eye were just like my grandmothers. In fact, she probably bought them from a road side dish barn during her travels. I was pleasantly surprised to find the dishes actually had a name, “Hazel”.  Oh my how I loved those dishes…it brought back so many memories! Years after her passing, my aunt gave me the remaining pieces of Mama Mac’s original set. And today if I see a matching piece at an antique store I will pick it up and add it to our two combined sets.

Then there were Mama Mac’s special pies. She was certainly a great cook….real southern cooking. I remember her homemade pies; especially her chocolate cream pie… piled high with meringue and browned oh so lightly. She would make her pies right from scratch….crust and all. Once they were done she would place them on a large bath towel spread out over the washing machine to cool. The washing machine was located on the screened back porch just off from the kitchen. I would have to look for a reason to go on her back porch where I knew those pies were just screaming for attention. I loved to breathe in the aroma of those pies…and all the time I’m sure Mama Mac knew how eager I was to have a pie of one of her delicious pies. I could hardly wait for the moment she would ask me if I wanted a slice. And I was always anxious to say, “Yes Mam! I want the chocolate pie!” …it was my absolute favorite. However it’s too bad no one ever got a copy of her recipe for my favorite pie, but of course it was most likely… a pinch of this and a pinch of that; nothing ever measured or written down. So today any time I see a chocolate cream pie that even resembles my grandmothers I have to try a piece. And so far to my disappointment I have never found one that holds the candle to Mama Mac’s chocolate cream pie. I am beginning to believe, it’s not just the chocolate pie, it’s the love that went into it …and the special memories I have of those precious moments with my grandmother.

Today I have Mama Mac’s old China displayed in my China Cabinet right along with those old everyday dishes she used and I must say….I would take those everyday dishes and the memories that come back to my mind over any piece of china.  You see, most of us put our China up and never use it, but the everyday dishes are used over and over and touched with a love that can never be replaced. Just like those special times with my grandmother …the smell of her sheets …the taste of her chocolate cream pies … her smile…her love….it’s all priceless. I bet she never knew I felt like ‘Royalty’ when I spent those special times with her. She never knew the memories she was creating for my heart. To this day …I love and miss her so very much. I love you Mama Mac!

This article is dedicated to the memory of: Inez Pearl McCowan-McFarland “Mama Mac” (Jan 8, 1910 to Dec 29, 1973), my grandmother.

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright, April 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.

As I got up this morning my spirit was heavy. Maybe it’s the rain or maybe the sleeping pill I took last night, hoping for sleep but only causing me to toss and turn through out the night. As I wrote my morning pages, like I do every morning, I struggled for something to write. My spirit was empty; no creation to be found, no words floating out of the end of my writing instrument. Frustration set in. I put it away and finished my normal routine for the morning and then decided to lie down, hoping to sleep and maybe get rid of the remainder of the pill I took last night. As I went to lie down I was reminded of a morning writing I had done a few months ago. So I went to one of my old notebooks in search for the writing. Much to my amazement I went right to the particular writing. Isn’t it amazing how God can direct us to something we need at the very moment we need it? So I read the writing and knew without a doubt it was a word from God, written in my very own hand writing. I call it…words, written in blue. So now I want to share that writing with you. Please excuse me, but there has been no editing done to the writing, merely in the exact form as it was written in my very own pages. I hope you enjoy it. And I hope it speaks to your spirit as it did to me that day and again today.

My Morning Pages – Tuesday, September 14, 2010

It’s 5:45 AM and I am sitting in the living room with a cup of coffee and Harley snuggled up against me. We are up early this morning primarily because he woke me up needing to go to the potty. Last night as I was getting ready to go upstairs to bed I remembered a friend’s suggestion about presetting the coffee so all I had to do was hit the start button when I woke up. So that is exactly what I did AND when I came inside from walking the dog my coffee was ready. Of course you know by now I really – really – did I say REALLY enjoy my morning coffee – just like I enjoy my morning pages – my writing. It’s all such a part of me now – a part of who I am. Writing my pages is like food to the soul – I need it! It puts me in touch with creation – creativity – with God – with my deepest thoughts and feelings – pulls something from deep inside my spirit – it’s me – who I am – what I am! I just saw the time 5:55 as I went to rub my eyes. There is something about those triple digits that do something to my spirit – my soul. It started happening to me just after Jack died AND every since then when I see it, I feel a sense come over my spirit. It’s as if God is saying something directly to me – something special for my spirit. Maybe it’s just HELLO I AM HERE FOR YOU, TRUST ME and REACH OUT TO ME ANYTIME YOU WANT TO OR NEED TO, GOD! Now isn’t that just too cool??!! Think about that, ANYTIME YOU WANT! ANYTIME YOU NEED! ANYTIME! It’s like He has been here all along and I haven’t realized it – gave it a thought – at least not consciously. Now I have to say I thought about it this morning as I went to take the dog out. First of all let me say, last night when I went to turn the porch light off in the courtyard I saw a dragon fly fluttering around the side window of my front door – dancing to the music playing in the courtyard. I love the Dragon Fly – and I thought at that moment how really cool it was that he was visiting my courtyard. Well, this morning as I went out the door the first thing I saw was the same dragon fly – still fluttering, still dancing to the music. At that very moment I thought of God and His creation. To me the dragon fly has a spiritual meaning – God is with you! Every since I saw the movie “Dragonfly” with Kevin Costner I have felt that way. I know some may think I am crazy – maybe I am- but aren’t we all in our own quirky way? Sometime watch the movie and you will see what I mean – God is with you! – Set a table just for Him – Make Him feel special – just like He is – AND He will come just like the dragon fly – God will come. I feel as though it is watching over me. He is at my front door – my courtyard – dancing to my music. The music I added last week to create a peaceful and tranquil setting. Build it and they will come. He will come and join you – give you peace – give you rest in such a tranquil place. That place in your heart. Can you hear it? Can you see it? Come dance with me! I can hear it! I can also hear the music playing in the courtyard. It plays continually. I hope the dragon fly stays! I don’t know what their life span is, but maybe another one will come- maybe two- maybe three. I just know God is here with me – I can feel His presence all over my spirit. Can you feel it? Isn’t it cool! The time, the dragon fly, the music, the writing…what a word!

 I just went to the door to see the dragon fly, thinking I would take a picture of him – My dragon fly. But to my sadness he was gone, nowhere to be seen. As sadness began to come over me I felt as though the spirit – God’s spirit had left me. Then all of a sudden I saw the large pendulum of my large wind chime sitting at my entrance swinging and turning back and forth. But wait! There is no wind – nothing! It takes a lot for this wind chime to move. It began to get slower and slower and then the leaves of the plant just below it fluttered – catching my attention. Then I thought, could it be the music – the vibration of the sounds creating the movement. Then all of a sudden the leaves stopped fluttering and the pendulum came to a complete stop – completely still as if it had never moved. Then I heard God say to me – BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD. I AM HERE. Chiles wend down my spine and engulfed my spirit – taking over my whole being. I was looking for my dragon fly but instead I found my God! He is here watching over me…who could ask for anything more. I feel excitement in my spirit, in my soul. I can’t wait to see what God has in store for me today. Thank You God for my morning coffee – my morning pages – my word from You – my visit from You. You are invited to this place anytime! A place set just for you! Until tomorrow…©

So there you go a brief snippet from my morning pages. The pages I write everyday.

I offer my services to write memoirs and life stories of you and your loved ones. It’s as simple as sitting on a front porch sharing story after story about your life and your loved ones as you relax in a rocking chair, chattering away about what you know best….your loved ones.

Please continue to read my blog  http://rockingchairchatter.com and be sure to keep a watch for my new website  http://www.myfrontporchfriends.com/ as we continue to write our stories.

Enjoyed the chat,

Lorraine

Lorraine McFarland lives in Plant City, Florida. She is a professional writer specializing in memoirs, life story writing, and capturing memories of your loved ones.

Copyright March 2011 by Lorraine McFarland. The author retains sole copyright to her contributions to this article.